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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:43:49 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:43:49 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/14153-0.txt b/14153-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4465bd4 --- /dev/null +++ b/14153-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,18971 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14153 *** + +WESTWAYS + +A Village Chronicle + +by + +S. WEIR MITCHELL, M.D., LL.D. + +Author of _Hugh Wynne_, _The Adventures of François_, _Constance +Trescot_, etc., etc. + +1913 + + + + + + + +I DEDICATE THIS BOOK WHICH RECALLS CERTAIN SCENES OF THE CIVIL WAR TO THE +MEMORY OF MY THREE BROTHERS + +R.W.M. +N.C.M. +E.K.M. + +ALL OF WHOM SERVED IN THE ARMIES OF THEIR COUNTRY + + + + +PREFACE + + +There will be many people in this book; some will be important, others +will come on the scene for a time and return no more. The life-lines of +these persons will cross and recross, to meet once or twice and not +again, like the ruts in a much used road. To-day the stage may be +crowded, to-morrow empty. The corner novels where only a half dozen +people are concerned give no impression of the multitudinous contacts +which affect human lives. Even of the limited life of a village this is +true. It was more true of the time of my story, which lacking plot must +rely for interest on the influential relations of social groups, then +more defined in small communities than they are to-day. + +Long before the Civil War there were in the middle states, near to or +remote from great centres, villages where the social division of classes +was tacitly accepted. In or near these towns one or more families were +continuously important on account of wealth or because of historic +position, generations of social training, and constant relation to the +larger world. They came by degrees to constitute what I may describe as +an indistinct caste, for a long time accepted as such by their less +fortune-favoured neighbours. They were, in fact, for many years almost as +much a class by themselves as are the long-seated county families of +England and like these were looked to for helpful aid in sickness and in +other of the calamities of life. The democrat time, increasing ease of +travel and the growth of large industries, gradually altered the relation +between these small communities, and the families who in the smaller +matters of life long remained singularly familiar with their poorer +neighbours and in the way of closer social intimacies far apart. + +It seemed to me worth while to use the life of one of these groups of +people as the background of a story which also deals with the influence +of politics and war on all classes. + + + + +WESTWAYS + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +The first Penhallow crossed the Alleghanies long before the War for +Independence and on the frontier of civilisation took up land where the +axe was needed for the forest and the rifle for the Indian. He made a +clearing and lived a hard life of peril, wearily waiting for the charred +stumps to rot away. + +The younger men of the name in Colonial days and later left the place +early, and for the most part took to the sea or to the army, if there +were activity in the way of war. In later years, others drifted westward +on the tide of border migration, where adventure was always to be had. +This stir of enterprise in a breed tends to extinction in the male lines. +Men are thinned out in their wooing of danger--the _belle dame sans +merci_. Thus there were but few Penhallows alive at any one time, and +yet for many years they bred in old-fashioned numbers. + +As time ran on, a Penhallow prospered in the cities, and clinging to +the land added fresh acres as new ambitions developed qualities which +are not infrequently found in descendants of long-seated American +families. It was not then, nor is it now, rare in American life to find +fortune-favoured men returning in later days to the homes of their youth +to become useful in many ways to the communities they loved. One of +these, James Penhallow,--and there was always a James,--after greatly +prospering in the ventures of the China trade, was of the many who about +1800 bought great tracts of land on the farther slope of the Pennsylvania +Alleghanies. His own purchases lay near and around the few hundred acres +his ancestor took up and where an aged cousin was left in charge of the +farm-house. When this tenant died, the house decayed, and the next +Penhallow weary of being taxed for unproductive land spent a summer on +the property, and with the aid of engineers found iron in plenty and soft +coal. He began about 1830 to develop the property, and built a large +house which he never occupied and which was long known in the county as +"Penhallow's Folly." It was considered the more notably foolish because +of being set, in unAmerican fashion, deep in the woods, and remote from +the highway. What was believed to be the oldest pine-tree in the county +gave to the place the popular name of "Grey Pine" and being accepted by +the family when they came there to live, "Penhallow's Folly" ceased to be +considered descriptive. + +The able and enterprising discoverer of mines had two sons. One of them, +the youngest, married late in life, and dying soon after left a widow and +a posthumous son John, of whom more hereafter. The elder brother was +graduated from West Point, served some years with distinction, and +marrying found himself obliged to resign his captaincy on his father's +death to take charge of the iron-mills and mines, which had become far +more important to the family than their extensive forest-holdings on the +foot-hills of the western watershed of the Alleghanies. + +The country had long been well settled. The farmers thrived as the mills +and mines needed increasing supplies of food and the railway gave access +to market. The small village of Westways was less fortunate than the +county. Strung along the side of the road opposite to Penhallow's woods, +it had lost the bustling prosperity of a day when the Conestoga wagons +stopped over-night at the "General Wayne Inn" and when as yet no one +dreamed that the new railroad would ruin the taverns set at intervals +along the highway to Pittsburgh. Now that Westways Crossing, two miles +away, had been made the nearest station, Westways was left to live on the +mill-wages and such profits as farming furnished. + +When Captain James Penhallow repaired the neglected house and kept the +town busy with demands for workmen, the village woke up for a whole +summer. In the autumn he brought to Grey Pine his wife, Ann Grey, of the +well-known Greys of the eastern shore of Maryland. A year or two of +discomfort at Western army-posts and a busy-minded, energetic +personality, made welcome to this little lady a position which provided +unaccustomed luxuries and a limitless range of duties, such as were to +her what mere social enjoyments are to many women. Grey Pine--the house, +the flower and kitchen-gardens, the church to be built--and the schools +at the mills, all were as she liked it, having been bred up amid the +kindly despotism of a great plantation with its many dependent slaves. + +When Ann Penhallow put Grey Pine and the Penhallow crest on her +notepaper, her husband said laughing that women had no rights to crests, +and that although the arms were surely his by right of good Cornish +descent, he thought their use in America a folly. This disturbed Ann +Penhallow very little, but when they first came to Grey Pine the headings +of her notepaper were matters of considerable curiosity to the straggling +village of Westways, where she soon became liked, respected, and +moderately feared. A busy-minded woman, few things in the life of the +people about her escaped her notice, and she distributed uninvited +counsel or well-considered charity and did her best to restrain the more +lavish, periodical assistance when harvests were now and then bad--which +made James Penhallow a favourite in the county. + +Late in the summer of 1855, John Penhallow's widow, long a wandering +resident in Europe, acquired the first serious illness of a +self-manufactured life of invalidism and promptly died at Vevey. Her only +child, John, was at once ordered home by his uncle and guardian, James +Penhallow, and after some delay crossed the sea in charge of his tutor. +The dependent little fellow hid under a natural reserve what grief he +felt, and accustomed to being sent here and there by an absent mother, +silently submissive, was turned over by the tutor to James Penhallow's +agent in Philadelphia. On the next day, early in November, he was put in +charge of a conductor to be left at Westways Crossing, where he was told +that some one would meet him. + +The day was warm when in the morning he took his seat in the train, +but before noon it became clouded, and an early snow-storm with sudden +fall of temperature made the boy sensible that he was ill-clothed to +encounter the change of weather. He had been unfortunate in the fact +that his mother had for years used the vigilant tyranny of feebleness +to enforce upon the boy her own sanitary views. Children are easily +made hypochondriac, and under her system of government he became +self-attentive, careful of what he ate and extremely timid. There +had been many tutors and only twice long residence at schools in Vevey +and for a winter in Budapest. The health she too sedulously watched she +was fast destroying, and her son was at the time of her death a thin, +pallid, undersized boy, who disliked even the mild sports of French lads, +and had been flattered and considered until he had acquired the +conviction that he was an important member of an important family. His +other mother--nature--had given him, happily, better traits. He was an +observer, a born lover of books, intelligent, truthful, and trained +in the gentle, somewhat formal, manners of an older person. Now for the +first time in his guarded life he was alone on a railway journey in +charge of the conductor. A more unhappy, frightened little fellow could +hardly have been found. + +The train paused at many stations; men and women got on or got out of the +cars, very common-looking people, surely, he concluded. The day ran by to +afternoon. The train had stopped at a station for lunch, but John, +although hungry, was afraid of being left and kept the seat which he +presumed to be his own property until a stout man took half of it. A +little later, a lean old woman said, "Move up, sonny," and sat down. +When she asked his name and where he lived, he replied in the coldly +civil manner with which he had heard his mother repress the good-natured +advances of her wandering countrymen. When again the seat was free, he +fell to thinking of the unknown home, Grey Pine, which he had heard his +mother talk of to English friends as "our ancestral home," and of the +great forests, the mines and the iron-works. Her son would, of course, +inherit it, as Captain Penhallow had no child. "Really a great estate, +my dear," his mother had said. It loomed large in his young imagination. +Who would meet him? Probably a carriage with the liveried driver and the +groom immaculate in white-topped boots, a fur cover on his arm. It would, +of course, be Captain Penhallow who would make him welcome. Then the +cold, which is hostile to imagination, made him shiver as he drew his +thin cloak about him and watched the snow squadrons wind-driven and the +big flakes blurring his view as they melted on the panes. By and by, two +giggling young women near by made comments on his looks and dress. +Fragments of their talk he overheard. It was not quite pleasant. "Law! +ain't he got curly hair, and ain't he just like a girl doll," and so on +in the lawless freedom of democratic feminine speech. The flat Morocco +cap and large visor of the French schoolboy and the dark blue cloak with +the silver clasp were subjects of comment. One of them offered peanuts or +sugar-plums, which he declined with "Much obliged, but I never take +them." Now and then he consulted his watch or felt in his pocket to be +certain that his baggage-check was secure, or looked to see if the little +bag of toilet articles at his feet was safe. The kindly attentions of +those who noticed his evident discomfort were neither mannerless nor, as +he thought, impertinent. A woman said to him that he seemed cold, +wouldn't he put around him a shawl she laid on his knees. He declined it +civilly with thanks. In fact, he was thinly and quite too lightly clad, +and he not only felt the cold, but was unhappy and utterly unprepared by +any previous experience for the mode of travel, the crowded car and the +rough kindness of the people, who liking his curly hair and refined young +childlike face would have been of service if he had accepted their +advances with any pleasure. Presently, after four in the afternoon, the +brakeman called "All out for Westways Crossing." + +John seized his bag and was at the exit-door before the train came to a +stand. The conductor bade him be careful, as the steps were slippery. As +the engine snorted and the train moved away, the conductor cried out, +"Forgot your cane, sonny," and threw the light gold-mounted bamboo from +the car. He had a new sense of loneliness as he stood on the roofless +platform, half a foot deep in gathering snow, which driven by a pitiless +gale from the north blew his cloak about as he looked to see that his +trunk had been delivered. A man shifted a switch and coming back said, +"Gi'me your check." John decided that this was not safe, and to the man's +amusement said that he would wait until the carriage of Captain Penhallow +arrived. The man went away. John remained angrily expectant looking up +the road. Presently he heard the gay jingle of bells and around a turn of +the road came a one-horse sleigh. It stopped beside him. He first saw +only the odd face of the driver in a fur cap and earlets. Then, tossing +off the bear skins, bounded on to the platform a young girl and shook +herself snow-free as she threw back a wild mane of dark red hair. + +"Halloa! John Penhallow," she cried, "I'm Leila Grey. I'm sent for you. +I'm late too. Uncle James has gone to the mills and Aunt Ann is busy. +Been here long?" + +"Not very," said John, his teeth chattering with cold. + +"Gracious! you'll freeze. Sorry I was late." She saw at a glance the low +shoes, the blue cloak, the kid gloves, the boy's look of suffering, and +at once took possession of him. + +"Get into the sleigh. Oh! leave your check on the trunk or give it to +me." She was off and away to the trunk as he climbed in, helpless. She +undid the counter check, ran across to the guard's house, was back in a +moment and tumbled in beside him. + +"But, is it safe? My trunk, I mean," said John. + +"Safe. No one will steal it. Pat will come for it. There he is now. Tuck +in the rugs. Put this shawl around you and over your head." She pinned it +with ready fingers. + +"Now, you'll be real comfy." The chilled boy puzzled and amused her. + +As he became warm, John felt better in the hands of this easy despot, but +was somewhat indignant. "To send a chit of a girl for him--John +Penhallow!" + +"Now," she cried to the driver, "be careful. Why did they send _you_?" + +Billy, a middle-aged man, short-legged and long of body, turned a +big-featured head as he replied in an odd boyish voice, "The man was busy +giving a ball in the stable." + +"A ball"--said John--"in the stable?" + +"Oh! that is funny," said the girl. "A ball's a big pill for Lucy, my +mare. She's sick." + +"Oh! I see." And they were off and away through the wind-driven snow. + +The girl, instinctively aware of the shyness and discomfort of her +companion, set herself to put him at ease. The lessening snow still fell, +but now a brilliant sun lighted the white radiance of field and forest. +He was warmer, and the disconnected chat of childhood began. + +"The snow is early. Don't you love it?" said the small maid bent on +making herself agreeable. + +"No, I do not." + +"But, oh!--see--the sun is out. Now you will like it. I suppose you don't +know how to walk in snow-shoes, or it would be lovely to go right home +across country." + +"I never used them. Once I read about them in a book." + +"Oh! you'll learn. I'll teach you." + +John, used to being considered and flattered, as he became more +comfortable began to resent the way in which the girl proposed to +instruct him. He was silent for a time. + +"Tuck in that robe," she said. "How old are you?" + +"This last September, fifteen. How old are you?" + +"Guess." + +"About ten, I think." Now this was malicious. + +"Ten, indeed! I'm thirteen and ten months and--and three days," she +returned, with the accuracy of childhood about age. "Were you at school +in Europe?" + +"Yes, in France and Hungary." + +"That's queer. In Hungary and France--Oh! then you can speak French." + +"Of course," he replied. "Can't you?" + +"A little, but Aunt Ann says I have a good accent when I read to her--we +often do." + +"You should say 'without accent,'" he felt better after this assertion of +superior knowledge. She thought his manners bad, but, though more amused +than annoyed, felt herself snubbed and was silent for a time. He was +quick to perceive that he had better have held his critical tongue, and +said pleasantly, "But really it don't matter--only I was told that in +France." + +She was as quick to reply, "You shouldn't say 'don't matter,' I say that +sometimes, and then Uncle James comes down on me." + +"Why? I am really at a loss--" + +"Oh! you must say 'doesn't'--not 'don't.'" She shook her great mass of +hair and cried merrily, "I guess we are about even now, John Penhallow." + +Then they laughed gaily, as the boy said, "I wasn't very--very +courteous." + +"Now that's pretty, John. Good gracious, Billy!" she cried, punching the +broad back of the driver. "Are you asleep? You are all over the road." + +"Oh! I was thinkin' how Pole, the butcher, sold the Squire a horse that's +spavined--got it sent back--funny, wasn't it?" + +"Look out," said Leila, "you will upset us." + +John looked the uneasiness he felt, as he said, "Do you think it is +safe?" + +"No, I don't. Drive on, Billy, but do be careful." + +They came to the little village of Westways. At intervals Billy +communicated bits of village gossip. "Susan McKnight, she's going to +marry Finney--" + +"Bother Susan," cried Leila. "Be careful." + +John alarmed held on to his seat as the sleigh rocked about, while Billy +whipped up the mare. + +"This is Westways, our village. It is just a row of houses. Uncle James +won't sell land on our side. Look out, Billy! Our rector lives in that +small house by the church. His name is Mark Rivers. You'll like him. +That's Mr. Grace, the Baptist preacher." She bade him good-day. "Stop, +Billy!" + +He pulled up at the sidewalk. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Crocker," she said, +as the postmistress came out to the sleigh. "Please mail this. Any +letters for us?" + +"No, Leila." She glanced at the curly locks above the thin face and the +wrapped up form in the shawl. "Got a nice little girl with you, Leila." + +John indignant said nothing. "This is a boy--my cousin, John Penhallow," +returned Leila. + +"Law! is that so?" + +"Get on," cried Leila. "Stop at Josiah's." + +Here a tall, strongly built, very black negro came out. "Fine frosty day, +missy." + +"Come up to the house to-night. Uncle Jim wants you." + +"I'll come--sure." + +"Now, get along, Billy." + +The black was strange to the boy. He thought the lower orders here +disrespectful. + +"Josiah's our barber," said Leila. "He saved me once from a dreadful +accident. You'll like him." + +"Will I?" thought John, but merely remarked, "They all seem rather +intimate." + +"Why not?" said the young Republican. "Ah! here's the gate. I'll get out +and open it. It's the best gate to swing on in the whole place." + +As she tossed the furs aside, John gasped, "To swing on--" + +"Oh, yes. Aunt Ann says I am too old to swing on gates, but I do. It +shuts with a bang. I'll show you some day." + +"What is swinging on a gate?" said John, as she jumped out and stood in +the snow laughing. Surely this was an amazing kind of boy. "Why, did you +never hear the rhyme about it?" + +"No," said John, "I never did." + +"Well, you just get on the gate when it's wide open and give a push, and +you sing-- + + "If I was the President of these United States, + I'd suck molasses candy and swing upon the gates. + +"There! Then it shuts--bang!" With this bit of child folklore she +scampered away through the snow and stood holding the gate open while +Billy drove through. She reflected mischievously that it must have been +three years since she had swung on a gate. + +John feeling warm and for the first time looking about him with interest +began to notice the grandeur of the rigid snow-laden pines of an +untouched forest which stood in what was now brilliant sunshine. + +As Leila got into the sleigh, she said, "Now, Billy, go slowly when you +make the short turn at the house. If you upset us, I--I'll kill you." + +"Yes, miss. Guess I'll drive all right." But the ways of drivers are +everywhere the same, and to come to the end of a drive swiftly with crack +of whip was an unresisted temptation. + +"_Sang de Dieu!_" cried John, "we will be upset." + +"We are," shouted Leila. The horse was down, the sleigh on its side, and +the cousins disappeared in a huge drift piled high when the road was +cleared. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +John was the first to return to the outer world. He stood still, seeing +the horse on its legs, Billy unharnessing, Leila for an instant lost to +sight. The boy was scared. In his ordered life it was an unequalled +experience. Then he saw a merry face above the drift and lying around it +a wide-spread glory of red hair on the white snow. In after years he +would recall the beauty of the laughing young face in its setting of dark +gold and sunlit silver snow. + +"Oh, my!" she cried. "That Billy! Don't stand there, John; pull me out, +I'm stuck." + +He gave her a hand and she bounded forth out of the drift, shaking off +the dry snow as a wet dog shakes off water. "What's the matter, John?" + +He was trying to empty neck, pocket and shoes of snow, and was past +the limits of what small endurance he had been taught. "I shall catch +my death of cold. It's down my back--it's everywhere, and I--shall +get--laryngitis." + +The brave blue eyes of the girl stared at his dejected figure. She was at +heart a gentle, little woman-child, endowed by nature with so much of +tom-boy barbarism as was good for her. Just now a feeling of contemptuous +surprise overcame her kindliness and her aunt's training. "There's your +bag on the snow, and Billy will find your cap. What does a boy want with +a bag? A boy--and afraid of snow!" she cried. "Help him with that +harness." + +He made no reply, but looked about for his lost cane. Then the young +despot turned upon the driver. "Wait till Uncle James hears; he'll come +down on you." + +"My lands!" said Billy, unbuckling a trace, "I'll just say, I'm sorry; +and the Squire he'll say, don't let it happen again; and I'll say, yes, +sir." + +"Yes, until Aunt Ann hears," said Leila, and turned to John. His attitude +of utter helplessness touched her. + +"Come into the house; you must be cold." She was of a sudden all +tenderness. + +Through an outside winter doorway-shelter they entered a hall unusually +large for an American's house and warmed by two great blazing hickory +wood-fires. "Come in," she cried, "you'll be all right. Sit down by the +fire; I'll be down in a minute, I want to see where Aunt Ann has put +you." + +"I am much obliged," said John shivering. He was alone, but wet as he was +the place captured an ever active imagination. He looked about him as he +stood before the roaring fire. To the right was an open library, to the +left a drawing-room rarely used, the hall being by choice the favoured +sitting-room. The dining-room was built out from the back of the hall, +whence up a broad stairway Leila had gone. The walls were hung with +Indian painted robes, Sioux and Arapahoe weapons, old colonial rifles, +and among them portraits of three generations of Penhallows. Many older +people had found interesting the strange adornment of the walls, where +amid antlered trophies of game, buffalo heads and war-worn Indian relics, +could be read something of the owner's tastes and history. John stood by +the fire fascinated. Like many timid boys, he liked books of adventure +and to imagine himself heroic in situations of peril. + +"It's all right. Come up," cried Leila from the stair. "Your trunk's +there now. There's a fine fire." + +Forgetful of the cold ride and of the snow down his back, he was +standing before the feathered head-dress of a Sioux Chief and +touching the tomahawk below it. He turned as she spoke. "Those must +be scalp-locks--three." He saw the prairie, the wild pursuit--saw them +as she could not. He went after her upstairs, the girl talking, the +boy rapt, lost in far-away battles on the plains. + +"This is your room. See what a nice fire. You can dry yourself. Your +trunk is here already." She lighted two candles. "We dine at half-past +six." + +"Thank you; I am very much obliged," he said, thinking what a mannerless +girl. + +Leila closed the door and stood still a moment. Then she exclaimed, +"Well, I never! What will Uncle Jim say?" She listened a moment. No +one was in the hall. Then she laughed, and getting astride of the +banister-rail made a wild, swift and perilous descent, alighting at the +foot in the hall, and readjusting her short skirts as she heard her aunt +and uncle on the porch. "I was just in time," she exclaimed. "Wouldn't I +have caught it!" + +The Squire, as the village called him, would have applauded this form of +coasting, but Aunt Ann had other views. "Well!" he said as they came in, +"what have you done with your young man?" + +Now he was for Leila anything but a man or manly, but she was a loyal +little lady and unwilling to expose the guest to Uncle Jim's laughter. +"He's all right," she said, "but Billy upset the sleigh." She was longing +to tell about that ball in the stable, but refrained. + +"So Billy upset you; and John, where is he?" + +"He's upstairs getting dried." + +"It is rather a rough welcome," remarked her aunt. + +"He lost his cap and his cane," said Leila. + +"His cane!" exclaimed her uncle, "his cane!" + +"I must see him," said his wife. + +"Better let him alone, Ann." But as usual she took her own way and went +upstairs. She came down in a few minutes, finding her husband standing +before the fire--an erect, soldierly figure close to forty years of age. + +"Well, Ann?" he queried. + +"A very nice lad, with such good manners, James." + +"Billy found his cap," said Leila, "but he couldn't get the sleigh set up +until the stable men came." + +"And that cane," laughed Penhallow. "Was the boy amused or--or scared?" + +"I don't know," which was hardly true, but the chivalry of childhood +forbade tale-telling and he learned very little. "He was rather tired and +cold, so I made him go to his room and rest." + +"Poor child!" said Aunt Ann. + +James Penhallow looked at Leila. Some manner of signals were +interchanged. "I saw Billy digging in the big drift," he said. "I trust +he found the young gentleman's cane." Some pitying, dim comprehension of +the delicately nurtured lad had brought to the social surface the +kindliness of the girl and she said no more. + +"It is time to dress for dinner," said Ann. Away from the usages of the +city she had wisely insisted on keeping up the social forms which the +Squire would at times have been glad to disregard. For a moment Ann +Penhallow lingered. "We must try to make him feel at home, James." + +"Of course, my dear. I can imagine how Susan Penhallow would have +educated a boy, and now I know quite too well what we shall have to +undo--and--do." + +"You won't, oh! you will not be too hard on him." + +"I--no, my dear--but--I suspect his American education has begun +already." + +"What do you mean?" + +"Ask Leila--and Billy. But that can wait." They separated. + +While his elders were thus briefly discussing this new addition to the +responsibilities of their busy lives, the subject of their talk had been +warmed into comfortable repossession of his self-esteem. He set in order +his elaborate silver toilet things marked with the Penhallow crest, saw +in the glass that his dress and unboylike length of curly hair were as he +had been taught they should be; then he looked at his watch and went +slowly downstairs. + +"Halloa! John," he heard as he reached the last turn of the stairs. "Most +glad to see you. You are very welcome to your new home." The man who +hailed him was six feet two inches, deep-chested, erect--the West Point +figure; the face clean-shaven, ruddy, hazel-eyed, was radiant with the +honest feeling of desire to put this childlike boy at ease. + +The little gentleman needed no aid and replied, "My dear uncle, I cannot +sufficiently thank you." A little bow went with his words, and he +placidly accepted his aunt's embrace, while the hearty Miss Leila looked +on in silence. The boy's black suit, the short jacket, the neat black +tie, made the paleness of his thin large-featured face too obvious. Then +Leila took note of the court shoes and silk socks, and looked at Uncle +Jim to see what he thought. The Squire reserved what criticism he may +have had and asked cheerfully about the journey, Aunt Ann aiding him with +eager will to make the boy feel at home. He was quite enough at home. It +was all agreeable, these handsome relations and the other Penhallows on +the walls. He had been taught that which is good or ill as men use it, +pride of race, and in his capacity to be impressed by his surroundings +was years older than Leila. He felt sure that he would like it here at +Grey Pine, but was surprised to see no butler and to be waited on at +dinner by two neat little maids. + +When Ann Penhallow asked him about his schools and his life in Europe, he +became critical, and conversed about picture-galleries and foreign life +with no lack of accuracy, while the Squire listened smiling and Leila sat +dumb with astonishment as the dinner went on. He ate little and kept in +mind the endless lessons in regard to what he should or should not eat. +Meanwhile, he silently approved of the old silver and these well-bred +kinsfolk, with a reserve of doubt concerning his silent cousin. + +His uncle had at last his one glass of Madeira, and as they rose his aunt +said, "You may be tired, John; you ought to go to bed early." + +"It is not yet time," he said. "I always retire at ten o'clock." + +"He 'retires,'" murmured his uncle. "Come, Ann, we will leave Leila to +make friends with the new cousin. Try John at checkers, Leila. She +defeats me easily." + +"I--never saw any one could beat me at _jeu des dames_," said John. It +was a fine chance to get even with Leila for the humiliating adventures +of a not very flattering day. + +"Well, take care," said the Squire, not altogether amused. "Come, Ann." +Entering the large library room he closed the door, drew over it a +curtain, filled his pipe but did not light it, and sat down at the fire +beside his wife. + +"Well, James," she said, "did you ever see a better mannered lad, and so +intelligent?" + +"Never--nor any lad who has as good an opinion of his small self. He is +too young for his years, and in some ways too old. I looked him over a +bit. He is a mere scaffolding, a sickly-looking chap. He eats too little. +I heard him remark to you that potatoes disagreed with him and that he +never ate apples." + +"But, James, what shall we do with him? It is a new and a difficult +responsibility." + +"Do with him? Oh! make a man of him. Give him and Leila a week's holiday. +Turn him loose with that fine tom-boy. Then he must go to school to Mark +Rivers with Leila and those two young village imps, the doctor's boy and +Grace's, that precious young Baptist. They will do him good. When Mark +reports, we shall see further. That is all my present wisdom, Ann. Has +the _Tribune_ come? Oh! I see--it is on the table." + +Ann was still in some doubt and returned to the boy. "And where do I come +in?" + +"Feed the young animal and get the tailor in the village to make him some +warm rough clothes, and get him boots for the snow--and thick gloves--and +a warm ready-made overcoat." + +"I will. But, James, Leila will half kill him. He is so thin and pale. He +looks hardly older than she does." Then Ann rose, saying, "Well, we shall +see, I suppose you are right," and after some talk about the iron-works +left him to his pipe. + +When she returned to the hall, the two children were talking of +Europe--or rather Leila was listening. "Well," said the little lady, Ann +Penhallow, "how did the game go, John?" + +"I am rather out of practice," said John. Leila said nothing. He had been +shamefully worsted. "I think I shall go to bed," he remarked, looking at +his watch. + +"I would," she said. "There are the candles. There is a bathroom next to +you." + +He was tired and disgusted, but slept soundly. When at breakfast he said +that he was not allowed tea or coffee, he was fed with milk, to which +with hot bread and new acquaintance with griddle cakes he took kindly. +After breakfast he was driven to the village with his aunt and equipped +with a rough ready-made overcoat and high boots. He found the dress +comfortable, but not to his taste. + +When he came back, the Squire and Leila had disappeared and he was left +to his own devices. He was advised by his aunt to walk about and see the +stables and the horses. That any boy should not want to see the horses +was inconceivable in this household. He did go out and walk on the porch, +but soon went in chilled and sat down to lose himself in a book of polar +travel. He liked history, travel and biographies of soldiers, fearfully +desiring to have his own courage tested--a more common boy-wish than +might be supposed. He thought of it as he laid down the book and began to +inspect again the painted buffalo skins on the wall, letting his +imagination wander when once more he touched a Sioux tomahawk with its +grim adornment of scalp-locks. He was far away when he heard his aunt +say, "You were not out long, John. Did they show you the horses?" + +Shy and reserved in novel surroundings, he was rather too much at his +ease amid socially familiar things, and now said lightly that he had not +seen the stables. "Really, Aunt Ann, I prefer to read or to look at these +interesting Indian relics." + +"Ask your uncle about them," she said, "but you will find out that horses +are important in this household." She left him with the conviction that +James Penhallow was, on the whole, right as to the educational needs of +this lad. + +After lunch his uncle said, "Leila will show you about the place. You +will want to see the horses, of course, and the dogs." + +"And my guinea pigs," added Leila. + +He took no interest in either, and the dogs somewhat alarmed him. His +cousin, a little discouraged, led him away into the woods where the +ancient pines stood snow laden far apart with no intrusion between them +of low shrubbery. Leila was silent, half aware that he was hard to +entertain, and then mischievously wilful to give this indifferent cousin +a lesson. Presently he stood still, looking up at the towering cones of +the motionless pines. + +"How stately they are--how like old Vikings!" he said. His imagination +was the oldest mental characteristic of this over-guarded, repressed +boyhood. + +Leila turned, surprised. This was beyond her appreciative capacity. "Once +I heard Uncle Jim say something like that. He's queer about trees. He +talks to them sometimes just like that. There's the biggest pine over +there--I'll show it to you. Why! he will stop and pat it and say, 'How +are you?'--Isn't it funny?" + +"No, it isn't funny at all. It's--it's beautiful!" + +"You must be like him, John." + +"I--like him! Do you think so?" He was pleased. The Indian horseman of +the plains who could talk to the big tree began to be felt by the boy as +somehow nearer. + +"Let's play Indian," said Leila. "I'll show you." She was merry, intent +on mischief. + +"Oh! whatever you like." He was uninterested. + +Leila said, "You stand behind this tree, I will stand behind that one." +She took for herself the larger shelter. "Then you, each of us, get ready +this way a pile of snowballs. I say, Make ready! Fire! and we snowball +one another like everything. The first Indian that's hit, he falls down +dead. Then the other rushes at him and scalps him." + +"But," said John, "how can he?" + +"Oh! he just gives your hair a pull and makes believe." + +"I see." + +"Then we play it five times, and each scalp counts one. Now, isn't that +real jolly?" + +John had his doubts as to this, but he took his place and made some +snowballs clumsily. + +"Make ready! Fire!" cried Leila. The snowballs flew. At last, the girl +seeing how wildly he threw exposed herself. A better shot took her full +in the face. Laughing gaily, she dropped, "I'm dead." + +The game pleased him with its unlooked-for good luck. "Now don't stand +there like a ninny--scalp me," she cried. + +He ran to her side and knelt down. The widespread hair affected him +curiously. He touched it daintily, let it fall, and rose. "To pull at a +girl's hair! I couldn't do it." + +Leila laughed. "A good pull, that's how to scalp." + +"I couldn't," said John. + +"Well, you are a queer sort of Indian!" She was less merciful, but in the +end, to her surprise, he had three scalps. "Uncle Jim will laugh when I +tell him," she said. "Shall we go home?" + +"No, I want to see Uncle Jim's big tree." + +"Oh! he's only Uncle Jim to me. Aunt don't like it. He will tell you some +day to call him Uncle Jim. He says I got that as brevet rank the day my +mare refused the barnyard fence and pitched me off. I just got on again +and made her take it! That's why he's Uncle Jim." + +John became thoughtful about that brevet privilege of a remote future. He +had, however, persistent ways. "I want to see the big pine, Leila." + +"Oh! come on then. It's a long way. We must cut across." He followed her +remorselessly swift feet through the leafless bushes and drifts until +they came upon a giant pine in a wide space cleared to give the veteran +royal solitude. "That's him," cried Leila, and carelessly cast herself +down on the snow. + +The boy stood still in wonder. Something about the tree disturbed him +emotionally. With hands clasped behind his back, he stared up at its +towering heights. He was silent. + +"What's the matter? What do you see?" She was never long silent. He was +searching for a word. + +"It's solemn. I like it." He moved forward and patted the huge hole with +a feeling of reverence and affection. "I wish he could speak to us. How +are you, old fellow?" + +Leila watched him. As yet she had no least comprehension of this sense of +being kindred to nature. It is rare in youth. As he spoke, a little +breeze stirred the old fellow's topmost crest and a light downfall of +snow fell on the pair. Leila laughed, but the boy cried, "There! he has +answered. We are friends." + +"Now, if that isn't Uncle Jim all over. He just does make me laugh." + +John shook off the snow. "Let's go home," he said. He Was warm and red +with the exercise, and in high good-humour over his success. "Did you +never read a poem called 'The Talking Oak'? I had a tutor used to read it +to me." + +"Now, the idea of a tree talking!" she said. "No, I never heard of it. +Come along, we'll be late. That's funny about a tree talking. Can you +run?" + +They ran, but not far, because deep snow makes running hard. It was after +dark when they tramped on to the back porch. John's experience taught him +to expect blame for being out late. No one asked a question or made a +remark. He was ignored, to his amazement. Whether, as he soon learned, he +was in or out, wet or dry, seemed to be of no moment to any one, provided +he was punctual at meal-times. It was at first hard to realize the +reasonable freedom suddenly in his possession. The appearance of complete +want of interest in his health and what he did was as useful a moral +tonic as was for the body the educational out-of-doors' society of the +fearless girl, his aunt's niece whom he was told to consider as his +cousin. To his surprise, he was free to come and go, and what he or Leila +did in the woods or in the stables no one inquired. Aunt Ann uneasy would +have known all about them, but the Squire urged, that for a time, "let +alone" was the better policy. This freedom was so unusual, so +unreservedly complete, as to rejoice Leila, who was very ready to use the +liberty it gave. In a week the rector's school would shut them up for +half of the day of sunlit snow. Meanwhile, John wondered with interest +every morning where next those thin active young legs would lead him. + +The dogs he soon took to, when Leila's whistle called them,--a wild +troop, never allowed beyond the porch or in the house. For some occult +reason Mrs. Ann disliked dogs and liked cats, which roamed the house at +will and were at deadly feud with the stable canines. No rough weather +ever disturbed Leila's out-of-door habits, but when for two days a lazy +rain fell and froze on the snow, John declared that he could not venture +to get wet with his tendency to tonsilitis. As Leila refused indoor +society and he did not like to be left alone, he missed the gay and +gallant little lady, and still no one questioned him. On the third day at +breakfast Leila was wildly excited. The smooth ice-mailed snow shone +brilliant in the sunshine. + +"Coasting weather, Uncle Jim," Leila said. + +"First class," said her uncle. "Get off before the sun melts the crust." + +"Do be careful, dear," said Ann Penhallow, "and do not try the farm +hill." + +"Yes, aunt." The Squire exchanged signal glances with Leila over the +teacup he was lifting. "Come, John," she said. "No dogs to-day. It's just +perfect. Here's your sled." + +John had seen coasting in Germany and had been strictly forbidden so +perilous an amusement. As they walked over the crackling ice-cover of the +snow, he said, "Why do you want to sled, Leila? I consider it extremely +dangerous. I saw two persons hurt when we were in Switzerland." His +imagination was predicting all manner of disaster, but he had the moral +courage which makes hypocrisy impossible. From the hill crest John looked +down the long silvery slope and did not like it. "It's just a foolish +risk. Do you mean to slide down to that brook?" + +"Slide! We coast, we don't slide. I think you had better go back and tell +Uncle Jim you were afraid." + +He was furious. "I tell you this, Miss Grey--I am afraid--I have been +told--well, never mind--that--well---I won't say I'm not afraid--but I'm +more afraid of Uncle James than--than--of death." + +She stood still a moment as she faced him, the two pair of blue eyes +meeting. He was very youthful for his years and was near the possibility +of the tears of anger, and, too, the virile qualities of his race were +protesting forces in the background of undeveloped character. The sweet +girl face grew red and kinder. "I was mean, John Penhallow. I am sorry I +was rude." + +"No--no," he exclaimed, "it was I who was--was--ill-mannered. I--mean to +coast if I die." + +"Die," she laughed gaily. "Let me go first." + +"Go ahead then." She was astride of the sled and away down the long +descent, while he watched her swift flight. He set his teeth and was off +after her. A thrill of pleasure possessed him, the joy of swift movement. +Near the foot was an abrupt fall to a frozen brook and then a sharp +ascent. He rolled over at Leila's feet seeing a firmament of stars and +rose bewildered. + +"Busted?" cried Leila, who picked up the slang of the village boys to her +aunt's disgust. + +"I am not what you call busted," said John, "but I consider it most +disagreeable." Without a word more he left her, set out up the hill and +coasted again. He upset half-way down, rolled over, and got on again +laughing. This time somehow he got over the brook and turned crossly on +Leila with, "I hope now you are satisfied, Miss Grey." + +"You'll do, I guess," said she. "I just wondered if you would back out, +John. Let's try the other hills." He went after her vexed at her way of +ordering him about, and not displeased with John Penhallow and his new +experience in snatching from danger a fearful joy. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +The difficult lessons on the use of snow-shoes took up day after day, +until weary but at last eager he followed her tireless little figure far +into the more remote woods. "What's that?" he said. + +"I wanted you to see it, John." It was an old log cabin. "That's where +the first James Penhallow lived. Uncle Jim keeps it from tumbling to +pieces, but it's no use to anybody." + +"The first Penhallow," said John. "It must be very old." + +"Oh! I suppose so--I don't know--ask Uncle Jim. They say the Indians +attacked it once--that first James Penhallow and his wife fought them +till help came. I thought you would like to see it." + +He went in, kicking off his snow-shoes. She was getting used to his +silences, and now with some surprise at his evident interest followed +him. He walked about making brief remarks or eagerly asking questions. + +"They must have had loop-holes to shoot. Did they kill any Indians?" + +"Yes, five. They are buried behind the cabin. Uncle Jim set a stone to +mark the place." + +He made no reply. His thoughts were far away in time, realizing the +beleaguered cabin, the night of fear, the flashing rifles of his +ancestors. The fear--would he have been afraid? + +"When I was little, I was afraid to come here alone," said the girl. + +"I should like to come here at night," he returned. + +"Why? I wouldn't. Oh! not at night. I don't see what fun there would be +in that." + +"Then I would know--" + +"Know what, John? What would you know?" + +"Oh! no matter." He had a deep desire to learn if he would be afraid. +"Some day," he added, "I will tell you. Let's go home." + +"Are you tired?" + +"I'm half dead," he laughed as he slipped on his snow-shoes. + +A long and heavy rain cleared away the snow, and the more usual softness +of the end of November set in. Their holiday sports were over for a time, +to John's relief. On a Monday he went through the woods with Leila to the +rectory. Mark Rivers, who had only seen John twice, made him welcome. The +tall, thin, pale man, with the quiet smile and attentive grey eyes, made +a ready capture of the boy. There were only two other scholars, the sons +of the doctor and the Baptist preacher, lads of sixteen, not very +mannerly, rather rough country boys, who nudged one another and regarded +John with amused interest. In two or three days John knew that he was in +the care of an unusually scholarly man, who became at once his friend +and treated the lazy village boys and him with considerate kindliness. +John liked it. To his surprise, no questions were asked at home about the +school, and the afternoons were often free for lonely walks, when Leila +went away on her mare and John was at liberty to read or to do as best +pleased him. At times Leila bored him, and although with his well-taught +courteous ways he was careful not to show impatience, he had the +imaginative boy's capacity to enjoy being alone and a long repressed +curiosity which now found indulgence among people who liked to answer +questions and were pleased when he asked them. Very often, as he came +into easier relations with his aunt, he was told to take some query she +could not answer to Uncle James or the rector. A rather sensitive lad, he +soon became aware that his uncle appeared to take no great interest in +him, and, too, the boy's long cultivated though lessening reserve kept +them apart. Meanwhile, Ann watched with pleasure his gain in +independence, in looks and in appetite. While James Penhallow after his +game of whist at night growled in his den over the bitter politics of the +day, North and South, his wife read aloud to the children by the fireside +in her own small sitting-room or answered as best she could John's +questions, confessing ignorance at times or turning to books of +reference. It was not always easy to satisfy this restless young mind in +a fast developing body. "Were guinea pigs really pigs? What was the +hematite iron-ore his uncle used at the works?" Once he was surprised. He +asked one evening, "What was the Missouri Compromise?" He had read so +much about it in the papers. "Hasn't it something to do with slavery? +Aunt Ann, it must seem strange to own a man." His eager young ears had +heard rather ignorant talk of it from his mother's English friends. + +His aunt said quietly, "My people in Maryland own slaves, John. It is not +a matter for a child to discuss. The abolitionists at the North are +making trouble. It is a subject--we--I do not care to talk about." + +"But what is an abolitionist, aunt?" he urged. + +She laughed and said gaily, "I will answer no more conundrums; ask your +uncle." + +Leila who took no interest in politics fidgeted until she got her chance +when Mrs. Ann would not answer John. "I want to hear about that talking +oak, John." + +She was quicker than he to observe her aunt's annoyance, and Ann, glad to +be let off easily, found the needed book, and for a time they fell under +the charm of Tennyson, and then earlier than usual were sent to bed. + +The days ran on into weeks of school, and now there were snow-shoe tramps +or sleigh rides to see some big piece of casting at the forge, where +persistently-curious John did learn from some one what hematite was. The +life became to him steadily more and more pleasant as he shed with ease +the habits of an over regulated life, and living wholesome days prospered +in body and mind. + +Christmas was a disappointment to Leila and to him. There was an outbreak +of measles at Westways and there would be no carols, nor children +gathered at Grey Pine. Ann's usual bounty of toys was sent to the +village. John's present from his uncle was a pair of skates, and then +Leila saw a delightful chance to add another branch of education. Next +morning, for this was holiday-week, she asked if he would like to learn +to skate. They had gone early to the cabin and were lazily enjoying a +rest after a snow-shoe tramp. He replied, in an absent way, "I suppose I +may as well learn. How many Indians were there?" + +"I don't know. Who cares now?" + +"I do." + +"I never saw such a boy. You can't ride and you can't skate. You are just +good for nothing. You're just fit to be sold at a rummage-sale." + +He was less easily vexed than made curious. "What's a rummage-sale?" + +"Oh! we had one two years ago. Once in a while Aunt Ann says there must +be one, so she gathers up all the trash and Uncle Jim's old clothes (he +hates that), and the village people they buy things. And Mr. Rivers sells +the things at auction, you know--and oh, my! he was funny." + +"So they sell what no one wants. Then why does any one buy?" + +"I'm sure, I don't know." + +"I wonder what I would fetch, Leila?" + +"Not much," she said. + +"Maybe you're right." He had one of the brief boy-moods of +self-abasement. + +Leila changed quickly. "I'll bid for you," she said coyly. + +He laughed and looked up, surprised at this earliest indication of the +feminine. "What would you give?" he asked. + +"Well, about twenty-five cents." + +He laughed. "I may improve, Leila, and the price go up. Let us go and +learn to skate--you must teach me." + +"Of course," said Leila, "but you will soon learn. It's hard at first." + +At lunch, on Christmas day, John had thanked his uncle for the skates in +the formal way which Ann liked and James Penhallow did not. He said, "I +am very greatly obliged for the skates. They appear to me excellent." + +"What a confoundedly civil young gentleman," thought Penhallow. "I have +been thinking you must learn to skate. The pond has been swept clear of +snow." + +"Thank you," returned the boy, with a grin which his uncle thought odd. + +"Leila will teach you." + +John was silent, regarding his uncle with never dying interest, the +soldier of Indian battles, the perfect rider and good shot, adored in the +stables and loved, as John was learning, in all the country side. John +was in the grip of a boy's admiration for a realized ideal--the worship, +by the timid, of courage. Of the few things he did well, he thought +little; and an invalid's fears had discouraged rough games until he had +become like a timorous girl. He had much dread of horses, and was +alarmingly sure that he would some day be made to ride. Once in Paris he +had tried, had had a harmless accident and, willingly yielding to his +mother's fears, had tried no more. + +Late in the afternoon, Leila, with her long wake of flying hair, burst +into the Squire's den. "What the deuce is the matter?" asked +Penhallow. + +"Oh! Uncle Jim, he can skate like--like a witch. I couldn't keep near +him. He skated an 'L' for my name. Uncle Jim, he's a fraud." + +Penhallow knew now why the boy had grinned at him. "I think, Leila, he +will do. Where did he learn to skate?" + +"At Vevey, he says, on the Lake." + +"Yes, of Geneva." + +"Tom McGregor was there and Bob Grace. We played tag. John knows a way to +play tag on skates. You must chalk your right hand and you must mark with +it the other fellow's right shoulder. It must be jolly. We had no chalk, +but we are to play it to-morrow. Isn't it interesting, Uncle John?" + +Penhallow laughed. "Interesting, my dear? Oh! your aunt will be after you +with a stick." + +"Aunt Ann's--stick!" laughed Leila. + +"My dear Leila," he said gravely, "this boy has had all the manliness +coddled out of him, but he looks like his father. I have my own ideas of +how to deal with him. I suppose he will brag a bit at dinner." + +"He will not, Uncle Jim." + +"Bet you a pound of bonbons, Leila." + +"From town?" + +"Yes." + +"All right." + +"Can he coast? I did not ask you." + +"Well! pretty well," said Leila. For some unknown reason she was +unwilling to say more. + +"Doesn't the rector dine here, to-day, Leila?" + +"Yes, but--oh! Uncle Jim, we found a big hornets' nest yesterday on the +log cabin. They seemed all asleep. I told John we would fight them in the +spring." + +"And what did he say?" + +"He said: 'Did they sting?'--I said: 'That was the fun of it!'" + +"Better not tell your aunt." + +"No, sir. I'm an obedient little girl." + +"You little scamp! You were meant to be a boy. Is there anything you are +afraid of?" + +"Yes, algebra." + +"Oh! get out," and she fled. + +At dinner John said no word of the skating, to the satisfaction of Leila +who conveyed to her uncle a gratified sense of victory by some of the +signs which were their private property. + +Leaving the cousins to their game of chess, Penhallow followed his wife +and Mark Rivers into his library. "Well, Mark," he said, "you have had +this boy long enough to judge; it is time I heard what you think of him. +You asked me to wait. The youngster is rather reticent, and Leila is +about the only person in the house who really knows much about him. He +talks like a man of thirty." + +"I do not find him reticent," remarked Mrs. Ann, "and his manners are +charming--I wish Leila's were half as good." + +"Well, let's hear about him." + +"May I smoke?" asked the rector. + +"Anywhere but in my drawing-room. I believe James would like to smoke in +church." + +"It might have its consolations," returned Penhallow. + +"Thanks," said Rivers smiling. Neither man took advantage of her unusual +permission. "But you, Squire, have been closer than I to this interesting +boy. What do you make of him?" + +"He can't ride--he hardly knows a horse from a mule." + +"That's not his fault," said Mrs. Penhallow, "he's afraid of horses." + +"Afraid!" said her husband. "By George! afraid of horses." + +"He speaks French perfectly," said Mark Rivers. + +"He can't swim. I got that out of Leila. I understand he tried it once +and gave it up." + +"But his mother made him, James. You know Susan. She was as timid as a +house-fly for herself, and I suppose for him." + +"I asked him," said Rivers, "if he knew any Latin. He answered me in +Latin and told me that at Budapest where he was long at school the boys +had to speak Latin." + +"And the rest, Rivers. Is he well up in mathematics?" + +"No, he finds that difficult. But, upon my word, Squire, he is the most +doggedly persistent fellow I have ever had to teach and I handled many +boys when I was younger. I can take care of my side of the boy." + +"He can skate, James," said Mrs. Ann. + +"Yes, so I hear. I suppose that under Leila's care and a good out-of-door +life he will drop his girl-ways--but--" + +"But what, James?" + +"Oh! he has been taught that there is no shame in failure, no disgrace in +being afraid." + +"How do you know he is afraid, my dear James?" + +"Oh! I know." Leila's unwillingness to talk had given him some suspicion +of the truth. "Well, we shall see. He needs some rough boy-company. I +don't like to have the village boys alone with Leila, but when she has +John with her it may be as well to ask Dr. McGregor's son Tom to coast +and play with them." + +"He has no manners," said Mrs. Penhallow. + +"Then he may get some from John. He never will from Leila. I will take +care of the rest, Rivers. He has got to learn to ride." + +"You won't be too hard on him, James?" said his wife. + +"Not unless he needs it. Let us drop him." + +"Have you seen yesterday's papers?" asked Rivers. "Our politics, North +and South, look to me stormy." + +Penhallow shook his head at the tall rector. The angry strife of sections +and parties was the one matter he never discussed with Ann Penhallow. The +rector recalled it as he saw Mrs. Ann sit up and drop on her lap the +garment upon which her ever industrious hands were busy. Accepting +Penhallow's hint, Rivers said quickly, "But really there is nothing new," +and then, "Tom McGregor will certainly be the better for our little +gentleman's good manners, and he too has something to learn of Tom." + +"I should say he has," said Penhallow. + +"A little dose of West Point, I suppose," laughed Mrs. Ann. "It is my +husband's one ideal of education." + +"It must once, I fancy, have satisfied Ann Grey," retorted the Squire +smiling. + +"I reserve any later opinion of James Penhallow," she said laughing, and +gathering up her sewing bag left them, declaring that now they might +smoke. The two men rose, and when alone began at once to talk of the +coming election in the fall of 1856 and the endless troubles arising out +of the Fugitive Slave Act. + +The boy who had been the subject of their conversation was slowly +becoming used to novel surroundings and the influence they exerted. Ann +talked to him at times of his mother, but he had the disinclination to +speak of the dead which most children have, and had in some ways been +kept so much of a child as to astonish his aunt. Neither Leila nor any +one could have failed to like him and his gentle ways, and as between +him and the village boys she knew Leila preferred this clever, if too +timid, cousin. So far they had had no serious quarrels. When she rode +with the Squire, John wandered in the woods, enjoying solitude, and +having some appreciative relation to nature, the great pine woods, the +strange noises of the breaking ice in the river, the sunset skies. + +Among the village boys with whom at the rector's small school and in +the village John was thrown, he liked least the lad McGregor, who had +now been invited to coast or skate with the Grey Pine cousins. Tom had +the democratic boy-belief that very refined manners imply lack of some +other far more practical qualities, and thus to him and the Westways +boys John Penhallow was simply an absurd Miss Nancy kind of lad, and it +was long after the elders of the little town admired and liked him that +the boys learned to respect him. It was easy to see why the generous, +good-tempered and pleasant lad failed to satisfy the town boys. John had +been sedulously educated into the belief that he was of a class to which +these fellows did not belong, and of this the Squire had soon some +suspicion when, obedient as always, John accepted his uncle's choice of +his friend the doctor's son as a playmate. + +He was having his hair cut when Tom McGregor came into the shop of +Josiah, the barber. "Wait a minute," said John. "Are you through, Mr. +Josiah?" + +Tom grinned, "Got a handle to your name?" + +"Yes, because Master John is a gentleman." + +"Then I'll call you Mister too." + +"It won't ever make you Mister," said the barber, "that kind's born so." + +John disliked this outspoken expression of an opinion he shared. +"Nonsense," he said. "Come up, Tom, this afternoon. Don't forget the +muskrat traps, Mr. Josiah." + +"No, sir. Too early yet." + +"All right," returned Tom. "I'll come." + +March had come and the last snow still lay on the land when thus invited +Tom joined John and Leila in the stable-yard. "Let's play tag," cried +Leila. Tom was ready. + +"Here's a stick." They took hold of it in turn. Tom's hand came out on +top. "I'm tagger. Look out!" he cried. + +They played the game. At last he caught Leila, and crying out, "You're +tagged," seized her boy-cap and threw it up on to the steep slope of the +stable roof. + +"Oh! that's not fair," cried the girl. "You are a rude boy. Now you've +got to get it." + +"No, indeed. Get the stable-man to get it." + +She turned to John, "Please to get it." + +"How can I?" he said. + +"Go up inside--there's a trap door. You can slide down the snow and get +it." + +"But I might fall." + +"There's your chance," said Tom grinning. John stood, still irresolute. +Leila walked away into the stable. + +"She'll get a man," said Tom a little regretful of his rudeness, as she +disappeared. + +In a moment Leila was up in the hayloft and out on the roof. Spreading +out arms and thin legs she carefully let herself slide down the soft snow +until, seizing her cap, she set her feet on the roof gutter, crying out, +"Get a ladder quick." Alarmed at her perilous position, they ran and +called out a groom, a ladder was brought, and in a moment she was on the +ground. + +Leila turned on the two lads. "You are a coward, Tom McGregor, and you +too, John Penhallow. I never--never will play with you again." + +"It was just fun," said Tom; "any of the men could have poked it down." + +"Cowards," said the girl, tossing back her dark mass of hair and moving +away without a look at the discomfited pair. + +"I suppose now you will go and tell the Squire," said Tom. He was +alarmed. + +She turned, "I--a tell-tale!" Her child-code of conduct was imperative. +"I am neither a tell-tale nor a coward. 'Tell-tale pick a nail and hang +him to a cow's tail!'" and with this well-known declaration of her creed +of playground honour, she walked away. + +"She'll tell," said Tom. + +"She won't," said John. + +"Guess I'll go home," said Tom, and left John to his reflections. +They were most disagreeable. + +John went into the woods and sat down on a log. "So," he said aloud, "she +called me a coward--and I am--I was--I can't bear it. What would my uncle +say?" His eyes filled. He brushed away the tears with his sleeve. A +sudden remembrance of how good she had been to him, how loyally silent, +added to his distress. He longed for a chance to prove that he was not +that--that--Eager and yet distrustful, he got up and walked through the +melting snow to the cabin, where he lay on the floor thinking, a prey to +that fiend imagination, of which he had a larger share than is always +pleasant when excuses are needed. + +Leila was coldly civil and held her tongue, but for a few days would not +go into the woods with him and rode alone or with her uncle. Tom came no +more for a week, until self-assured that the Squire had not heard of his +behaviour, as he met him on the road with his usual hearty greeting. Ann +Penhallow saw that the boy was less happy than usual and suspected some +mild difficulty with Leila, but in her wise way said nothing and began to +use him for some of her many errands of helpfulness in the village and on +the farms, where always he made friends. Seeing at last that the boy was +too silent and to her eye unhappy, she talked of it to Mark Rivers. The +next day, after school, he said to John, "I want to see that old cabin in +the woods. Long as I have lived here I have never been that far. Come and +show me the way. I tried once to find it and got lost. We can have a +jolly good talk, you and I." + +The word of kindly approach was timely. John felt the invitation as a +compliment, and was singularly open to the approval his lessons won from +this gentle dark-eyed man. "Oh!" he said, "I should like that." + +After lunch, Leila, a little penitent, said with unwonted shyness, "The +woods are very nice to-day, and I found the first arbutus under the +snow." + +When John did not respond, she made a further propitiatory advance, "It +will soon be time for that hornets' nest, we must go and see." + +"What are you about?" said Mrs. Ann; "you will get stung." + +"Pursuit of natural history," said Penhallow smiling. + +"You are as bad as Leila, James." + +"Won't you come?" asked the girl at last. + +"Thank you. I regret that I have an engagement with Mr. Rivers," said +John, with the prim manner he was fast losing. + +"By George!" murmured Penhallow as he rose. + +John looked up puzzled, and his uncle, much amused, went to get his boots +and riding-dress. "Wait till I get you on a horse, my Lord Chesterfield," +he muttered. "He and Leila must have had a row. What about, I wonder." He +asked no questions. + +With a renewal of contentment and well-pleased, John called for the +rector. They went away into the forest to the cabin. + +"And so," said Rivers, "this is where the first Penhallow had his Indian +fight. I must ask the Squire." + +"I know about it," said John. "Leila told me, and"--he paused, "I saw +it." + +"Oh! did you? Let's hear." They lay down, and the rector lazily smoked. +"Well, go ahead, Jack, I like stories." He had early rechristened him +Jack, and the boy liked it. + +"Well, sir, they saw them coming near to dusk and ran. You see, it was a +clearing then; the trees have grown here since. That was at dusk. They +barred the door and cut loop-holes between the logs. Next morning the +Indians came on. She fired first, and she cried out, 'Oh! James, I've +killed a man.'" + +"She said that?" asked Rivers. + +"Yes, and she wouldn't shoot again until her man was wounded, then she +was like a raging lioness." + +"A lioness!" echoed Rivers. + +"By evening, help came." + +"How did you know all this?" + +"Oh! Leila told me some--and the rest--well, sir, I saw it. I've been +here often." + +The rector studied the excited young face. "Would you like to have been +there, Jack?" + +"No." + +"Why not?" + +"I should have been afraid, and--" Then quickly, "I suppose he was; she +was; any one would have been." + +"Like as not. He for her, most of all. But there are many kinds of fear, +Jack." + +John was silent, and the rector waited. Then the boy broke out, "Leila +told me last week I was a coward." + +"Indeed! Leila told you that! That wasn't like her, Jack. Why did she say +it?" + +This was a friendly hearer, whose question John had invited. To-day the +human relief of confession was great to the boy. He told the story, in +bits, carefully, as if to have it exact were essential. Mark Rivers +watched him through his pipe smoke, trying to think of what he could or +should say to this small soul in trouble. The boy was lying on the floor +looking up, his hands clasped behind his head. "That's all, sir. It's +dreadful." + +The young rector's directness of character set him on the right path. "I +don't know just what to say to you, Jack. You see, you have been taught +to be afraid of horses and dogs, of exposure to rain, and generally of +being hurt, until--Well, Jack, if your mother had not been an invalid, +she would not have educated you to fear, to have no joy in risks. Now you +are in more wholesome surroundings--and--in a little while you will +forget this small trouble." + +The young clergyman felt that in his puzzle he had been rather vague, and +added pleasantly, "You have the courage of truth. That's moral courage. +Tom would have explained or denied, or done anything to get out of the +scrape, if the Squire had come down on him. You would not." + +"Oh! thank you," said John. "I'm sorry I troubled you." + +"You did in a way; but you did not when you trusted a man who is your +friend. Let us drop it. Where are those Indian graves?" + +They went out and wandered in the woods, until John said, "Oh! this must +be that arbutus Leila talks about, just peeping out from under the snow." +They gathered a large bunch. + +"It is the first breath of the fragrance of spring," said Rivers. + +"Oh! yes, sir. How sweet it is! It does not grow in Europe." + +"No, we own it with many other good and pleasant things." + +When they came to the house, Leila was dismounting after her ride. John +said, "Here Leila, I gathered these for you." + +When she said, "Thank you, John," he knew by her smiling face that he was +forgiven, and without a word followed her into the hall, still pursued by +the thought; but I was afraid. He put aside this trouble for a time, and +the wood sports with Leila were once more resumed. What thought of his +failure the girl still kept in mind, if she thought of it at all, he +never knew, or not for many days. He had no wish to talk of it, but +fearfully desired to set himself right with her and with John Penhallow. + +One day in early April she asked him to go to the stable and order her +horse. He did so, and alone with an unpleasant memory, in the stable-yard +he stood still a moment, and then with a sudden impulse threw his cap up +on to the roof. He took a moment to regret it, and then saying, "I've got +to do it!" he went into the stable and out of the hay-loft on to the +sloping roof. He did not dare to wait, but let himself slide down the +frozen snow, seized his cap, and knew of a sudden that the smooth +ice-coating was an unsuspected peril. He rolled over on his face, +straightened himself, and slid to the edge. He clutched the gutter, hung +a moment, and dropped some fifteen feet upon the hard pavement. For a +moment the shock stunned him. Then, as he lay, he was aware of Billy, +who cried, "He's dead! he's dead!" and ran to the house, where he met +Mrs. Ann and Leila on the porch. "He's killed--he's dead!" + +"Who? Who?" they cried. + +"Mr. John, he's dead!" + +As Billy ran, the dead got his wits about him, sat up, and, hearing Billy +howling, got on his feet. His hands were torn and bleeding, but he was +not otherwise damaged. He ran after Billy, and was but a moment behind +him. + +Mrs. Ann was shaking the simple fellow, vainly trying to learn what had +happened. Leila white to the lips was leaning against a pillar. John +called out, "I'm all right, aunt. I had a fall--and Billy, do hold your +tongue." + +Billy cried, "He's not dead!" and fled as he had come. + +"My poor boy," said Mrs. Ann, "sit down." He gladly obeyed. + +At this moment James Penhallow came downstairs. "What's all this row +about, Ann? I heard Billy--Oh, so you're the dead man, John. How did you +happen to die?" + +"I fell off the stable roof, sir." + +"Well, you got off easily." He asked no other questions, to John's +relief, but said, "Your hands look as if you had fought our big tom-cat." + +John had risen on his uncle's approach. Now Penhallow said, "Sit +down. Put some court-plaster on those scratches, Ann, or a postage +stamp--or--so--Come, Leila, the horses are here. Run upstairs and get +my riding-whip. That fool brought me down in a hurry. When the chimney +took fire last year he ran through the village yelling that the house +was burned down. Don't let your aunt coddle you, John." + +"Do let the boy alone, James." + +"Come, Leila," he said. + +"I think I won't ride to-day, Uncle Jim." + +A faint signal from his wife sent him on his way alone with, "All right, +Leila. Any errands, my dear?" + +"No--but please call at the grocer's and ask him why he has sent no +sugar--and tell Mrs. Saul I want her. If Pole is in, you might mention +that when I order beef I do not want veal." + +While John was being plastered and in dread of the further questions +which were not asked, Leila went upstairs, and the Squire rode away to +the iron-works smiling and pleased. "He'll do," he murmured, "but what +the deuce was my young dandy doing on the roof?" The Captain had learned +in the army the wisdom of asking no needless questions. "Leila must have +been a pretty lively instructor in mischief. By and by, Ann will have it +out of the boy, and--I must stop that. Now she will be too full of +surgery. She is sure to think Leila had something to do with it." He saw +of late that Ann was resolute as to what to him would be a sad loss. +Leila was to be sent to school before long--accomplishments! "Damn +accomplishments! I have tried to make a boy out of her--now the +inevitable feminine appears--she was scared white--and the boy was pretty +shaky. I am sure Leila will know all about it." That school business had +already been discussed with his wife, and then, he thought, "There is to +come a winter in the city, society, and--some nice young man, and so +good-bye, my dear comrade. Get up, Brutus." He dismissed his cares as the +big bay stretched out in a gallop. + +After some surgical care, John was told to go to his room and lie down. +He protested that he was in no need of rest, but Ann Penhallow, positive +in small ways with every one, including her husband, sent John away with +an imperative order, nor on the whole was he sorry to be alone. No one +had been too curious. He recognized this as a reasonable habit of the +family. And Leila? He was of no mind to be frank with her; and this he +had done was a debt paid to John Penhallow! He may not have so put it, +but he would not admit to himself that Leila's contemptuous epithet had +had any influence on his action. The outcome was a keen sense of happy +self-approval. When he had dressed for dinner, feeling pretty sore all +over, he found Leila waiting at the head of the stairs. + +"John Penhallow, you threw your cap on the roof and went up to get it, +you did." + +"I did, Leila, but how did you know?" + +She smiled and replied, "I--I don't know, John. I am sorry for what I +said, and oh! John, Uncle Jim, he was pleased!" + +"Do you think so?" + +"Yes." She caught his hand and at the last landing let it fall. At +dinner, the Squire asked kindly: "Are you all right, my boy?" + +"Yes, sir," and that was all. + +Mark Rivers, who had heard of this incident from Mrs. Penhallow, and at +last from Leila, was alone in a position to comprehend the motives which +combined to bring about an act of rashness. The rector had some sympathy +with the boy and liked him for choosing a time when no one was present +to witness his trial of himself. He too had the good sense like the +Squire to ask no questions. + +Meanwhile, Tom McGregor came no more, feeling the wound to his pride, but +without the urgent need felt by John to set himself in a better position +with himself. He would have thought nothing of accepting Leila's +challenge, but very much wanted to see the polite girl-boy brought to +shame. In fact, even the straightforward Squire, with all his ready +cordiality, at times found John's extreme politeness ridiculous at his +age, but knew it to be the result of absurd training and the absence +of natural association with other and manly boys. To Tom it was +unexplained and caused that very common feeling of vague suspicion of +some claim to superiority which refined manners imply to those who lack +manners altogether. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +April passed, the arbutus fragrance was gone, while the maples were +putting forth ruddy buds which looked like a prophecy of the distant +autumn and made gay with colour the young greenery of spring. Meanwhile, +school went on, and John grew stronger and broader in this altogether +wholesome atmosphere of outdoor activity and indoor life of kindness and +apparently inattentive indifference on the part of his busy uncle. + +On an evening late in May, 1856 (John long remembered it), the Squire as +usual left their little circle and retired to the library, where he +busied himself over matters involving business letters, and then fell to +reading in the _Tribune_ the bitter politics of Fremont's contest with +Buchanan and the still angry talk over Brooks's assault on Senator +Sumner. He foresaw defeat and was with cool judgment aware of what the +formation of the Republican Party indicated in the way of trouble to +come. The repeal of the Missouri Compromise had years before disturbed +his party allegiance, and now no longer had he been able to see the grave +question of slavery as Ann his wife saw it. He threw aside the papers, +set his table in order, and opening the door called John to come in and +pay him a visit. The boy rose surprised. Never once had this +over-occupied man talked to him at length and he had never been set free +to wander in the tempting wilderness of books, which now and then when +James Penhallow was absent were remorselessly dusted by Mrs. Ann and the +maid, with dislocating consequences over which James Penhallow growled in +belated protest. + +John went in, glanced up at the Captain's sword over the mantelpiece, and +sat down as desired by the still-needed fire. + +"John," said his uncle in his usual direct way, "have you ever been on +the back of a horse?" + +"Yes, sir, once--in Paris at a riding-school." + +"Once! You said 'once'--well?" + +"I fell off--mother was with me." + +"And you got on again?" + +"No, sir." + +"Why not?" + +John flushed and hesitated, watched by the dark-eyed Squire. "I was +afraid!" He would not say that his mother forbade it. + +"What is your name?" + +"John, sir," he returned astonished. + +"And the rest--the rest, sir," added his uncle abruptly. + +John troubled by the soldier's impatient tones said: "Penhallow, sir." He +was near to a too emotional display. + +"And you, John Penhallow, my brother's son, were afraid?" + +"I was." It was only in part true. His mother had forbidden the master to +remount him. + +"By George!" said Penhallow angrily, "I don't believe you, I can't!" + +John rose, "I may be a coward, Uncle James, but I never lie." + +Penhallow stood up, "I beg your pardon, John." + +"Oh! no, Uncle James. I--please not." He felt as if the tall soldier was +humiliating himself, but could not have put it in words. + +"I was hasty, my boy. You must, of course, learn to ride. By the way, do +you ever read the papers?" + +"Not often, sir--hardly ever. They are kept in your library or Aunt +Ann's." + +"Well, it is time you did read them. Come in here when you want to be +alone--or any time. You won't bother me. Take what books you want, and +ask me about the politics of the day. The country is going to the devil, +but don't discuss this election with your aunt." + +"No, sir." He had gathered from the rector enough to make him understand +the warning. + +John went out with the idea that this business of learning to ride was +somewhere in the future. He was a little disturbed when the next day +after breakfast his uncle said, "Come, John, the horses are in the +training-ring." + +Mrs. Ann said, "James, if you are going to apply West Point riding-school +methods to John, I protest." + +"Then protest, my dear," he said. + +"You will kill him," she returned. + +"My dear Ann, I am not going to kill him, I am going to teach him to +live. Come, John. I am going to teach him to ride." Raising horses was +one of the Squire's amusements, and the training-course where young +horses were broken usually got an hour of his busy day. + +"May I come?" asked Leila. + +"Please, not," said John, anticipating disaster and desiring no amused +spectators. + +"In a week or so, yes, Leila," said Penhallow, "not now." + +There were two stable-boys waiting and a pony long retired on grassy +pension. "Now," said Penhallow, "put a foot on my knee and up you go." + +"But, there's no saddle." + +"There are two. The Lord of horses put one on the back of a horse and +another under a man. Up! sir." John got on. "Grip him with your legs, +hold on to the mane if you like, but not by the reins." The pony feeling +no urgency to move stood still and nibbled the young grass. A smart tap +of the Squire's whip started him, and John rolled off. + +"Come, sir, get on." The boys from the stable grinned. John set his +teeth. "Don't stiffen yourself. That's better." + +He fell once again, and at the close of an hour his uncle said, "There +that will do for to-day, and not so bad either." + +"I'd like to try it again, sir," gasped John. + +"You young humbug," laughed Penhallow. "Go and console your distracted +aunt. I am off to the mills." + +The ex-captain was merciless enough, and day after day John was so stiff +that, as he confessed to Leila, a jointed doll was a trifle to his +condition. She laughed, "I went through it once, but one day it came." + +"What came, Leila?" + +"Oh! the joy of the horse!" + +"I shall never get to that." But he did, for the hard riding-master +scolded, smiled, praised, and when at last John sat in the saddle the +bareback lessons gave him a certain confidence. The training went on day +after day, under the rule of patient but relentless efficiency. It was +far into June when, having backed without serious misadventures two or +three well-broken horses, Penhallow mounted him on Leila's mare, Lucy, +and set out to ride with him. + +"Let us ride to the mills, John." The mare was perfectly gaited and easy. +They rode on, talking horses. + +"You will have to manage the mills some day," said Penhallow. "You own +quite a fifth of them. Now I have three partners, but some day you and I +will run them." The boy had been there before with Rivers, but now the +Squire presented him to the foreman and as they moved about explained the +machinery. It was altogether delightful, and this was a newly discovered +uncle. On the way home the Squire talked of the momentous November +elections and of his dread of the future with Buchanan in power, while he +led the way through lanes and woods until they came to the farm. + +"We will cross the fields," he said, and dismounting took down the upper +bars of a fence. Then he rode back a little, and returning took the low +fence, crying, "Now, John, sit like a sack--loosely. The mare jumps like +a frog; go back a bit. Now, then, give her her head!" For a moment he was +in the air as his uncle cried, "You lost a stirrup. Try it again. Oh! +that was better. Now, once more, come," and he was over at Penhallow's +side. He had found the joy of the horse! "A bit more confidence and +practice and you will do. I want you to ride Venus. She shies at a +shadow--at anything black. Don't forget that." + +"Oh, thank you, Uncle James!" + +"It is Uncle Jim now, my boy. I knew from the first you would come out +all right. I believe in blood--horses and men. I believe in blood." This +was James Penhallow all over. A reticent man, almost as tenderly trustful +as a woman, of those who came up to his standards of honour, truth and +the courage which rightly seemed to him the backbone of all the virtues. + +What John thought may be readily imagined. Accustomed to be considered +and flattered, his uncle's quiet reserve had seemed to him disappointing, +and now of late this abrupt praise and accepting comradeship left the +sensitive lad too grateful for words. The man at his side was wise enough +to say no more, and they rode home and dismounted without further speech. + +After dinner John sought a corner with Leila, where he could share with +her his new-born enthusiasm about horses. The Squire called to the rector +and Mrs. Ann to come into his library. "Sit down, Mark," he said, "I am +rash to invite you; both you and Ann bore me to death with your Sunday +schools and the mill men who won't come to church. I don't hear our +Baptist friend complain." + +"But he does," said Rivers. + +"I do not wonder," said Ann, "that they will not attend the chapel." + +"If," said Penhallow, "you were to swap pulpits, Mark, it would draw. +There are many ways--oh, I am quite in earnest, Ann. Don't put on one of +your excommunicating looks. I remember once in Idaho at dusk, I had two +guides. They were positive, each of them, that certain trails would lead +to the top. I tossed up which to go with. It was pretty serious--Indians +and so on--I'll tell you about it some time, rector. Well, we met at dawn +on the summit. How about the moral, Ann?" + +Ann Penhallow laughed. In politics, morals and religion, she held +unchanging sentiments. "My dear James, people who make fables supply the +morals. I decline." + +"Very good, but you see mine." + +"I never see what I do not want to see," which was pretty close to the +truth. + +"The fact is," said Rivers, "I have preaccepted the Squire's hint. Grace +is sick again. I tell him it is that last immersion business. I have +promised to preach for him next Sunday, as your young curate at the mills +wants to air his eloquence here." + +"Not really!" said Mrs. Ann, "at his chapel?" + +"Yes, and I mean to use a part of our service." + +"If the Bishop knew it." + +"If! he would possibly forbid it, or be glad I did it." + +Mrs. Ann totally disapproved. She took up her knitting and said no more, +while Rivers and Penhallow talked of a disturbance at the works of no +great moment. The rector noticed Mrs. Penhallow's sudden loss of interest +in their talk and her failure to comment on his statement, an unusual +thing with this woman, who, busy-minded as the bee, gathered honey of +interest from most of the affairs of life. In a pause of the talk he +turned to her, "I am sorry to have annoyed you," he said--"I mean about +preaching for Grace." + +"But why do you do it?" + +"Because," he returned, "my Master bids me. Over and over one finds in +His Word that he foreknew how men would differ and come to worship Him +and use His revelations in ways which would depend on diversity of +temperaments, or under the leadership of individual minds of great force. +It may be that it was meant that we should disagree, and yet--I--yet +as to essentials we are one. That I never can forget." + +"Then," she said quickly, "you are of many creeds." + +"No and yes," he returned smiling. "In essentials yes, in ceremonial +usage no; in some other morsels of belief held by others charitably +dubious--I dislike argument about religion in the brief inadequateness of +talk--especially with you from whom I am apt to differ and to whom I owe +so much--so very much." + +She took up her knitting again as she said, "I am afraid the balance of +debt is on our side." + +"Then," said Penhallow, who, too, disliked argument on religion, "if you +have got through with additions to the useless squabbles of centuries, +which hurt and never help, I--" + +"But," broke in his wife, "I have had no answer." + +"Oh, but you have, Ann; for me, Rivers is right." + +"Then I am in a minority of one," she returned, "but I have not had my +say." + +"Well, dear, keep it for next time. Now I want, as I said, a little +counsel about John." + +"And about Leila, James. Something has got to be done." + +The Squire said ruefully, "Yes, I suppose so. I do not know that anything +needs to be done. You saw John's condition before dinner. He had a +swollen nose and fair promise of a black eye. I asked you to take no +notice of it. I wanted first to hear what had happened. I got Leila on +the porch and extracted it by bits. It seems that Tom was rude to Leila." + +"I never liked your allowing him to play with the children, James." + +"But the boy needs boy-company." + +"And what of Leila? She needs girl-company." + +"I fear," said Rivers, "that may be the case." + +"It is so," said Mrs. Ann decisively, pleased with his support. "What +happened, James?" + +"I did not push Leila about what Tom did. John slapped his face and got +knocked down. He got up and went at Tom like a wildcat. Tom knocked him +down again and held him. He said that John must say he had had enough." + +"He didn't," said Rivers, "I am sure he didn't." + +"No, Mark, he said he would die first, which was what he should have +said. Then Billy had the sense to pull the big boy off, and as Leila was +near tears I asked no more questions. It was really most satisfactory." + +"How can you say that?" said his wife. "It was brutal." + +"You do not often misunderstand me, Ann. I mean, of course, that our boy +did the right thing. How does it strike you, Mark?" + +He had a distinct intention to get the rector into trouble. "Not this +time, Squire," and he laughed. "The boy did what his nature bade him. Of +course, being a nice little boy, he should have remonstrated. There are +several ways--" + +"Thanks," said Penhallow. "Of course, Ann, the playing with Tom will end. +I fancy there is no need to interfere." + +"He should be punished for rudeness to Leila," said Mrs. Penhallow. + +"Oh, well, he's a rough lad and like enough sorry. How can I punish him +without making too much of a row." + +"You are quite right, as I see it," said Rivers. "Let it drop; but, +indeed, it is true that Leila should have other than rough lads as +school-companions." + +"Oh, Lord! Rivers." + +"I am glad to agree with you at least about one thing," said Mrs. +Penhallow. "In September John will be sixteen, and Leila a year or so +younger. She is now simply a big, daring, strong boy." + +"If you think that, Ann, you are oddly mistaken." + +"I am," she said; "I was. It was only one end of my reasons why she must +go to school. Before John came and when we had cousins here--girls, she +simply despised them or led them into dreadful scrapes." + +"Well, Ann, we will talk it over another time." + +Rivers smiled and Ann Penhallow went out, longing to attend to the +swollen face now bent low over a book. The two men she left smoked in +such silence as is one of the privileges of friendship. At last Penhallow +said, "Of course, Mark, my wife is right, but I shall miss the girl. My +wife cannot ride with me, and now I am to lose Leila. After school come +young men. Confound it, rector, I wish the girl had less promise of +beauty--of--well, all the Greys have it--attractiveness for our sex. Some +of them are fools, but they have it all the same, and they keep it to the +end. What is most queer about it is that they are not easily won. The men +who trouble hearts for a game do not win these women." + +"Some one will suffer," said Rivers reflectively. He wondered if the +wooing of Ann Grey by this masterful man had been a long one. A moment he +gave to remembrance of his own long and tender care of the very young +wife he had won easily and seen fade with terrible slowness as her life +let fall its joys as it were leaf by leaf, with bitter sense of losing +the fair heritage of youth. Now he said, "Were all these women, Squire, +who had the gift of bewitchment, good?" + +"No, now and then hurtful, or honest gentlewomen, or like Ann Grey too +entirely good for this wicked world--" + +"As Westways knows," said Rivers, thinking how the serene beauty of a +life of noble ways had contributed spiritual charm to whatever Ann +Penhallow had of attractiveness. "But," he went on, "Leila cannot go +until the fall, and you will still have the boy. I had my doubts of your +method of education, but it has worked well. He has a good mind and is so +far ahead of his years in education that he will be ready for college too +early." + +"Well, I hate to think of these changes. He must learn to box." + +"Another physical virtue to be added," laughed Rivers. + +"Yes, he must learn to face these young country fellows." After a brief +pause he added, "I am looking forward to Buchanan's nomination and +election, Mark, with anxiety. Both North and South are losing temper." + +"Yes, but shall you vote for him? I presume you have always been a +Democrat, more or less--less of late." + +"I shall vote for Fremont if he is nominated; not wholly a wise choice. I +am tired of what seems like an endless effort North and South, to add +more exasperations. It will go on and on. Each section seems to want to +make the other angry." + +"It is not Mrs. Penhallow's opinion, I fear. The wrongdoing is all on our +side." + +Said the Squire gravely, "That is a matter, Mark, we never now +discuss--the one matter. Her brothers in Maryland, are at odds. One at +least is bitter, as I gather from their letters." + +"Well, after the election things will quiet down, as usual." + +"They will not, Mark. I know the South. Unhappily they think we live by +the creed of day-book and ledger. We as surely misunderstand them, and +God alone knows what the future holds for us." + +This was unusual talk for Penhallow. He thought much, but talked little, +and his wife's resolute attitude of opinions held from youth was the one +trouble of an unusually happy life. + +"We can only hope for the best," said Rivers. "Time is a great +peacemaker." + +"Or not," returned his host as Rivers rose. "Just a word, Mark, before +you go. I am desirous that you should not misunderstand me in regard to +my politics. I see that slavery is to be more and more in question. My +own creed is, 'let it alone, obey the laws, return the runaways,--oh! +whether you like it or not,--but no more slave territory.' And for me, my +friend, the States are one country and above all else, above slave +questions, is that of an unbroken union. I shall vote for Fremont. I +cannot go to party meetings and speak for him because, Mark, I am in +doubt about the man, and because--oh! you know." + +Yes, he knew more or less, but knowing did not quite approve. The Squire +of Grey Pine rarely spoke at length, but now he longed, as he gave some +further clue to his reticence, to make public a political creed which was +not yet so fortified by the logic of events as to be fully capable of +defence. + +"The humorous side of it," he said, "is that my very good wife has been +doing some pretty ardent electioneering while I am sitting still, because +to throw my weight into the local contest would oblige me to speak out +and declare my whole political religion of which I am not quite secure +enough to talk freely." + +The young rector looked at his older friend, who was uneasy between his +uncertain sense of duty and his desire not to go among people at the +mills and in the town and struggle with his wife for votes. + +"I may, Mark, I may do no more than let it be known how I shall vote. +That is all. It will be of use. I could wish to do more. I think that +here and at the mills the feeling is rather strong for Buchanan, but why +I cannot see." + +Mrs. Ann had been really active, and her constant kindness at the mills +and in the little town gave to her wishes a certain influential force +among these isolated groups of people who in their remoteness had not +been disturbed by the aggressive policy of the South. + +"Of course, Mark, my change of opinion will excite remark. Whoever wins, +I shall be uneasy about the future. Must you go? Good-night." + +He went to the hall door with the rector, and then back to his pipe, +dismissing the subject for the time. On his return, he found John in the +library looking at the sword hanging over the mantelpiece. "Well, Jack," +he said, "a penny for your thoughts." + +"Oh; I was thinking what the sword had seen." + +"I hope it will see no more, but it may--it may. Now I want to say a word +to you. You had a fight with Tom McGregor and got the worst of it." + +"I did." + +"I do not ask why. You seem to have shown some pluck." + +"I don't know, uncle. I was angry, and I just slapped his face. He +deserved it." + +"Very well, but never slap. I suppose that is the French schoolboy way of +fighting. Hit hard--get in the first blow." + +"Yes, sir. I hadn't a chance." + +"You must take my old cadet boxing-gloves from under the sword. I have +spoken to Sam, the groom. I saw him last year in a bout with the +butcher's boy. After he has knocked you about for a month, you will be +better able to take care of the Penhallow nose." + +"I shall like that." + +"You won't, but it will help to fill out your chest." Then he laughed, +"Did you ever get that cane?" + +"No, sir. Billy found it. Leila gave him twenty-five cents for it, and +now she won't give it to me." + +"Well, well, is that so? The ways of women are strange." + +"I don't see why she keeps it, uncle." + +"Nor I. Now go to bed, it is late. She is a bit of a tease, John. Mark +Rivers says she is now just one half of the riddle called woman." + +John understood well enough that he was some day expected by his uncle to +have it out with Tom. He got two other bits of advice on this matter. The +rector detained him after school, a few days later. "How goes the +swimming, John?" he asked. + +The Squire early in the summer had taken this matter in hand, and as Ann +Penhallow said, with the West Point methods of kill or cure. John replied +to the rector that he was now given leave to swim with the Westways boys. +The pool was an old river-channel, now closed above, and making a quiet +deep pool such as in England is called a "backwater" and in Canada +a "bogan." The only access was through the Penhallow grounds, but this +was never denied. + +"Does Tom McGregor swim there?" asked Rivers. + +"Yes, and the other boys. It is great fun now; it was not at first." + +"About Tom, John. I hope you have made friends with him." + +Said John, with something of his former grown-up manner, "It appears to +me that we never were friends. I regret, sir, that it seems to you +desirable." + +"But, John, it is. For two Christian lads like you to keep up a +quarrel--" + +"He's a heathen, sir. I told him yesterday that he ought to apologize to +Leila." + +"And what did he say?" + +"He said, he guessed I wanted another licking. That's the kind of +Christian he is." + +"I must speak to him." + +"Oh, please not to do that! He will think I am afraid." Here were the +Squire and Rivers on two sides of this question. + +"Are you afraid, John? You were once frank with me about it." + +"I do not think, Mr. Rivers, you ought to ask me that." He drew up his +figure as he spoke. + +The rector would have liked to have whistled--a rare habit with him when +alone and not in one of his moods of depression. He said, "I beg your +pardon, John," and felt that he had not only done no good, but had made a +mistake. + +John said, "I am greatly obliged, sir." When half-way home he went back +and met Rivers at his gate. + +"Well," said the rector, "left anything?" + +"No, sir," said the boy, his young figure stiffening, his head up. +"I wasn't honest, sir." And again with his old half-lost formal way, +"I--I--you might have thought--I wasn't--quite honourable. I mean--I'll +never be able to forgive that blackguard until I can--can get even with +him. You see, sir?" + +"Yes, I see," said Rivers, who did not see, or know for a moment what +to say. "Well, think it over, John. He is more a rough cub than a +blackguard. Think it over." + +"Yes, sir," and John walked away. + +The rector looked after the boy thinking--he's the Squire all over, with +more imagination, a gentleman to the core. But how wonderfully changed, +and in only eight months. + +John was now, this July, allowed to ride with Leila when his uncle was +otherwise occupied. He had been mounted on a safe old horse and was not +spared advice from Leila, who enjoyed a little the position of mistress +of equestrianism. She was slyly conscious of her comrade's mildly +resentful state of mind. + +"Don't pull on him so hard, John. The great thing is to get intimate with +a horse's mouth. He's pretty rough, but if you wouldn't keep so stiff, +you wouldn't feel it." + +John began to be a little impatient. "Let us talk of something else than +horses. I got a good dose of advice yesterday from Uncle Jim. I am afraid +that you will be sent to school in the fall. I hate schools. You'll have +no riding and snowballing, and I shall miss you. You see, I was never +friends with a girl before." + +"Uncle Jim would never let me go." + +"But Aunt Ann?" he queried. "I heard her tell Mr. Rivers that you must +go. She said that you were too old, or would be, for snowballing and +rough games and needed the society of young ladies." + +"Young ladies!" said Leila scornfully. "We had two from Baltimore year +before last. I happened to hit one of them in the eye with a snowball, +and she howled worse than Billy when he plays bear." + +"Oh, you'll like it after a while," he said, with anticipative wisdom, +"but I shall be left to play with Tom. I want you to miss me. It is too +horrid." + +"I shall miss you; indeed, I shall. I suppose I am only a girl, but I +won't forget what you did when that boy was rude. I used to think once +you were like a girl and just afraid. I never yet thanked you," and she +leaned over and laid a hand for a moment on his. "I believe you wouldn't +be afraid now to do what I dared you to do." + +He laughed. There had been many such dares. "Which dare was it, Leila?" + +"Oh, to go at night--at night to the Indian graves. I tried it once and +got half way--" + +"And was scalped all the way back, I suppose." + +"I was, John. Try it yourself." + +"I did, a month after I came." + +"Oh! and you never told me." + +"No, why should I?" + +It had not had for him the quality of bodily peril. It was somehow far +less alarming. He had started with fear, but was of no mind to confess. +They rode on in silence, until at last she said. "I hope you won't fight +that boy again." + +"Oh," he said, "I didn't mind it so very much." + +She was hinting that he would again be beaten. "But I minded, John. I +hated it." + +He would say no more. He had now had, as concerned Tom, three advisers. +He kept his own counsel, with the not unusual reticence of a boy. He did +not wish to be pitied on account of what he did not consider defeat, and +wanted no one to discuss it. He was better pleased when a week later the +English groom talked to him after the boxing-lesson. "That fellow, Tom, +told me about your slapping him. He said that he didn't want to lick you +if you hadn't hit him." + +"It's not a thing I want to talk about, Sam. I had to hit him and I +didn't know how; that's all. Put on the gloves again." + +"There, that'll do, sir. You're light on your pins, and he's sort of +slow. If you ever have to fight him, just remember that and keep cool and +keep moving." + +The young boxing-tutor was silently of opinion that John Penhallow would +not be satisfied until he had faced Tom again. John made believe, as we +say, that he had no such desire. He had, however, long been caressed and +flattered into the belief that he was important, and was, in his uncle's +army phrase, to be obeyed and respected accordingly by inferiors. His +whole life now for many months had, however, contributed experiences +contradictory to his tacitly accepted boy-views. Sometimes in youth the +mental development and conceptions of what seem desirable in life appear +to make abrupt advances without apparent bodily changes. More wholesomely +and more rarely at the plastic age characteristics strengthen and mind +and body both gather virile capacity. When John Penhallow met his cousin +on his first arrival, he was in enterprise, vigour, general good sense +and normal relation to life, really far younger than Leila. In knowledge, +mind and imagination, he was far in advance. In these months he had +passed her in the race of life. He felt it, but in many ways was also +dimly aware that Leila was less expressively free in word and action, +sometimes to his surprise liking to be alone at the age when rare moods +of mild melancholy trouble the time of rapid female florescence. There +was still between them acceptance of equality, with on his part a certain +growth of respectful consideration, on hers a gentle perception of his +gain in manliness and of deference to his experience of a world of which +she knew as yet nothing, but with some occasional resentment when the +dominating man in the boy came to the surface. When his aunt praised his +manners, Leila said, "He isn't always so very gentle." When his uncle +laughed at his awkward horsemanship, she defended him, reminding her +uncle, to his amusement, of her own early mishaps. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +John's intimacy with the Squire prospered. Leila had been a gay comrade, +but not as yet so interested as to tempt him to discussion of the +confusing politics of the day. "She has not as yet a seeking mind," said +the rector, who in the confessional of the evening pipe saw more and more +plainly that this was a divided house. The Squire could not talk politics +with Ann, his wife. She held a changeless belief in regard to slavery, a +conviction of its value to owner and owned too positive to be tempted +into discussing it with people who knew so little of it and did not +agree with her. James Penhallow, like thousands in that day of grim +self-questioning, had been forced to reconsider opinions long held, and +was reaching conclusions which he learned by degrees made argument with +the simplicity of his wife's political creed more and more undesirable. +Leila was too young to be interested. The rector was intensely +anti-slavery and saw but one side of the ominous questions which were +bewildering the largest minds. The increasing interest in his nephew was, +therefore, a source of real relief to the uncle. Meanwhile, the financial +difficulties of the period demanded constant thought of the affairs of +the mills and took him away at times to Philadelphia or Pittsburgh. Thus +the summer ran on to an end. Buchanan and Breckenridge had been nominated +and the Republicans had accepted Fremont and Dayton. + +Birthdays were always pleasantly remembered at Grey Pine, and on +September 20th, when John, aged sixteen, came down to breakfast, as he +took his seat Ann came behind him and said as she kissed him, "You are +sixteen to-day; here is my present." + +The boy flushed with pleasure as he received a pair of silver spurs. "Oh! +thank you, Aunt Ann," he cried as he rose. + +"And here is mine," said Leila, and laughing asked with both hands behind +her back, "Which hand, John?" + +"Oh! both--both." + +"No." + +"Then the one nearest the heart." Some quick reflection passed through +Ann Penhallow's mind of this being like an older man's humour. + +Leila gave him a riding-whip. He had a moment's return of the grown-up +courtesies he had been taught, and bowed as he thanked her, saying, "Now, +I suppose, I am your knight, Aunt Ann." + +"And mine," said Leila. + +"I do not divide with any one," said Mrs. Ann. "Where is your present, +James?" + +He had kept his secret. "Come and see," he cried. He led them to the +porch. "That is mine, John." A thorough-bred horse stood at the door, +saddled and bridled. Ann thought the gift extravagant, but held her +tongue. + +"Oh, Uncle Jim," said John. His heart was too full for the words he +wanted to say. "For me--for me." He knew what the gift meant. + +"You must name him," said Leila. "I rode him once, John. He has no name. +Uncle Jim said he should have no name until he had an owner. Now I know." + +John stood patting the horse's neck. "Wasn't his mother a Virginia mare, +James?" said Ann. + +"Yes." + +"Oh, then call him Dixy." + +For a moment the Squire was of a mind to object, but said gaily, "By all +means, Ann, call him Dixy if you like, and now breakfast, please." Here +they heard Dixy's pedigree at length. + +"Above all, Jack, remember that Dixy is of gentle birth; make friends +with him. He may misbehave; never, sir, lose your temper with him. Be +wary of use of whip or spur." + +There was more of it, until Mrs. Ann said, "Your coffee will be cold. It +is one of your uncle's horse-sermons." + +John laughed. How delightful it all was! "May I ride today with you, +uncle?" + +"Yes, I want to introduce you to--Dixy--yes--" + +"And may I ride with you?" asked Leila. + +"No, my dear," said the aunt, "I want you at home. There is the raspberry +jam and currant jelly and tomato figs." + +"Gracious, Leila, we shall not have a ride for a week." + +"Oh, not that bad, John," said Mrs. Ann, "only two days and--and Sunday. +After that you may have her, and I shall be glad to be rid of her. She +eats as much as she preserves." + +"Oh! Aunt Ann." + +A few days went by, and as it rained in the afternoon there was no +riding, but there was the swimming-pool, and for rain John now cared very +little. On his way he met a half dozen village lads. They swam, and +hatched (it was John's device) a bit of mischief involving Billy, who was +fond of watching their sports when he was tired of doing chores about the +stable. John heard of it later. The likelihood of unpleasant results from +their mischief was discussed as they walked homeward. There were in all +five boys from the village, with whom by this time John had formed +democratic intimacies and moderate likings which would have shocked his +mother. He had had no quarrels since long ago he had resented Tom +McGregor's rudeness to Leila and had suffered the humiliation of defeat +in his brief battle with the bigger boy. The easy victor, Tom, had half +forgotten or ignored it, as boys do. Now as they considered an unpleasant +situation, Joe Grace, the son of the Baptist preacher, broke the silence. +He announced what was the general conclusion, halting for emphasis as he +spoke. + +"I say, fellows, there will be an awful row." + +"That's so," said William, the butcher's son. + +"Anyhow," remarked Ashton, whose father was a foreman at the mills, "it +was great fun; didn't think Billy could run like that." + +It will be observed that the young gentleman of ten months ago had become +comfortably democratic in his associations and had shed much of his +too-fine manners as the herding instincts of the boy made the society of +comrades desirable when Leila's company was not attainable. + +"Oh!" he said, "Billy can run, but I had none of the fun." Then he asked +anxiously, "Did Billy get as far as the house?" + +"You bet," said Baynton, the son of the carpenter, "I saw him, heard him +shout to the Squire. Guess it's all over town by this time." + +"Anyhow it was you, John, set it up," said a timid little boy, the child +of the blacksmith. + +"That's so," said Grace, "guess you'll catch it hot." + +John considered the last spokesman with scorn as Tom, his former foe, +said, "Shut up, Joe Grace, you were quick enough to go into it--and me +too." + +"Thanks," said John, reluctantly acknowledging the confession of +partnership in the mischief, "I am glad one of you has a little--well, +honour." + +They went on their way in silence and left him alone. Nothing was said of +the matter at the dinner-table, where to John's relief Mr. Rivers was a +guest. John observed, however, that Mrs. Ann had less of her usual +gaiety, and he was not much surprised when his uncle leaving the table +said, "Come into the library, John." The Captain lighted his pipe and sat +down. + +"Now, sir," he said, "Billy is a poor witness. I desire to hear what +happened." + +The stiffened hardness of the speaker in a measure affected the boy. He +stood for a moment silent. The Captain, impatient, exclaimed, "Now, I +want the simple truth and nothing else." + +The boy felt himself flush. "I do not lie, sir. I always tell the truth." + +"Of course--of course," returned Penhallow. "This thing has annoyed me. +Sit down and tell me all about it." + +Rather more at his ease John said, "I went to swim with some of the +village boys, sir. We played tag in the water--" + +The Squire had at once a divergent interest, "Tag--tag--swimming? Who +invented that game? Good idea--how do you play it?" + +John a little relieved continued, "You see, uncle, you can dive to escape +or come up under a fellow to tag him. It's just splendid!" he concluded +with enthusiasm. + +Then the Captain remembered that this was a domestic court-martial, +and self-reminded said, "The tag has nothing to do with the matter in +question; go on." + +"We got tired and sat on the bank. Billy was wandering about. He never +can keep still. I proposed that I should hide in the bushes and the boys +should tell Billy I was drowned." + +"Indeed!" + +"We went into the water; I hid in the bushes and the boys called out I +was drowned. When Billy heard it, he gathered up all my clothes and my +shoes, and before I could get out he just yelled, 'John's drowned, I must +take his clothes home to his poor aunt.' Then he ran. The last I heard +was, 'He's drowned, he's drowned!'" + +"And then?" + +"Well, the other fellows put on something and went after him; they caught +him in the cornfield and took away my clothes. Then Billy ran to the +house. That is all I know." + +The Squire was suppressing his mirth. "Aren't you ashamed?" + +"No, sir, but I am sorry." + +"I don't like practical jokes. Billy kept on lamenting your fate. He +might have told Leila or your aunt. Luckily I received his news, and no +one else. You will go to Westways and say there is to be no swimming for +a week in my pool." + +"Yes, sir." + +"You are not to ride Dixy or any other horse for ten days." This was +terrible. "Now, be off with you, and tell Mr. Rivers to come in." + +"Yes, sir." + +When Rivers sat down, the Squire suppressing his laughter related the +story. "The boy's coming on, Mark. He's Penhallow all over." + +"But, Squire, by the boy's looks I infer you did not tell him that." + +"Oh, hardly. I hate practical jokes, and I have stopped his riding for +ten days." + +"I suppose you are right," and they fell to talking politics and of the +confusion of parties with three candidates in the field. + +Mrs. Ann who suspected what had been the result of this court-martial +was disposed towards pity, but John retired to a corner and a book and +slipped away to bed early. Penalties he had suffered at school, but this +was a terrible experience, and now he was to let the other boys know that +the swimming-pool was closed for a week. At breakfast he made believe to +be contented in mind, and asked in his best manner if his uncle had any +errands for him in Westways or at the mills. When the Captain said no and +remarked further that if he wished to walk, he would find the wood-roads +cooler than the highway John expressed himself grateful for his advice +with such a complete return of his formal manner as came near to +unmasking the inner amusement which the Squire was getting from the +evident annoyance he was giving Mrs. Ann, who thought that he was +needlessly irritating a boy who to her mind was hurt and sore. + +"Come, Leila," she said rising. "We may meet you in the village, John; +and do get your hair cut, and see Mr. Spooner and tell him--no, I will +write it." + +John was pleased to feel that he had other reasons for visiting Westways +than his uncle's order. He went down the avenue whistling, and in no +hurry. + +Leila had some dim comprehension of John's state of mind. Of Billy and of +the Squire's court-martial she had heard from Mrs. Ann, and although that +lady said little, the girl very well knew that her aunt thought her +husband had been too severe. She stood on the porch, vaguely troubled for +this comrade, and watched him as he passed from view, taking a short cut +through the trees. The girl checked something like a sob as she went +into the house. + +It was the opinion of the county that Mrs. Penhallow was a right good +woman and masterful; but of Leila the judgment of the village was that +she was just sweet through and through. The rector said she radiated the +good-nature of perfect health. What more there was time would show. +Westways knew well these two young people, and Leila was simply Leila to +nearly every one. "Quite time," reflected Mrs. Ann, "that she was Miss +Leila." As she went with her through the town there were pleasant +greetings, until at last they came to the butcher's. Mr. Pole, large +after the way of his craft, appeared in a white apron. "Well, now, how +you do grow, Leila." + +"Not enough yet," said Leila. + +"Fine day, Mrs. Penhallow." He was a little uneasy, divining her errand. + +"Now, Pole, before I make a permanent change to the butcher at the mills, +I wish to say that it is because a pound of beef weighs less at Grey Pine +than in your shop." + +At this time John was added to the hearers, being in search of William +Pole with the Squire's order about the swimming. He waited until his aunt +should be through. He was a little amused, which on the whole was, just +then, good for him. + +"Now ma'am, after all these years you won't drop me like that." + +"Short weights are reason enough." + +Leila listened, sorry for Pole, who reddened and replied, "Fact is, +ma'am, I don't always do the weighing myself, and the boys they are real +careless. What with Hannah's asthma keeping me awake and a lot of fools +loafing around and talking politics, I do wonder I ever get things right. +It's Fremont and it's Buchanan--a man can't tell what to do." + +Mrs. Penhallow was not usually to be turned aside, and meant now to deal +out even justice. But if the butcher knew it or not, she was offered what +she liked and at home could not have. "I hope, Pole, you are not going to +vote for Fremont." + +"Well, ma'am, it ain't easy to decide. I've always followed the Squire." +Ann Penhallow knew, alas! what this would mean. + +"I've been thinking I'll stand to vote for Buchanan. Was you wanting a +saddle of lamb to-day? I have one here, and a finer I never saw." + +"Well, Pole, keep your politics and your weights in order. Send me the +lamb." + +The butcher smiled as Mrs. Ann turned away. Whether the lady of Grey Pine +was conscious of having bought a vote or not, it was pretty clear to her +nephew that Peter Pole's weights would not be further questioned as long +as his politics were Democratic. + +When his aunt had gone, John called Bill Pole out of the shop and said, +"There's to be no swimming for a week, for any of us. Where are the other +fellows?" + +"Guessed we would catch it. They're playing ball back of the church. I'll +go along with you." + +He was pleased to see how the others would take their deprivation of a +swim in the September heat. They came on the other culprit's, who called +to John to come and play. He was not so minded, and was in haste to get +through with a disagreeable errand. As he hesitated, Pole eager to +distribute the unpleasant news cried out, "The Squire says that we can't +swim in the pool for a week--none of us. How do you fellows like that?" + +"It's mighty mean of him." + +"What's that?" said John. "He was right and you know it. I don't like it +any better than you do--but--" + +Bill Baynton, the youngest boy, broke in, "Who told the Squire what +fellows was in it?" + +"It wasn't Billy," said another lad; "he just kept on yelling you was +dead." + +"Look here," said Tom McGregor turning to John, "did you tell the Squire +we fellows set it up?" + +John was insulted. He knew well the playground code of honour, but +remembered in time his boxing-master's advice, the more mad you are the +cooler you keep yourself. He replied in his old formal way, "The question +is one you have no right to ask; it is an insult." + +To the boys the failure to say "no" meant evasion. "Then, of course, you +told," returned the older lad. "If I wasn't afraid you'd run home and +complain, I'd spank you." + +It had been impossible for John to be angry with his uncle, although the +punishment and the shame of carrying the news to the other boys he felt +to be a too severe penalty. But here was cause for letting loose +righteous anger. He had meant to wait, having been wisely counselled by +his boxing-master to be in no haste to challenge his enemy, until further +practice had made success possible; but now his rising wrath overcame his +prudence, "Well, try it," he said. "You beat me once. If you think I'll +tell if I am licked, I assure you, you are safe. I took the whole blame +about Billy and I was asked no names." + +Tom hesitated and said, "I never heard that." + +"I will accept an apology," said John in his most dignified way. The boys +laughed. John flushed a little, and as Tom remained silent added, "If you +won't, then lick me if you can." + +As he spoke, he slipped off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. The long +lessons in self-defence had given him some confidence and, what was as +useful, had developed chest and arms. + +"Hit him, Tom," said the small boy. In a moment the fight was on, the +non-combatants delighted. + +To Tom's surprise his wild blows somehow failed to get home. It was +characteristic of John then as in later days that he became cool as he +realized his danger, while Tom quite lost his head as the success of the +defence disappointed his attack. To hit hard, to rush in and throw his +enemy, was all he had of the tactics of offence. The younger lad, +untouched, light on his feet, was continually shifting his ground; then +at last he struck right and left. He had not weight enough to knock down +his foe, but as Tom staggered, John leaped aside and felt the joy of +battle as he got in a blow under the ear and Tom fell. + +"Get on him--hit him," cried the boys. "By George, if he ain't licked!" + +John stood still. Tom rose, and as he made a furious rush at the victor, +a loud voice called out, "Halloa! quit that." + +Both boys stood still as Mark Rivers climbed over the fence and stood +between them. John was not sorry for the interruption. He was well aware +that in the rough and tumble of a close he had not weight enough to +encounter what would have lost him the fight he had so far won. He stood +still panting, smiling, and happy. + +"Hadn't you boys better shake hands?" said the rector. Tom, furious, was +collecting blood from his nose on his handkerchief. Neither boy spoke. +"Well, John," said Rivers waiting. + +"I'll shake hands, sir, when Tom apologizes." + +The rector smiled. Apologies were hardly understood as endings to village +fights. "He won't do it," said John with a glance at the swollen face; +"another time I'll make him." + +"Will you!" exclaimed Tom. + +The rector felt that on the whole it might have been better had they +fought it out. Now the peacemaking business was clearly not blessed. "You +are a nice pair of young Christians," he said. "At all events, you shall +not fight any more to-day. Come, John." + +The boy put on his jacket and went away with Rivers, who asked presently +what was this about. "Mr. Rivers, soon after I came that fellow was rough +to Leila; I hit him, and he beat me like--like a dog." + +"And you let all these suns go down upon your wrath?" + +"There wasn't any wrath, sir. He wouldn't apologize to Leila; he wouldn't +do it." + +"Oh! indeed." + +"Then he said something to-day about Uncle Jim." + +"Anything else?" + +"Yes, he made it pretty clear that he thought me a liar." + +"Well, but you knew you were not." + +"Yes, sir, but he didn't appear to know." + +"Do you think you convinced him?" + +"No, sir, but I feel better." + +"Ah! is that so? Morally better, John?" and he laughed as he bade him +good-bye. + +The lad who left him was tired, but entirely satisfied with John +Penhallow. He went to the stable and had a technical talk with the +English groom, who deeply regretted not to have seen the fight. + +There being no riding or swimming to fill the time, he took a net, some +tackle and a bucket, and went down to the river and netted a +"hellbender." He put him in a bucket of water and carried him to the +stable, where he was visited by Leila and Rivers, and later departed this +life, much lamented. In the afternoon, being in a happy mood, John easily +persuaded Leila to abandon her ride, and walk with him. + +When they sat down beside the Indian graves, to his surprise she suddenly +shifted the talk and said, "John, who would you vote for? I asked Aunt +Ann, and she said, 'Buchanan, of course'; and when I asked Uncle Jim, he +said, 'Fremont'; but I want to understand. I saw in the paper that it was +wicked to keep slaves, but my cousins in Maryland have slaves; it can't +be wicked." + +"Would you like to be bought and sold?" he said. + +"But, I am not black, John." + +"I believe old Josiah was a slave." + +"Every one knows that. Why did he run away, John?" + +"Because he wanted to be free, I suppose, and not have to work without +pay." + +"And don't they pay slaves?" asked Leila. + +"No, they don't." John felt unable to make clear to her why the two +people they respected and loved never discussed what the village talked +about so freely. These intelligent children were in the toils of a +question which was disturbing the consciences and the interests of a +continent. The simpler side was clear to both of them. The idea of +selling the industrious old barber was as yet enough to settle their +politics. + +"Aunt Ann must have good reasons," said John. "Mr. Rivers says she is the +most just woman he ever knew." It puzzled him. "I suppose we are too +young to understand." + +"Aunt Ann will never talk about slaves. I asked her last week." + +"But Uncle Jim will talk, and he likes to be asked when we are alone. I +don't believe in slavery." + +"It seems so queer, John, to own a man." + +John grinned, "Or a girl, Leila." + +"Well, no one owns me, I tell you; they'd have a hard time." + +She shook what Rivers called her free-flowing cascade of hair in the +pride of conscious freedom. The talk ran on. At last she said, "I'll tell +you a queer thing. I heard Mr. Rivers say to uncle--I heard him say, we +were all slaves. He said that no one owns himself. I think that's silly," +said the young philosopher, "don't you, John?" + +"I don't know," returned John; "I think it's a big puzzle. Let's go." + +No word reached the Squire of the battle behind the church until four +days later, when Rivers came in after dinner and found Penhallow in his +library deep in thought. + +"Worried, Squire?" he asked. + +"Yes, affairs are in a bad way and will be until the election is over. It +always disturbs commerce. The town will go Democratic, I suppose." + +"Yes, as I told you, unless you take a hand and are in earnest and +outspoken." + +"I could be, but it has not yet the force of imperative duty, and it +would hurt Ann more than I feel willing to do. Talk of something else. +She would cease her mild canvass if she thought it annoyed me." + +"I see--sir. I think I ought to tell you that John has had another battle +with Tom McGregor." + +"Indeed?" The Squire sat up, all attention. "He does not show any marks +of it." + +"No, but Tom does." + +"Indeed! What happened?" + +"Well, I believe, Tom thought John told you what boys were in that joke +on Billy. I fancy something was said about you--something personal, which +John resented." + +"That is of no moment. What else? I ought to be clear about it." + +"Well, Squire, Tom was badly mauled and John was tired when I arrived as +peacemaker. I stopped the battle, but he was not at all disposed to talk +about it. I am sure of one thing--he has had a grudge against Tom--since +he was rude to Leila." + +The Squire rose and walked about the room. "H'm! very strange that--what +a mere child he was when he got licked--boys don't remember injuries that +way." Then seeming to become conscious of Rivers' presence, he stopped +beside him and added, "What with my education and Leila's, he has grown +amazingly. He was as timid as a foal." + +"He is not now, Squire, and John has been as useful mentally to Leila. +She is learning to think." + +"Sorry for it, Mark, women ought not to think. Now if my good Ann +wouldn't think, I should be the happier." + +"My dear Squire," said Rivers, setting an affectionate hand on his arm, +"my dear Mrs. Penhallow doesn't think, except about the every-day things +of life. Her politics and religion are sacred beliefs not to be rudely +jostled by the disturbance of thinking. If there is illness, debt or +trouble, at the mills or in Westways, she becomes seraphic and +intelligent enough." + +"Yes, Rivers, and if I put before her, as I sometimes do, a perplexing +business matter, I am surprised at her competence. Of course, she is as +able as you or I to reason, but on one subject she does not reason or +believe that it admits of discussion; and by Heaven! my friend, I am +sometimes ashamed to keep out of this business. So far as this State is +concerned, it is hopeless. You know, dear friend, what you have been to +us, and that to no other man on earth could I speak as I have done to +you; but Mark, if things get worse--and they will--what then? John +asked me what we should do if the Southern States did really secede. +Things seem to stick in his mind like burrs--he was at it again next +day." + +Rivers smiled. "Like me, I suppose." + +"Yes, Mark. He is persistent about everything--lessons, sports, oh! +everything; an uncomfortably curious lad, too. These Southern opinions +about reclaiming a man's slaves bother the boy. He reads my papers, and +how can I stop him? I don't want to. There! we are at it again." + +"Yes, there is no escape from these questions." + +"And he has even got Leila excited and she wants to know--I told her to +ask Ann Penhallow--I have not heard of the result. Well, you are going. +Good-night." + +The Squire sat still in the not very agreeable company of his thoughts. +Leila was to go to school this September, Buchanan's election in November +was sure, and John--He had come to love the lad, and perhaps he had been +too severe. Then he thought of the boy's fight and smiled. The rector and +he had disagreed. Was it better for boys to abuse one another or to +settle things by a fight? The rector had urged that his argument for the +ordeal of battle would apply with equal force to the duel of men. He had +said, "No, boys do not kill; and after all even the duel has its values." +Then the rector said he was past praying for and had better read the +Decalogue. + +When next day Mark Rivers was being shaved by the skilled hand of Josiah, +he heard the voice of his friend and fishing-companion, the Rev. Isaac +Grace, "What about the trout-brook this afternoon?" + +"Of course," said Mark, moveless under the razor. "Call for me at five." + +"Seen yesterday's _Press_?" + +"No. I can't talk, Grace." + +"This town's all for Buchanan and Breckenridge. How will the Squire +vote?" + +"Ask him. Take care, Josiah." + +"If the Squire isn't taking any active part, Mrs. Penhallow is. She is +taking a good deal of interest in the roof of my chapel and--and--other +things." + +The rector did not like it. "I can't talk, Grace." + +"But I can."--"Well," thought the rector, "for an intelligent man you are +slow at taking hints." The good-natured rotund preacher went on, amazing +his helpless friend, "I wonder if the Squire would like her canvassing--" + +"Ask him." + +"Guess not. She's a good woman, but not just after the fashion of St. +Paul's women." + +"She hasn't done no talking to me," said Josiah, chuckling. "There, sir, +I'm through." + +Then the released rector said, "If you talk politics again to me for the +next two months, Grace, I will never tie for you another trout-fly. Your +turn," and he left the chair to Grace, who sat down saying with the +persistency of the good-humoured and tactless, "If I want a roof to my +chapel, I've got to keep out of talking Republican polities, that's +clear--" + +"And several other things," returned Mark sharply. + +"Such as," said Grace, but the rector had gone and Josiah was lathering +the big red face. + +"Got to make believe sometimes, sir," said Josiah. "She's an uncommon +kind lady, and the pumpkins she gives me are fine. A fellow's got time to +think between this and November. Pumpkins and leaky roofs do make a man +kind of thoughtful." He grinned approval of his own wisdom. "Now don't +talk, sir. Might chance to cut you." + +This sly unmasking of motives, his own and those of others, was +disagreeable to the good little man who was eager to get his chapel +roofed and no more willing than Mrs. Penhallow to admit that how he would +vote had anything to do with the much needed repairs. His people were +poor and the leaks were becoming worse and worse. He kept his peace, and +the barber smiling plied the razor. + +Now the Squire paused at the open door, where he met his nephew. "Come to +get those scalp-locks trimmed, John? They are perilously long. If you +were to get into a fight and a fellow got hold of them, you would have a +bad time." Then as his uncle went away laughing, John knew that the +Squire must have heard of his battle from Mark Rivers. He did not like +it. Why he did not know or ask himself, being as yet too immature for +such self-analysis. + +Mr. Grace got up clean-shaven, adjusted a soiled paper-collar, and said, +"Good-morning, John. I am sorry to hear that a Christian lad like you +should be fighting. I am sure that neither Mr. Rivers nor your aunt would +approve of it. My son told me about it, and I think it my duty--" + +John broke in, "Then your son is a tell-tale, Mr. Grace, and allow me to +say that this is none of his business. When I am insulted, I resent it." +To be chaffed by his own uncle when under sentence of a court-martial had +not been agreeable, but this admonition was unendurable. He entered the +shop. + +"Well, I never," exclaimed the preacher, as John went by him. + +The barber was laughing. "Set down, Mr. John." + +"I suppose the whole of Westways knows it, Mr. Josiah?" + +"They do, sir. Wish I'd seen it." + +"Damn!" exclaimed John, swearing for the first time in his life. "Cut my +hair short, please, and don't talk." + +"No, sir. You ain't even got a scratch." + +"Oh, do shut up," said John. There was a long silence while the curly +locks fell. + +"You gave it to the Baptist man hot. I don't like him. He calls me Joe. +It isn't respectable. My name's Josiah." + +"Haven't you any other name?" said John, having recovered his +good-humour. + +"Yes, sir, but I keeps that to myself." + +"But why?" urged John. + +Josiah hesitated. "Well, Mr. John, I ran away, and--so it was best to get +a new name." + +"Indeed! Of course, every one knows you must have run away--but no one +cares." + +"Might say I was run away with--can't always hold a horse," he laughed +aloud in a leisurely way. "When he took me over the State-line, I didn't +go back." + +"I see," said John laughing, as he rose and paid the barber. The cracked +mirror satisfied him that he was well shorn. + +"You looks a heap older now you're shorn. Makes old fellows look +younger--ever notice that?" + +"No." + +Then Josiah, of a sudden wisely cautious, said, "You won't tell Mrs. +Penhallow, nor no one, about me, what I said?" + +"Of course not; but why my aunt, Mr. Josiah? She, like my uncle, must +know you ran away." + +When John first arrived the black barber's appearance so impressed the +lad that he spoke to him as Mr. Josiah, and seeing later how much this +pleased him continued in his quite courteous way to address him now and +then as Mr. Josiah. The barber liked it. He hesitated a moment before +answering. + +"You needn't talk about it if you don't want to," said John. + +"Guess whole truth's better than half truth--nothin' makes folk curious +like knowin' half. When I first came here, I guessed I'd best change my +name, so I said I was Josiah. Fact is, Mr. John, I didn't know Mrs. +Penhallow came from Maryland till I had been here quite a while and got +to like the folks and the Captain." + +John's experience was enlarging. He could hardly have realized the +strange comfort the black felt in his confession. What it all summed up +for Josiah in the way of possible peril of loss of liberty John presently +had made plain to him. He was increasingly urgent in his demand for +answers to the many questions life was bringing. The papers he read had +been sharp schoolmasters, and of slave life he knew nothing except from +his aunt's pleasant memories of plantation life when a girl on a great +Maryland manor. That she could betray to servitude the years of +grey-haired freedom seemed to John incredible of the angel of kindly +helpfulness. He stood still in thought, troubled by his boy-share of +puzzle over a too mighty problem. + +Josiah, a little uneasy, said, "What was you thinkin', Mr. John?" + +The young fellow replied smiling, "Do you think Aunt Ann would hurt +anybody? Do you think she would send word to some one--to take you back? +Anyhow she can't know who was your master." + +The old black nodded slowly, "Mr. John, she born mistress and I born +slave; she can't help it--and they was good people too--all the people +that owned me. They liked me too. I didn't have to work except holdin' +horses and trainin' colts--and housework. They was always kind to me." + +"But why did you run away?" + +"Well, Mr. John, it was sort of sudden. You see ever since I could +remember there was some one to say, Caesar you do this, or you go there. +One day when I was breakin' a colt, Mr. Woodburn says to me--I was +leanin' against a stump--how will that colt turn out? I said, I don't +know, but I did. It wasn't any good. My mind was took up watchin' a hawk +goin' here and there over head like he was enjoyin' hisself. Then--then +it come over me--that he'd got no boss but God. It got a grip on me +like--" The lad listened intently. + +"You wanted to be free like the hawk." + +"I don't quite know--never thought of it before--might have seen lots of +hawks. I ain't never told any one." + +"Are you glad to be free?" + +"Ah, kind of half glad, sir. I ain't altogether broke in to it. You see +I'm old for change." + +As he ended, James Penhallow reappeared. "Got through, John? You look +years older. Your aunt will miss those curly locks." He went into the +shop as John walked away, leaving Josiah who would have liked to add a +word more of caution and who nevertheless felt somehow a sense of relief +in having made a confession the motive force of which he would have found +it impossible to explain. + +John asked himself no such question as he wandered deep in boy-thought +along the broken line of the village houses. Josiah's confidence troubled +and yet flattered him. His imagination was captured by the suggested idea +of the wild freedom of the hawk. He resolved to be careful, and felt more +and more that he had been trusted with a secret involving danger. + +While John wandered away, the barber cut the Squire's hair, and to his +surprise Josiah did not as usual pour out his supply of village gossip. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +It was now four days since John's sentence had been pronounced, and not +to be allowed to swim in the heat of a hot September added to the +severity of the penalty. The heat as usual made tempers hot and +circumstances variously disturbed the household of Grey Pine. Politics +vexed and business troubled the master. Of the one he could not talk to +his wife--of the other he would not at present, hoping for better +business conditions, and feeling that politics and business were now +too nearly related to keep them apart. Ann, his wife, thought him +depressed--a rare mood for him. Perhaps it was the unusual moist heat. He +said, "Yes, yes, dear, one does feel it." She did not guess that the +obvious unhappiness of the lad who had won the soldier's heart was being +felt by Penhallow without his seeing how he could end it and yet not +lessen the value of a just verdict. + +Of all those concerned Leila was the one most troubled. On this hot +afternoon she saw John disappear into the forest. When Mrs. Ann came out +on the porch where she had for a minute left the girl, she saw her +sewing-bag on a chair and caught sight of the flowing hair and agile +young figure as she set a hand on the low stone wall of the garden and +was over and lost among the trees. "Leila, Leila," cried Mrs. Ann, "I +told you to finish--" It was useless. "Everything goes wrong to-day," +she murmured. "Well, school will civilize that young barbarian, and she +must have longer skirts." This was a sore subject and Leila had been +vainly rebellious. + +Meanwhile the flying girl overtook John, who had things to think about +and wished to be alone. "Well," he said, with some impatience, "what is +it?" + +"Oh, I just wanted a walk, and don't be cross, John." + +He looked at her, and perhaps for the first time had the male perception +of the beauty of the disordered hair, the pleading look of the blue eyes, +and the brilliant colour of the eager flushed face. It was the hair--the +wonderful hair. She threw it back as she stood. No one could long be +cross to Leila. Even her resolute aunt was sometimes defeated by her +unconquerable sweetness. + +"I am so sorry for you, John," she said. + +"Well, I am not, Leila, if you mean that Uncle Jim was hard on me." + +"Yes, he was, and I mean to tell him--I do." + +"Please not." She said nothing in the way of reply, but only, "Let us go +and see the spring." + +"Well, come along." + +They wandered far into the untouched forest. "Ah! here it is," she cried. +A spring of water ran out from among the anchoring roots of a huge black +spruce. He stood gazing down at it. + +"Oh, Leila, isn't it wonderful?" + +"Were you never here before, John?" + +"No, never. It seems as if it was born out of the tree. No wonder this +spruce grew so tall and strong. How cold it must keep the old fellow's +toes." + +"What queer ideas you have, John." She had not yet the gift of fancy, +long denied to some in the emergent years of approaching womanhood. "I am +tired, John," she said, as she dropped with hands clasped behind her head +and hidden in the glorious abundance of darkening red hair, which lay +around her on the brown pine-needles like the disordered aureole of some +careless-minded saint. + +John said, "It is this terrible heat. I never before heard you complain +of being tired." + +"Oh, it's just nice tired." She lay still, comfortable, with open eyes +staring up at the intense blue of the September sky seen through the +wide-east limbs of pine and spruce. The little rill, scarce a finger +thickness of water, crawled out lazily between the roots and trickled +away. The girl was in empty-minded enjoyment of the luxury of complete +relaxation of every muscle of her strong young body. The spring was +noiseless, no leaf was astir in all the forest around them. The girl lay +still, a part of the vast quietness. + +John Penhallow stood a moment, and then said, "Good gracious! Leila, your +eyes are blue." It was true. When big eyes are wide open staring up at +the comrade blue of the deep blue sky, they win a certain beauty of added +colour like little quiet lakelets under the azure sky when no wind +disturbs their power of reflecting capture. + +"Oh, John, and didn't you know my eyes were blue?" She spoke with languid +interest in the fact he announced. + +"But," he said, looking down at her as he stood, "they're so--so +very blue." + +"Oh, all the Greys have blue eyes." + +He laughed gentle laughter and dropped on the pine-needles of the forest +floor. The spring lay between them. He felt, as she did not, the charm of +the stillness. He wanted to find words in which to put his desire for +expression. She broke into his mood of imaginative seekings. + +"How cold it is," she said, gathering the water in the cup of her hand, +and then with both hands did better and got a refreshing drink. + +"That makes a better cup," he said. "Let us follow the water to the +river." + +"It never gets there. It runs into Lonesome Man's swamp, and that's the +end of him." + +"Who, Lonesome Man or the spring? And who was Lonesome Man?" + +"Nobody knows. What does it matter?" + +He watched her toy with the new-born rill, a mere thread of water, build +a Lilliputian dam, and muddle the clear outflow as it broke, and then +build again. He had the thought that she had suddenly become younger, +more like a child, and he himself older. + +"Why don't you talk, John?" she said. + +"I can't. I am wondering about that Lonesome Man and what the trees are +thinking. Don't you feel how still it is? It's disrespectful to gabble +before your betters." He felt it and said it without affectation, but as +usual his mood of wandering thought failed to interest Leila. + +"I hate it when it's quiet! I like to hear the wind howl in the pines--" + +He expressed his annoyance. "You never want to talk anything but horses +and swimming. Wait till you come back next spring with long skirts--such +a nice well-behaved Miss Grey." He was, in familiar phrase, out of sorts, +with a bit of will to annoy a disappointing companion. His mild effort +had no success. + +"Oh, John, it's awful! You ought to be sorry for me. The more you grow up +the more your skirts grow down. Bother their manners! Who cares! Let's go +home. It feels just as if it was Sunday." + +"It is, in the woods. Well, come along." He walked on in the silence, she +thinking of that alarming prospect of school, and he of the escaped +slave's secret and, what struck the boy most--the hawk. Never before had +he been told anything which was to be sacredly guarded from others. It +gave him now a pleasant feeling of having been trusted. Suppose Leila had +been told such a thing, how would she feel, and Aunt Ann? He was like a +man who has too large a deposit in a doubtful bank. He was vaguely uneasy +lest he might tell or in some way betray his sense of possessing a +person's confidence. + +As they came near the house, Leila said, "Catch me, I'll run you home." + +"Tag," he cried. + +As they came to the side porch, Ann Penhallow said, "Finish that +handkerchief--now, at once. It is time you were taught other than tom-boy +ways." + +John went by into the house. After dinner the Squire had his usual game +of whist, always to the dissatisfaction of Leila, whose thoughts wandered +like birds on the wing, from twig to twig. John usually played far +better, but just now worse than his cousin, and forgot or revoked, to his +uncle's disgust. A man of rather settled habits, now as usual Penhallow +went to his library for the company of the pipe, which Ann disliked, and +the _Tribune_, which she regarded as the organ of Satanic politics. +Seeing both John and her aunt absorbed in their books, Leila passed +quickly back of them, opened the library door, and said softly, "May I +come in, Uncle Jim?" + +During the last few days he had missed, and he well knew why, John's +visits and intelligent questions. Leila was welcome. "Why, of course, +pussy cat. Come in. Shut the door; your aunt dislikes the pipe smoke. Sit +down." For some reason she desired to stand. "Don't stand," he said, "sit +down on my knee." She obeyed. "There," he said, "that's comfy. How heavy +you are. Good gracious, child! what am I to do without you?" + +"Isn't it awful, Uncle Jim." + +"It is--it is. What do you want, my dear? Anything wrong with the +horses?" + +"No, sir. It's--John--" + +"Oh! it's John. Well, what is it?" + +"It isn't John--it's John and the horses--I mean John and Dixy. Patrick +rides Dixy for exercise every day." + +"Well, what's the matter? First it's John, then Dixy, then John and Dixy, +and then John and Dixy and Pat." + +The girl saw through the amusement he had in teasing her and said with +gravity, "I wish you would be serious, Uncle Jim. I want five minutes of +uninterrupted attention." + +The Squire exploded, "Good gracious! that is Ann Grey all over. You must +have heard her say it." + +"I did, and you listen, too. Sometimes you don't, Uncle Jim. I guess you +weren't well broke when you were young." + +"Great Scott! you minx! Some day a girl I know will have to stand at +attention. Go ahead." + +"Pat's ruining Dixy's mouth. You ought to see him sawing at the curb. You +always rode him on the snaffle." + +"That boy Pat needs a good licking, Leila." + +"But Dixy don't. The fact is, Uncle Jim, you're neglecting the stables +for politics." + +"Is that your own wisdom, Miss Grey? What with the weight of wisdom and +years, you're getting heavy. Try a chair." + +"No, I'm quite comfy. It was Josiah who told me. He often comes up to +look over the colts, of a Sunday--" + +"Nice work for Sunday, Miss Grey." + +She made no direct reply. "He told me that horse ought to be ridden +by--by John or you, and no one else. He says the way to ruin a horse is +to have a lot of people ride him like Pat--they're just spoiling Dixy--" + +"What! in four days? Nonsense." + +"But," said the counsel in the case, "it's to be ten. It isn't about +John, it's Dixy's mouth, uncle." + +"Oh, you darling little liar!" Here she kissed him and was silent. "It +won't do," he said. "There's no logic in a kiss, Miss Grey. First comes +Ann Grey and says, too much army discipline; and then you tell me what +that gossiping old darkey says, and then you try the final argument--a +kiss. Can't do it. There will be an end of all discipline. I hate +practical jokes. There!" + +If he thought to finish the matter thus, he much undervalued the +ingenuity and persistency of the young Portia who was now conducting the +case. + +"Suppose you take a chair, Miss Grey. It is rather warm to provide +permanent human seats for stout young women--" + +"I'm not stout," said Leila with emphasis, accepting the hint by dropping +with coiled legs upon a cushion at his feet. "I'm not stout. I weigh one +hundred and thirty and a half pounds. And oh! isn't it hot. I haven't had +a swim for--oh, at least five days counting Sunday." The pool was kept +free until noon for Leila and her aunt. + +"Why didn't you swim?" he asked lightly, being too intellectually busy +clearing his pipe to see where the leading counsel was conducting him. + +"Why, Uncle Jim, I wouldn't swim if John wasn't allowed too; I just +couldn't. I'm going to bed--but, please, don't let Pat ride Dixy." + +"I can attend to my stables, Miss Grey. John won't die of heat for want +of a swim. You don't seem to concern yourself with those equally +overbaked young scamps in Westways." + +"Uncle Jim, you're just real mean to-night. Josiah told me yesterday that +my cousin beat Tom McGregor because he said it was mean of you to stop +the swimming. John said it was just, and Tom said he was a liar, and--oh, +my! John licked him--wish I'd seen it." + +This was news quite to his liking. He made no reply, lost in wonder over +the ways of the mind male and female. + +"You ought to be ashamed, you a girl, to want to see a fight. It's time +you went to school. Isn't the rector on the porch? I thought I heard +him." + +Now, of late Leila had got to that stage of the game of +thought-interchange when the young proudly use newly acquired +word-counters. "I think, Uncle Jim, you're--you're irreverent." + +The Squire shut the door on all outward show of mirth, and said gravely, +"Isn't it pronounced irrelevant, my dear Miss Malaprop?" + +"Yes--yes," said Leila. "That's a word John uses. It's just short for +'flying the track'!" + +"Any other stable slang, Leila?" + +He was by habit averse to changing his decisions, and outside of Ann +Penhallow's range of authority the Squire's discipline was undisputed and +his decrees obeyed. He had been pleased and gaily amused for this half +hour, but was of a mind to leave unchanged the penalties he had +inflicted. + +"Are you through, with this nonsense, Leila?" he said as he rose. "Is +this an ingenious little game set up between you and John?" To his utter +amazement she began to cry. + +"By George!" he said, "don't cry," which is what a kind man always says +when presented with the riddle of tears. + +She drew a brown fist across her wet cheeks and said indignantly, "My +cousin is a gentleman." + +She turned to go by him. "No, dear, wait a moment." He held her arm. + +"Please, let me go. When John first came, you said he was a prig--and +if he would just do some boy-mischief and kick up his heels like a +two-year-old with some fun in him--you said he was a sort of +girl-boy--" There were for punctuation sobs and silences. + +"And where did you get all this about a prig?" he broke in, amazed. + +"Oh, I heard you tell Aunt Ann. And now," said Portia, "the first time he +does a real nice jolly piece of mischief you come down on him like--like +a thousand of bricks." Her slang was reserved for the Squire, as he well +knew. + +The blue eyes shining with tears looked up from under the glorious +disorder of the mass of hair. It was too much for the man. + +"How darned logical you are!" He acknowledged some consciousness of +having been inconsistent. He had said one thing and done another. "You +are worse than your aunt." Then Leila knew that Ann Penhallow had talked +to the Squire. "Well," he said, "what's your opinion, Miss Grey?" + +"I think you're distanced." + +"What--what! Wait a little. You may tell that young man to ride when he +pleases and to swim, and to tell those scamps it's too hot to deprive +them of the use of the pool. There, now get out!" + +"But--Uncle Jim--I--can't. Oh, I really can't. You've got to do it +yourself." This he much disliked to do. + +"I hear your aunt calling. Mr. Rivers is going." + +She kissed him. "Now, don't wait, Uncle Jim, and don't scold John. He's +been no use for these four days. Goodnight," and she left him. + +"Well, well," he said, "I suppose I've got to do it." + +He found Ann alone. + +"About John! I can't stand up against you two. He is to be let off about +the riding and swimming. I think you may find it pleasant to tell him, my +dear." + +She said gravely, "It will come with more propriety from you; but I do +think you are right." Then he knew that he had to do it himself. + +"Very well, dear," he said. "How that girl is developing. It is time she +had other company than John, but Lord! how I shall miss her--" + +"And I, James." + +He went out for the walk he generally took before bed-time. She lingered, +putting things in order on her work-table, wondering what Leila could +have said to thus influence a man the village described as "set in his +ways." She was curious to know, but not of a mind to question Leila. +Before going to bed, she went to her own sitting-room on the left of the +hall. It was sacred to domestic and church business. It held a few books +and was secured by long custom from men's tobacco smoke. She sat down and +wrote to her cousin, George Grey. + +"DEAR GEORGE: If politics do not keep you, we shall look for you this +month. There are colts to criticize and talk over, Leila is eager to see +her unknown cousin before she goes to school near Baltimore this +September. + +"I believe this town will go for Buchanan, but I am not sure. James and +I, as you know, never talk politics. I am distressed to believe as I do +that he will vote for Fremont; that 'the great, the appalling issue,' as +Mr. Buchanan says, 'is union or disunion' does not seem to affect him. I +read Forney's paper, and James reads that wild abolition _Tribune_. It is +very dreadful, and I am without any one I can talk to. My much loved +rector is an extreme antislavery man. + +"Yours always, +ANN PENHALLOW. + +"I am not at all sure of you. Be certain to let us know when to expect +you. You know you are--well, I leave your social conscience to say what. + +"Yours sincerely, +ANN PENHALLOW." + +At breakfast Ann Penhallow sat down to the coffee-urn distributing +cheerful good-mornings. The Squire murmured absently over his napkin, +"May the Lord make us thankful for this and all the blessings of life." +He occasionally varied his grace, and sometimes to Ann's amazement. Why +should he ask to be made thankful, she reflected. These occasional slips +and variations on the simple phrase of gratitude she had come to +recognize as signs of preoccupation, and now glanced at her husband, +anxious always when he was concerned. Then, as he turned to John, she +understood that between his trained belief in the usefulness of +inexorable discipline and an almost womanly tenderness of affection the +heart had somehow won. She knew him well and at times read with ease the +signs of distress and annoyance or resolute decision. Usually he was gay +and merry at breakfast, chaffing the children and eating with the +appetite of a man who was using and renewing his tissues in a wholesome +way. Now he was silent, absent, and ate little. He was the victim of a +combination of annoyances. Had he been wise to commit himself to a +reversal of his sentence? Other and more important matters troubled him, +but as usual where bothers come in battalions it is the lesser +skirmishers who are felt for the moment. + +"I see in the hall, Ann," he said, "a letter for George Grey--I will mail +it. When does he come?" + +"I do not know." + +"John," he said, "you will oblige me by riding to the mill and asking Dr. +McGregor to come to Westways and see old Josiah. Of course, he will +charge it to me." The Squire was a little ashamed of this indirect +confession of retreat. + +John looked up, hesitated a moment, and said, "What horse, sir?" + +"Dixy, of course." + +"Another cup, James," said Mrs. Ann tranquilly amused. + +John rose, went around the table to his uncle, and said in his finest +manner, "I am greatly obliged, sir." + +"Oh, nonsense! He's rather fresh, take care." + +Then Leila said, "It's very hot, Uncle Jim." + +"You small fiend," said Penhallow. "Hot! On your way, John, tell those +rascals at Westways they may use the pond." The faint smile on Ann +Penhallow's face somehow set the whole business in an agreeably humorous +light. The Squire broke into the relief of laughter and rose saying, "Get +out of this, all of you, if you want to keep your scalps." + +John went to the stable not quite pleased. He had felt that his +punishment for a boy-frolic and the unexpected results of Billy's alarm +had been pretty large. His aunt had not said so to him, but had made it +clear to her husband that the penalty was quite disproportioned to the +size of the offence; a remark which had made him the more resolute not to +disturb the course of justice; and now this chit of a girl had made him +seem like an irresolute fool, and he would have to explain to Rivers, who +would laugh. As he went out of the hall-door, he felt a pretty rough +little paw in his hand and heard a whisper. "You're just the dearest +thing ever was." + +Concerning John Penhallow, it is to be said that he did not understand +why he was let off so easily. He had a suspicion that Leila was +somehow concerned, and also the feeling that he would rather have +suffered to the end. However, it would be rather good fun to announce +this swimming-permit to the boys. + +Seeing from his shop door John riding down the avenue, Josiah came +limping across the road. He leaned on the gate facing the boy and looking +over the horse and rider with the pleasure of one who, as the Squire +liked to say, knew when horse-flesh and man-flesh were suitably matched. + +"Girth's a bit slack, Master John. Always look it over, sir, before you +mount." + +"Thanks, Josiah. Open the gate, please. How lame you are. I am to send +the doctor to look after you and Peter Lamb." + +The big black man opened the gate and adjusted the girth. "That's right +now. I've got the worst rheumatics I ever did have. Peter Lamb's sick +too. That's apple-whisky. The Squire's mighty patient with that man, +because his mother nursed the Squire when he was a baby. They're near of +an age, but you wouldn't think it to look at Peter and the Captain; +whisky does hurry up Old Time a lot." And so John got the town gossip. +"I ain't no faith in doctorin' rheumatics; wouldn't have him now if I +hadn't lost my old buck-eye. My rabbit-foot's turned grey this week. +That's a sign of trouble." + +John laughed and rode from the gate on which Leila had invited him to +indulge in the luxury of swinging. It seemed years ago since she had sung +to his astonishment the lyric of the gate. She appeared to him now not +much older. And how completely he felt at home. He rode along the old +pike through Westways, nodding to Mrs. Lamb, the mother of the scamp whom +the Squire was every now and then saving from the consequences of the +combination of a revengeful nature and bad whisky. Then Billy hailed John +with malicious simplicity. + +"Halloa!--John--can't swim--can't swim--ho, ho!" + +The butcher's small boy was loading meat on a cart. John stayed to say a +word to him, pleased to have the chance, as the boy grinned at Billy's +mocking malice. "Halloa! Pole," he called. "My uncle says we fellows may +swim. Tell the other fellows." + +"Gosh! but that's good--John. I'll tell 'em." + +John rode on and fell to thinking of Leila, with some humiliating +suspicion in regard to her share in the Squire's change of mind; or was +it Aunt Ann's influence? And why did he himself not altogether like it? +Why should his aunt and Leila interfere? He wished they had let the +matter alone. What had a girl to do with it? He was again conscious that +he felt of a sudden older than Leila, and did not fully realize that in +the race of life he had gone swiftly past her during these few months, +and that in the next year she in turn would sweep past him in the +developmental changes of life. Now she seemed to him more timid, more +childlike than usual; but long thinkings are not of the psychic habits of +normal youth, and Dixy recovered his attention. + +He satisfied the well-bred horse, who of late had been losing his temper +in the society of a rough groom, ignorant of the necessity for good +manners with horses. Neither strange noises nor machines disturbed Dixy +as John rode through the busy iron-mills to the door of a small brick +house, so well known that no sign announced it as the home of the only +medical man available at the mills or in Westways. John tied Dixy to the +hitching-post, gnawed by the doctor's horse during long hours of waiting +on an unpunctual man. + +The doors were open, and as John entered he was aware of an odour of +drugs and saw Dr. McGregor sound asleep in an armchair, a red silk +handkerchief over his bald head, and a swarm of disappointed flies +hovering above him. In the back room the clink and rattle of a pestle and +mortar ceased as Tom appeared. + +John, in high good-humour, said, "Good afternoon, Tom. My uncle has let +up on the swimming. He asked me to let you fellows know." + +"It's about time," said Tom crossly. "After all it was your fault and we +had to pay for it." + +"Now, Tom, you made me pretty angry when you talked to me the other day, +and if you want to get me into another row, I won't object; but I was not +asked for any names, and I did not put the blame on any one. Can't you +believe a fellow?" + +"No, I can't. If that parson hadn't come, I'd have licked you." + +"Perhaps," said John. + +"Isn't any perhaps about it. You look out, that's all." + +John laughed. He was just now what the Squire described as horse-happy +and indisposed to quarrel. "Suppose you wake up the old gentleman. He +_can_ snore." + +Tom shook the doctor's shoulder, "Wake up, Dad. Here's John Penhallow." + +The Doctor sat up and pulled off his handkerchief. The flies fell upon +his bald pate. "Darn the flies," he said. "What is it, John?" + +"My uncle wants you to come to Westways to-morrow and doctor old Josiah's +rheumatism." + +"I'll come." + +"He wants you to look after Peter Lamb. He's been drinking again." + +"What! that whisky-rotted scamp. It's pure waste of time. How the same +milk came to feed the Squire and that beast the Lord knows. He has no +more morals than a tom-cat. I'll come, but it's waste of good doctoring." +Here he turned his rising temper on Tom. "You and my boy have been having +a fight. You licked him and saved me the trouble. I heard from Mr. +Rivers what Tom said." + +"It was no one's business but Tom's and mine," returned John much amused +to know that the peaceful rector must have watched the fight and +overheard what caused it. Tom scowled, and the peacemaking old doctor got +up, adding, "Be more gentle with Tom next time." + +Tom knew better than to reply and went back to pill-making furious and +humiliated. + +"Good-bye, John," said the Doctor. "I'll see the Squire after I have +doctored that whisky sponge." Then John rode home on Dixy. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +Before the period of which I write, the county and town had unfailingly +voted the Democratic ticket. But for half a decade the unrest of the +cities reflected in the journals had been disturbing the minds of country +communities in the Middle States. In the rural districts of Pennsylvania +there had been very little actively hostile sentiment about slavery, but +the never ending disputes over Kansas had at last begun to weaken party +ties, and more and more to direct opinion on to the originating cause of +trouble. + +The small voting population of Westways had begun to suspect of late that +James Penhallow's unwillingness to discuss politics meant some change in +his fidelity to the party of which Buchanan was the candidate. What Mrs. +Ann felt she had rather freely allowed to be known. The little groups +which were apt to gather about the grocer's barrels at evening discussed +the grave question of the day with an interest no previous presidential +canvass had caused, and this side eddy of quiet village life was now +agreeably disturbed by the great currents of national politics. Westways +began to take itself seriously, as little towns will at times, and to ask +how this man or that would vote at the coming election in November. The +old farmers who from his youth still called the Squire "James" were +Democrats. Swallow, the only lawyer the town possessed, was silent, which +was felt as remarkable in a man who usually talked much more than +occasion demanded and wore a habit-mask of good-fellowship, which had +served to deceive many a blunt old farmer, but not James Penhallow. + +At Grey Pine there was a sense of tension. Penhallow was a man slow in +thinking out conclusions, but in times demanding action swiftly decisive. +He had at last settled in his mind that he must leave his party and +follow a leader he had known in the army and never entirely trusted. +Whether he should take an active share in the politics of the county +troubled him, as he had told Rivers. He must, of course, tell his wife +how he had resolved to vote. To speak here and there at meetings, to +throw himself into the contest, was quite another matter. His wife would +feel deeply grieved. Between the two influential feelings the resolution +of forces, as he put it to himself with a sad smile, decided him to hold +his tongue so far as the outer world was concerned, to vote for the +principles unfortunately represented by Fremont, but to have one frank +talk with Ann Penhallow. There was no need to do this as yet, and he +smiled again at the thought that Mrs. Ann was, as he pretty well knew, +playing the game of politics at Westways. He might stop her. He could ask +her to hold her hand, but to let her continue on her way and to openly +make war against her, that he could not do. It did not matter much as the +State in any case would go for Buchanan. He hesitated, and had better +have been plain with her. She knew that he had been long in doubt, but +did not as yet suspect how complete was his desertion of opinions she +held to as she did to her religious creed. He found relief in his +decision, and too in freedom of talk with Rivers, who looked upon slavery +as simply wicked and had no charity for the section so little responsible +for an inherited curse they were now driven by opponent criticism to +consider a blessing for all concerned. + +John too was asking questions and beginning now and then to wonder more +and more that what Westways discussed should never be mentioned at Grey +Pine. He rode Dixy early in the mornings with Leila at his side, fished +or swam in the afternoons, and so the days ran on. On September 30th, Ann +was to take Leila to the school in Maryland. Three days before this +terrible exile was to begin, as they turned in at the gate of the +stable-yard, Leila said, "I have only three days. I want to go and see +the Indian graves and the spring, and all the dear places I feel as if I +shall never see again." + +"What nonsense, Leila. What do you mean?" + +"Oh, Aunt Ann says I will be so changed in a year, I won't know myself." + +"You mean, you won't see things then as they are seen now." + +"Yes, that's what I wanted to say, but you always know how to find the +right words." + +"Perhaps," he said. "Things never look just the same tomorrow, but they +may look--well, nicer--or--I can't always find the right word. Suppose we +walk to the graves after lunch and have a good talk." It was so agreed. + +They were never quite free from the chance of being sent on errands, and +as Aunt Ann showed signs they well knew, they slipped away quietly and +were gone before the ever-busy lady had ready a basket of contributions +to the comfort of a sick woman in the village. They crossed the garden +and were lost to view in the woods before Leila spoke. "We just did it. +Billy will have to go." They laughed merrily at their escape. + +"Just think, John, how long it is since you came. It seems years. Oh, you +_were_ a queer boy! I just hated you." + +"I do suppose, Leila, I must have looked odd with that funny cap and the +cane--" + +"And the way you looked when I told you about swinging on the gate. I +hadn't done that for--oh, two years. What did you think of me?" + +"I thought you were very rude, and then--oh, Leila! when you came up out +of the drift--" He hesitated. + +"Oh, go on; I don't mind--not now." + +"I thought you beautiful with all that splendid hair on the snow." + +"Oh, John! How silly!" Whether or not she was unusually good to look at +had hardly ever before occurred to her. She flushed slightly, pleased and +wondering, with a new seed of gentle vanity planted in her simple nature, +a child on the threshold of the womanly inheritance of maidenhood. + +Then he said gravely, "It is wonderful to me how we have changed. I shall +miss you. To think you are the only girl I ever played with, and now when +you come back at Christmas--" + +"I am not to come back then, John. I am to stay with my uncles in +Baltimore and not come home until next June." + +"You will be a young lady in long skirts and your hair tucked up. It's +dreadful." + +"Can't be helped, John. You will look after Lucy, and write to me." + +"And you will write to me, Leila?" + +"If I may. Aunt says they are very strict. But I shall write to Aunt Ann, +of course." + +"That won't be the same." + +"No." + +They walked on in silence for a little while, the girl gazing idly at +the tall trees, the lad feeling strangely aware, freshly aware, as +they moved, of the great blue eyes and of the sun-shafts falling on +the abundant hair she swept back from time to time with a careless +hand. Presently she stood still, and sat down without a word on the +moss-cushioned trunk of a great spruce, fallen perhaps a century ago. +She was passing through momentary moods of depression or of pleasure as +she thought of change and travel, or nourishing little jealous desires +that her serious-minded cousin should miss her. + +The cousin turned back. "You might have invited me to sit down, Miss +Grey." He laughed, and then as he fell on the brown pine-needles at her +feet and looked up, he saw that her usual quick response to his challenge +of mirth was wanting. + +"What are you thinking about?" he asked. + +"Oh, about Aunt Ann and Uncle Jim, and--and--Lucy, and who will ride +her--" + +"You can trust Uncle Jim about Lucy." + +"I suppose so," said the girl rather dolefully and too near to the tears +she had been sternly taught to suppress. + +"Isn't it queer," he said, "how people think about the same things? I was +just going to speak of Aunt Ann and Uncle Jim. Uncle Jim often talks to +me and to Mr. Rivers about the election, but if I say a word or ask a +question at table, Aunt Ann says, 'we don't talk politics.'" + +"But once, John, I heard Mr. Rivers say that slavery was a curse and +wicked. Uncle Jim, he said Aunt Ann's people held slaves, and he didn't +want to talk about it. I couldn't hear the rest. I told you once about +this." + +"How you hear things, Leila. Prince Fine Ear was a trifle to you." + +"Who was Prince Fine Ear?" she asked. + +"Oh, he was the fairy prince who could hear the grass grow and the roses +talk. It's a pretty French fairy tale." + +"What a gabble there must be in the garden, John." + +"It doesn't need Prince Fine Ear to hear. Don't these big pines talk to +you sometimes, and the wind in the pines--the winds--?" + +"No, they don't, but Lucy does." + +Something like a feeling of disappointment faintly disturbed the play of +his fancies. "Let us go to the graves." + +"Yes, all right, come." + +They got no further than the cabin and again sat down near by, Leila +carelessly gathering the early golden-rod in her lap as they sat leaning +against the cabin logs. + +"This is our last walk," she said, arranging the golden plumes. "There is +a white golden-rod; find me another, John." + +He went away to the back of the cabin and returning threw in her lap a +half dozen. "Old Josiah says the blacks in the South think it is good +luck to find the first white golden-rod. Then, he says, you must have a +luck-wish. What shall it be? Come--quick now." + +"Oh, I--don't know. Yes, I wish to have Lucy at that terrible +boarding-school." + +John laughed. "Oh, Leila, is that the best you can do?" + +"Yes, wish a wish for me, if mine doesn't suit." + +Then he said, "I wish the school had small-pox and you had to stay at +Grey Pine." + +"I didn't think you'd care as much as that. Aren't these flowers +beautiful? Wish me a real wish." + +"Then, I wish that when we grow up you would marry me." + +"Well, John, you are a silly." She took on an air of authoritative +reprimand. "Why, John, you are only a boy, but you ought to know better +than to talk such nonsense." + +"And you," he said, "are just a little girl." + +"Oh, I'm not so very little," returned Miss Grey. + +"When I'm older, I shall ask you again; and if you say no, I'll ask +again--and--until--" + +"What nonsense, John. Let's go home." + +He rose flushed and troubled, and said, "Are you vexed, Leila?" + +"No, of course not; but it was foolish of you." + +He made no reply, in fact hardly heard her. He was for the moment older +in some ways than his years. What had strangely moved him disturbed Leila +not at all. She talked on lightly, laughing at times, and was answered +briefly; for although he had no desire to speak, the unfailing courteous +ways of his foreign education forced him to disregard his desire to say. +"Oh, do let me alone; you don't understand." He hardly understood himself +or the impulsive stir of emotion--a signal of coming manhood. Annoyed by +his unwillingness to talk, she too fell to silence, and they walked +homeward. + +During the time left to them there was much to do in the way of visits to +the older village people and some of the farmer families who had been +here on the soil nearly as long as the Penhallows. There were no other +neighbours near enough for country intercourse, and the life at Grey Pine +offered few attractions to friends or relatives from the cities unless +they liked to tramp with the Squire in search of game. The life was, +therefore, lonely and would for some women have been unendurable; but as +the Baptist preacher said to Rivers, "Duties are enough to satisfy Mrs. +Penhallow, and I do guess she enjoys her own goodness like the angels +must do." + +Mark Rivers answered, "That is pretty nearly true, but I wish she would +not invent duties which don't belong to women." + +"About the election, you mean?" + +"Yes. It troubles me, and I am sure it troubles the Squire. What about +yourself, Grace?" and a singularly sad smile went with the query and a +side glance at his friend's face. He had been uneasy about him since +Grace had bent a little in the House of Rimmon. + +"Oh, Rivers, the roof has got to leak. I have kept away from Mrs. +Penhallow. I can't accept her help and then preach against her party, +and--I mean to do it. I've wrestled with this little sin and--I don't say +I wasn't tempted--I was. Now I am clear. We Baptists can stand what water +leaks down on us from Heaven." + +"You mean to preach politics, Grace?" + +"Yes, that's what I mean to do. Oh! here comes Mrs. Penhallow." + +They had met in front of Josiah's shop. As Mrs. Penhallow approached, Mr. +Grace discovering a suddenly remembered engagement hurried away, and +Rivers went with her along the rough sidewalk of Westways. + +"I go away to-morrow with Leila," she said, "and Mr. Penhallow goes to +Pittsburgh. We shall leave John to you for at least a week. He will give +you no trouble. He has quite lost his foreign boyish ways, and don't you +think he is like my husband?" + +"He is in some ways very like the Squire." + +"Yes, in some things--I so rarely leave home that this journey to +Baltimore with Leila seems to me like foreign travel." + +"Does Leila like it?" + +"No, but it is time she was thrown among girls. She is less than she was +a mere wild boy. It is strange, Mark, that ever since John came she has +been less of a hoyden--and more of a simple girl." + +"It is," he said, "a fine young nature in a strong body. She has the +promise of beauty--whatever that may be worth." + +"Worth! It is worth a great deal," said Mrs. Ann. "It helps. The moral +value of beauty! Ah, Mark Rivers, I should like to discuss that with you. +She is at the ugly duck age. Now I must go home. I want you to look after +some things while I am away, and Mr. Penhallow is troubled about his pet +scamp, Lamb." + +She went on with her details of what he was to do, until he said +laughing, "Please to put it on paper." + +"I will. Not to leave John quite alone, I have arranged for you to dine +with him, and I suppose he will go to you in the mornings for his lessons +as usual." + +"Oh, yes, of course. I enjoy these fellows, but the able ones are John +and Tom McGregor. Tom is in the rough as yet, but he will come out all +right. I shall lose him in a year. He is over seventeen and is to study +medicine. But what about Lamb?" + +"I am wicked enough to wish he were really ill. It is only the usual +drunken bout, but he is a sort of Frankenstein to the Squire because of +that absurd foster-brother feeling. He is still in bed, I presume." + +"As you ask it," said Rivers, "I will see him, but if he belongs to any +flock, he is a black sheep of Grace's fold. Anything else, Mrs. +Penhallow?" he asked smiling--"but don't trust my memory." + +"If I think of anything more, I shall make a note of it and, of course, +you will see us at the station--the ten o'clock train--and give me a list +of the books you wanted. I may find them in Philadelphia." + +"Thank you." + +"Oh," she said, turning back, "I forgot. My cousin, George Grey, is +coming, but he is so uncertain that he may come as he advises me in ten +days, or as is quite possible to-morrow, or not at all." + +"Very good. If he comes, we will try to make Grey Pine agreeable." + +"That is really all, Mark, I think," and the little lady went away, with +a pleasant word for the long familiar people as she went by. + +In the afternoon Leila saw the Squire ride to the mills with John, and +went herself to the stable for a last mournful interview with Lucy. It +was as well that her aunt with unconscious good sense kept her busy until +dinner-time. The girl was near to accepting the relieving bribe of +unrestrained tears, being sad and at the age of those internal conflicts +which at the time of incomplete formation of character are apt to trouble +the more sensitive sex. A good hard gallop would have cured her +anticipative homesickness, for it must be a very black care indeed that +keeps its seat behind the rider. + +The next morning the rector and John were at the station of Westways +Crossroads when the Grey Pine carriage drove up. Mrs. Ann and Leila were +a half hour too early, as was Mrs. Penhallow's habit. Billy was on the +cart with the baggage, grinning as usual and full of self-importance. + +"Well, Billy," said Leila, talking to every one to conceal her +child-grief at this parting with the joyous activities of her energetic +young life. "Well, Billy, it's good-bye for a year." + +"Won't have no more fun, Miss Leila--and nobody to snowball Billy, this +winter." + +"No, not this winter." + +"Found another ground-hog yesterday. I'll let her alone till you come +back." + +John laughed. "Miss Leila will have long skirts and--hoops, Billy. +There will be no more coasting and no more snowballing or digging up +ground-hogs." + +"Hoops--what for?" said Billy. John laughed. + +"Please don't, John," she said, "it's too dreadful. Oh! I hear the +whistle." + +"Mark," said Mrs. Ann, "if George Grey comes--James, did you leave the +wine-closet key?" + +"Yes, my dear." + +He turned to Leila, and kissing her said, "A year is soon over. Be a good +girl, my child. It is about as bad for me as for you. God bless you. +There, get on, Ann. Yes, the trunks are all right. Good-bye." + +He stood a moment with John looking after the vanishing train. Then, he +said, "No need to stay here with me, Mark," and the rector understanding +him left him waiting for the westbound train and walked home across the +fields with John Penhallow. + +John was long silent, but at last said, "It will be pretty lonesome +without Leila." + +"Nice word, lonesome, John. Old English, I believe--has had its +adventures like some other words. Lonely doesn't express as well the idea +of being alone and sorrowful. We must do our best for your uncle and +aunt. Your turn to leave us will come, and then Leila will be lonesome." + +"I don't think she will care as much." + +Rivers glanced at the strong young face. "Why do you say that?" + +"I don't know, Mr. Rivers. I--she is more of a child than I am." + +"That hardly answers my question. But I must leave you. I am going +to see that scamp misnamed Lamb. See you at dinner. Don't cultivate +lonesomeness, John. No one is ever really alone." + +Leaving his pupil to consider what John thought rather too much of an +enigma, the young clergyman took to the dusty highway which led to +Westways. John watched the tall figure awkwardly climbing a snake fence, +and keeping in mind for explanation the clergyman's last remark he went +away through the woods. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +Penhallow had gravely told John that in his absence he must look after +the stables and the farm, so that now he had for the first time in his +life responsibilities. The horses and the stables were to be looked over +every day. Of course, too, he must ride to the Squire's farm, which was +two miles away, and which was considered a model of all that a farm +should be. The crop yield to the acre was most satisfactory, but when +some one of the old Quaker farmers, whose apple-orchards the Squire had +plundered when young, walked over it and asked, "Well, James, how much +did thee clear this last year?" the owner would honestly confess that +Mrs. Ann's kitchen-garden paid better; but then she gave away what the +house did not use. + +Very many years before slavery had become by tacit consent avoided as a +subject for discussion, Mrs. Ann critical of what his farm cost, being +herself country-bred, had said that if it were worked with Maryland +blacks it would pay and pay well. + +"You mean, dear, that if I owned the labour, it would pay." + +"Yes," she returned gaily, "and with me for your farmeress." + +"You are, you are!" he laughed, "and you have cultivated me. I am well +broken to your satisfaction, I trust; but to me, Ann, the unpaid labour +of the slave seems impossible." + +"Oh, James, it is not only possible, but right for us who know what for +all concerned is best." + +"Well, well," he laughed, "the vegetable garden seems to be run at a +profit without them--ah! Ann, how about that?" + +The talk was, as they both knew, more serious than it would have seemed +to any one who might have chanced to be present. The tact born of perfect +love has the certainty of instinct, and to be sensitive even to +tenderness in regard to the prejudices or the fixed opinions of another +does much to insure happiness both in friendship and in love. Here with +these two people was a radical difference of belief concerning what was +to be more and more a hard subject as the differences of sentiment North +and South became sharply defined. Westways and the mills understood her, +and what were her political beliefs, but not the laughingly guarded +silence of the much loved and usually outspoken Squire, who now and then +relieved his mind by talking political history to John or Rivers. + +The stables and farm were seriously inspected and opinions expressed +concerning colts and horses to the amusement of the grooms. He presided +in Penhallow's place at table with some sense of newly acquired +importance, and on the fourth day of his uncle's absence, at Mark +Rivers's request, asked Mr. Grace to join them. The good Baptist was +the more pleased to come in the absence of Mrs. Penhallow, who liking +neither his creed nor his manners, respected the goodness of a life of +self-denial, which, as his friend Rivers knew, really left him with +hardly enough to keep his preaching soul alive. + +"Grace is late, as usual," said Rivers to John. "He has, I believe, no +acquaintance with minutes and no more conception of time than the angels. +Ah! I see him. His table-manners really distress your aunt; but manners +are--well, we will leave that to another time. Good evening, Grace." + +"Glad to see you, sir," said John. + +On a word from Rivers, the guest offered thanks, which somewhat amazed +John by its elaborate repetitions. + +The stout little preacher, carefully tucking his napkin between his paper +shirt-collar and his neck, addressed himself to material illustration of +his thankfulness, while the rector observed with a pitiful interest the +obvious animal satisfaction of the man. John with more amusement saw the +silver fork used for a time and at last abandoned for use of the knife. +Unconsciously happier for an unusually good dinner, Grace accepted a +tumbler of the Penhallow cider, remarking, "I never take spirits, Rivers, +but I suppose cider to be a quite innocent beverage." + +Rivers smiled. "It will do you no harm." + +"It occurs to me, Rivers," said Grace, "that although wine is mentioned +in the Bible, cider is not. There is no warning against its use." + +It also occurred to Rivers that there was none against applejack. "Quite +right," he said. "You make me think of that scamp, Lamb. McGregor tells +me that he is very ill." + +"A pity he wouldn't die," remarked the young host, who had indiscreetly +taken two full tumblers of old hard cider before Rivers had noticed his +unaccustomed use of this rather potent drink. + +"You should not desire the death of any man, John," said Grace, "least of +all the death of a sinner like Lamb." + +"Really," said John with the dignity of just a trifle too much cider, "my +phrase did not admit of your construction." + +"No," laughed Rivers, seeing it well to intervene, "and yet to say it is +a pity may be a kindly wish and leaves it open to charitable +interpretation." + +"He is quite unprepared to die," insisted Grace, with the clerical +intonation which Rivers disliked. + +"How do you know that?" asked Rivers. + +"I know," said John confidently. "He told me he was a born thief and +loved to lie. He was pretty drunk at the time." + +"That is too nearly true to be pleasant," remarked Rivers, "'_in vino +veritas_.' The man is a very strange nature. I think he never forgives a +benefit. I sometimes think he has no sense of the difference between +right and wrong--an unmoral nature, beyond your preaching or mine, Grace, +even if he ever gave us a chance." + +"I think he is a cruel beast," said John. "I saw him once--" + +Rivers interrupted him saying, as he rose, "Suppose we smoke." + +With unconscious imitation of the courteous Squire he represented, John +said, "We will smoke in the library if you have had enough wine." + +Rivers said, "Certainly, Squire," not altogether amused as John, a little +embarrassed, said quickly, "I should have said cider." + +"Of course, we have had no wine, quite a natural mistake," remarked +Grace, which the representative squire felt to be a very disagreeable +comment. + +"You will find cigars and pipes on the table," said the rector, "and I +will join you in a moment." So saying he detained John by a hand on his +arm and led him aside as they crossed the hall. + +"You are feeling that old hard cider, my boy. You had better go to bed. I +should have warned you." + +"Yes, sir--I--did not--I mean--I--" + +"_C'est une diablesse_--a little devil. There are others, and worse ones, +John. Good-night." + +On the stairs the young fellow felt a deepening sense of humiliation +and surprise as he became aware of the value of the banister-rail. + +Rivers went into the library blaming his want of care, and a little sorry +for the lad's evident distress. "What, not smoking, Grace?" + +"No, I have given it up." + +"But, why?" + +"Well, I can't smoke cheap strong tobacco, and I can't afford better +stuff." + +"Then, be at ease, my friend. The Squire has sent me a large supply. I am +to divide with you," which was as near to a fib as the young clergyman +ever got in his blameless life. + +"I shall thank him," returned Grace simply, "and return to my pipe, but I +do sometimes think it is too weak an indulgence of a slavish habit." + +"Hardly worth while to thank Penhallow; he will have forgotten all about +it." + +"But I shall not." + +They smoked and talked politics, and the village and their work, until at +last, after one of the pipe-filling pauses, Grace said, "I ought not to +have taken that cider, but it singularly refreshed me. You did not +partake." + +"No, it disagrees with me." + +"I feel it, Brother Rivers. I feel it slightly, and--I--a man who +preaches temperance, total abstinence--" + +"My dear Grace, that is not temperance. There may be intemperance in +the way a man puts his opinions before others--a man may hurt his own +cause--" + +Grace returned quickly, "You were in our church Wednesday night--I saw +you. You think I was intemperate?" + +"Frankly, yes. You were abusive. You are too well self-governed to +understand the working-man's temptations. You preached from the heart as +you felt, without the charity of the head." + +"Perhaps--perhaps," he returned humbly; and then with a quite gentle +retort, "Don't you sometimes preach too much from the head, Brother +Rivers?" + +"Yes, that may be the case. I am conscious sometimes that I lack your +power of direct appeal--your personal application of the truth. I ought +to preach the first half of the sermon--the appeal to the reason, the +head part--and ask you to conclude with the heart share--the personal +application of my cold logic." + +"Let us try it," said Grace rising and much amused; "cold, Rivers! your +cold logic! There is nothing cold in all your nature. Let us go home; we +have had a good talk." + +As they walked down the avenue Grace said, "What are you doing about +Lamb? Is it really wise to talk to him?" + +"Just now," said the rector, "he has acquired a temporary conscience in +the shape of a congested stomach. I talked to him a little. He is +penitent, or says he is, and as his mother is sometimes absent, I have +set Billy to care for him; some one must. I have found that to keep Billy +on a job you must give him a daily allowance of chewing tobacco; that +answers." + +"Bad company, Brother Rivers." + +"Oh, there is no guile in Billy." + +They parted at the Grey Pine gate. Rivers had innocently prepared remote +mischief, which by no possible human foresight could he have anticipated. +When, walking in the quiet of a lonely wood, a man sets his foot on a +dead branch, the far end stirs another, and the motion so transmitted +agitates a half dozen feet away the leaves of a group of ferns. The man +stops and suspects some little woodland citizen as the cause of the +unexplained movement; thus it is in the affairs of life. We do some +innocent thing and are puzzled to explain how it brings about remote +mischief. + +Meanwhile an unendurable craving for drink beset the man Lamb, who was +the prey of slowly lessening delusions. Guardian Billy chewed his daily +supply of tobacco and sat at the window in the hot second-storey room +feeding Lamb with brief phrases concerning what he saw on the street. + +"Oh! there go Squire's horses for exercise; Joe's on Lucy." + +"Damn Lucy! Do you go to mother's room--" + +"What for?" + +"Oh, she keeps her money in it, and Mrs. Penhallow paid her in advance +the day she left." + +"Can't do it," said Billy, who had strict orders not to leave Lamb alone. + +"Oh, just look in the top drawer. She keeps a bit of money rolled up in +one of her stockings. That will get me a little whisky and you lots of +tobacco." + +"Can't do it," said Billy. "Want me to steal? Won't do it." + +"Then I'll get even with you some day." + +Billy laughed. "Why I could lick you--like Mr. John licked the doctor's +son. Gosh! there goes Pole's wagon." + +Lamb fell to thought of how to get that whisky. The ingenuity of the man +who craves alcohol or morphia is sometimes surprising even to the most +experienced doctor. The immorality of the means of attainment is never +considered. If, as with Lamb, a lie or worse be needed, there is a +certain satisfaction in having outwitted nurse and doctor. + +On the day after the two clergymen had heard John's final opinion of +Lamb, the bed-fast man received his daily visit from his spiritual +physician, and the clergyman met at the house door the doctor of the +body. "I suppose," said McGregor, "that you and I as concerns this +infernal rascal are under orders from Penhallow and his wife. I at least +have the satisfaction of being paid--" + +"Oh, I am paid, Doctor," the clergyman smiled. + +"Of course, any one and every one who serves that very efficient and +positive saint, Mrs. Penhallow, is paid. She's too terrifyingly good. It +must be--well, inconvenient at times. Now she wants this animal looked +after because of Mrs. Lamb; and the squire has some sort of absurd belief +that because the same breasts that nursed him nursed our patient, he must +befriend the fellow--and he does. Truth is, Rivers, that man's father was +a sodden drunkard but, I am told, not otherwise bad. It's a pretty sure +doom for the child. This man's body has damned his soul, and now the soul +is paying it back in kind." + +"The damnation will be settled elsewhere," said Rivers gravely. "You are +pleading for him when you say he had a father who drank." + +"Well, yes, yes. That is true, but I do confoundedly mistrust him. He +never remembers a kindness and never forgets the smallest injury. But +when Mrs. Penhallow puts a hand on your arm and you look at her, you just +go and do what she wants done. Oh, me too! Let's get out of this +unreasonable sun and see this fellow." + +Billy was chasing blue-bottle flies on the window panes, and the patient +in bed was lying still, flushed, with red eyes. He was slowly recovering +from an attack of delirium tremens and reassembling his scattered wits. + +"Well," said McGregor, "better, I see. Bugs gone?" + +"Yes, sir; but if I had a little, just a nip of whisky to taper off on, +I'd be all right." + +"Not a drop, Peter." + +"I'll die if I don't get it." + +"Then die sober." + +Peter made no reply. McGregor felt his pulse, made his usual careful +examination, and said at last, "Now keep quiet, and in a few days you'll +be well." + +"For God's sake, give me whisky--a little. I'm so weak I can't stand up." + +"No," said McGregor, "it will pass. Now I must go. A word with you, Mr. +Rivers." When outside of the room he said, "We must trust Billy, I +suppose?" + +"Yes, there is no one else." + +"That man is giving his whole mind to thinking how he can get whisky. He +will lie, cheat, steal, do anything to get it." + +"How can he? Neither Billy nor his old mother will help him. He will get +well, Doctor, I suppose?" + +"Yes, I told him he would. More's the pity. He is a permanent nuisance, +up to any wickedness, a hopelessly ruined wild beast." + +"Perhaps," said Rivers; "perhaps. Who can be sure of that?" He despaired +of no one. + +The sadly experienced doctor shook his head. "He will live to do much +mischief. The good die young; you may be sure the wicked do not. In some +ways the man's case has its droll side. Queer case! in some ways +interesting." + +"How is it interesting?" said Rivers. + +"Oh, what he saw--his delusions when he was at his worst." + +"What did he see?" + +"Oh, bugs--snakes--the common symptoms, and at last the 'Wilmot Proviso.' +Imagine it. He knew no more of that than of the physiology of the man in +the moon. He described it as a 'plucked chicken.'" + +"I suppose that was a wild contribution from the endless political talk +of the town." + +"Well, a 'plucked chicken' was not so bad. He saw also 'Bleeding Kansas.' +A 'stuck pig' that was; and more--more, but I must go." + +Rivers went back to the room. "Here is your tobacco, Billy, and wait +downstairs; don't go away." + +The big man turned over in bed as the clergyman entered. "Mr. Rivers. I'm +bad. I might have died. Won't you pray for me?" + +Rivers hesitated, and then fell on his knees at the bedside, his face in +his hands. Peter lay still smiling, grimly attentive. As Rivers rose to +his feet, Lamb said, "Couldn't I have just a little whisky? Doctors don't +always know. I've been in this scrape before, and just a little liquor +does help and it don't do any harm. I can't think, I'm so harried inside. +I can't even pray, and I want to pray. Now, you will, sir, won't you?" + +This mingling of low cunning, of childlike appeal and of hypocrisy, +obviously suggested anything but the Christian charity of reply; what +should he say? Putting aside angry comment, he fell back upon his one +constant resource, What would Christ have said to this sinful man? He +stood so long silent by the bed, which creaked as Lamb sat up, that the +man's agony of morbid thirst caught from his silence a little hope, and +he said, "Now you will, I know." + +Rivers made no direct answer. Was it hopeless? He tried to read the +face--the too thin straight nose, white between dusky red cheeks, the +projecting lower lip, and the lip above it long, the eyes small, red, and +eagerly attentive. This was not the time for reason. He said, "I should +be your worst enemy, Peter. Every one has been good to you; over and over +the Squire has saved you from jail. Mrs. Penhallow asked me to help you. +Try to bear what your sin has brought on you, oh! do try. Pray God for +help to bear it patiently." + +"I'm in hell. What's the use of praying in hell? Get me whisky and I'll +pray." + +Rivers felt himself to be at the end of his resources, and that the +enfeebled mind was incapable of response to any appeal to head or heart. +"I will come again," he said. "Good-bye." + +"Oh, damn everybody," muttered Peter. + +Rivers went out and sent Billy up to take charge. Lamb was still sitting +up in bed when Billy returned. The simple fellow poured out in brief +sentences small bits of what he had seen at the street door. + +"Oh, shut up," said Peter. "The doctor says I'll feel better if I'm +shaved--ain't been shaved these three weeks. Doctor wants you to go and +get Josiah to come and fix me up to-night. You tell him it's the doctor's +orders. Don't you be gone long. I'm kind of lonely." + +"All right," said Billy, in the cheerful way which made him a favourite +despite his disinclination for steady work. + +"Now, don't be gone long. I need a good shave, Billy." + +"Guess you do--way you look you wouldn't fetch five cents at one of them +rummage-sales. Ain't had but one in four years." + +"Oh, get out, Billy." Once rid of his guard he tried in vain to stand up +and fell back cursing. + +The order from the doctor was to be obeyed. "Guess he's too shaky to +shave himself," said Josiah. "I'll come about half-past eight." + +As Josiah walked to the far end of the village, he thought in his simple +way of his last three years. After much wandering and fear of being +traced, he had been used at the stables by Penhallow. That he had been a +slave was suspected, but that troubled no one in Westways. He had long +felt at ease and safe. He lived alone, a man of some forty years, cooked +for himself, and had in the county bank a small amount of carefully saved +earnings. He had his likes and dislikes, but he had the prudently guarded +tongue of servitude. Long before John Penhallow had understood better the +tall black man's position and won the confidence of a friendly hour, he +saw with his well-bred courtesy how pleased was the man to be called Mr. +Josiah. It sounded queer, as Pole remarked, to call a runaway darkey +Mister, but this in no way disturbed John. The friendly feeling for the +black grew as they fished together in the summer afternoons, or trapped +muskrats, or dug up hellbenders. The barber had one half-concealed +dislike. The man he was now to shave he both feared and hated. "Couldn't +tell you why, Master John. It's like the way Crocker's wife's 'feared of +cats. They ain't never hurt her none." + +"Well," he said, "here I am," and in unusual silence set about his work +by dim candlelight. The patient was as silent. When Josiah had finished, +he said no word of his fee, knowing it to be a hopeless debt. + +"Guess you do look the better for a shave," he remarked, as he was about +to leave. "I'll send up Billy." The uneasy guardian had seized on the +chance to get a little relief. + +"No, don't go," said Lamb. "I'm in a hell of thirst. I want you to get me +some whisky. I'll pay you when I get work." + +Josiah was prudent and had no will to oblige the drunkard nor any belief +in future repayment. "Couldn't do that--doctor wouldn't like it." + +"What, you won't do it?" + +"No, I can't do it." + +"If you don't, I'll tell what I know about you." + +"What do you know?" The long lost terror returned--but what could he +know? + +"Oh, you ran away--I know all about it. You help me now and I'll keep +quiet--you'd better." + +A fierce desire rose in the mind of Josiah to kill the rascal, and then, +by long habit prudent, he said, "I'll have to think about it." But what +could this man know? + +"Best to think damn quick, or you'll have your old master down on you. I +give you till to-morrow morning early. Do you hear? It's just a nip of +whisky I want." + +"Yes, I hear--got to think about it." He went out into the night, a soul +in fear. No one knew his former master's name. Then his very good +intelligence resumed control. No one really knew--only John--and he very +little. He put it aside, confident in the young fellow's discretion. Of +course, the town suspected that he was a fugitive slave, but nobody cared +or seemed to care. And yet, at times in his altogether prosperous happy +years of freedom, when he read of the fugitive-slave act, and he read +much, he had disturbing hours. He stood still a moment and crossed the +road. The Episcopal church, which he punctually attended, was on +Penhallow's land, and near by was the rectory where Mark lived with an +old woman cook and some help from Mrs. Lamb. The night was warm, the +windows were open, and the clergyman was seen writing. Josiah at the +window spoke. + +"Excuse me, sir, could I talk to you? I am in a heap of trouble." + +"In trouble, Josiah? Come in, the front door is open." + +As he entered the rector's study, Rivers said, "Sit down." + +Something in the look of the man made him think of hunted animals. "No +one else is in the house. What is it?" The black poured out his story. + +"So then," said Rivers, "he lied to you about the doctor and threatened +you with a lie. Why, Josiah, if he had known who was your master, he +would have told you, and whether or not you ran away from slavery is none +of his business. Mr. Penhallow believes you did, others suspect it, but +no one cares. You are liked and you have the respect of the town. There +would be trouble if any man tried to claim you." + +"I'd like to tell you all about it, sir." + +"No--no--on no account. Tell no one. Now go home. I will settle with that +drunken liar." + +"Thank you. May God bless--and thank you." + +The clergyman sat in thought a while, and the more he considered the +matter which he had made light of to the scared black, the less he liked +it. He dismissed it for a time as a lie told to secure whisky, but the +fear Josiah showed was something pitiful in this strong black giant. He +knew Lamb well enough to feel sure that Josiah would now have in him an +enemy who was sure in some way to get what he called "even" with the +barber, and was a man known and spoken of in Westways as "real spiteful." + +When next day Rivers entered the room where Lamb lay abed, he saw at once +that he was better. He meant to make plain to a revengeful man that +Josiah had friends and that the attempt to blackmail him would be +dangerous. Lamb was sitting up in bed apparently relieved, and was +reading a newspaper. The moment he spoke Rivers knew that he was a far +more intelligent person than the man of yesterday. + +Lamb said, "Billy, set a chair for Mr. Rivers. The heat's awful for +October." Billy obeyed and stepped out glad to escape. + +Rivers said, "No, I won't sit down. I have something to say to you, and I +advise you to listen. You lied to Billy about the doctor yesterday, and +you tried to frighten Josiah into getting you whisky--you lied to him." + +Josiah had not returned, and now it was plain that he had told the +clergyman of the threat. Lamb was quick to understand the situation, and +the cleverness of his defence interested and for a moment half deceived +the rector. + +"Who says I lied? Maybe I did. I don't remember. It's just like a +dream--I don't feel nowise accountable. If--I--abused Josiah, I'm sorry. +He did shave me. Let me think--what was it scared Josiah?" He had the +slight frown of a man pursuing a lost memory. + +"It is hardly worth while, Peter, to go into the matter if you don't +recall what you said." He realized that the defence was perfect. Its too +ready arguments added to his disbelief in its truth. + +Lamb was now enjoying the game. "Was Josiah really here, sir? But, of +course, he was, for he shaved me. I do remember that. Won't you sit down, +sir?" + +"No, I must go. I am pleased to find you so much better." + +"Thank you, sir. I don't want whisky now. I'll be fit for work in a week +or so. I wonder what I did say to Josiah?" + +This was a little too much for Rivers's patience. "Whatever you said had +better never be said again or you will find yourself in very serious +trouble with Mr. Penhallow." + +"Why, Mr. Rivers, I know I drink, and then I'm not responsible, but how +could I say to that poor old darkey what I don't mind I said yesterday?" + +"Well, you may chance to remember," said Rivers; "at least I have done my +duty in warning you." + +"I'd like, sir," returned Lamb, leaning forward with his head bent and +uplift of lids over watchful eyes--"Oh, I want you to know how much I +thank you, sir, for all your kind--" + +"You may credit the Squire for that. Good-bye," and he went out. + +Neither man had been in the least deceived, but the honours of the game +were with the big man in the bed, which creaked under his weight as he +fell back grinning in pleased self-approval. "Damn that black cuss," he +muttered, "and the preacher too. I'll make them sorry." + +At the outer doorstep Mark Rivers stood still and wiped the sweat from +his forehead. There must be minutes in the life of the most spiritually +minded clergyman when to bow a little in the Rimmon House of the gods of +profane language would be a relief. He may have had the thought, for he +smiled self-amused and remembered his friend Grace. Then he took himself +to task, reflecting that he should have been more gently kind, and was +there not some better mode of approaching this man? Was he not a spirit +in prison, as St. Peter said? What right had he with his beliefs to +despair of any human soul? Then he dismissed the matter and went home to +his uncompleted sermon. He would have to tell the Squire; yes, that would +be advisable. + +The days at Grey Pine ran on in the routine of lessons, riding, and +the pleasure for John of representing his uncle in the oversight of the +young thoroughbred colts and the stables. Brief talks with Rivers of +books and politics filled the after-dinner hour, and when he left John +fell with eagerness on the newspapers of the day. His uncle's mail he +forwarded to Pittsburgh, and heard from him that he would not return +until mid-October. His aunt would be at home about the 8th, and Leila +was now at her school. The boy felt the unaccustomed loneliness, and most +of all the absence of Leila. One letter for his aunt lay on the hall +table. It came too late to be sent on its way, nor had she asked to have +letters forwarded. + +Two days before her return was to be expected, when John came down +dressed for dinner, he found Mr. Rivers standing with his back to a fire, +which the evening coolness of October in the hills made desirable. The +rector was smiling. + +"Mr. George Grey came just after you went upstairs. It seems that he +wrote to your aunt the letter on the table in the hall. As no one met him +at Westways Crossing, he was caught in a shower and pretty well soaked +before he got some one to bring him to Grey Pine. I think he feels rather +neglected." + +"Has he never been here before?" asked John, curious in regard to the +guest who he thought, from hearing his aunt speak of him, must be a +person of importance. + +"No, not for a long while. He is only a second cousin of Mrs. Penhallow; +but as all Greys are for her--well, _the_ Greys--we must do our best to +make it pleasant for him until your aunt and uncle return." + +"Of course," said John, with some faint feeling that it was needless to +remind him, his uncle's representative, of his duties as the host. Rivers +said, smiling, "It may not be easy to amuse Mr. Grey. I did not tell you +that your aunt wrote me, she will not be here until the afternoon train +on the 9th. Ah! here is Mr. Grey." + +John was aware of a neatly built, slight man in middle life, clad in a +suit of dark grey. He came down the stairs in a leisurely way. "Not much +of a Grey!" thought Rivers, as he observed the clean-shaven face, which +was sallow, or what the English once described as olivaster, the eyes +small and dark, the hair black and so long as to darkly frame the +thin-featured, clean-shaven refinement of a pleasant and now smiling +face. + +John went across the hall to receive him, saying, "I am John Penhallow, +sir. I am sorry we did not know you were to be here to-day." + +"It is all right--all right. Rather chilly ride. Less moisture outside +and more inside would have been agreeable; in fact, would be at present, +if I may take the liberty." + +Seeing that the host did not understand him, Rivers said promptly, "I +think, John, Mr. Grey is pleasantly reminding us that we should offer him +some of your uncle's rye." + +"Of course," said John, who had not had the dimmest idea what the +Maryland gentleman meant. + +Mr. Grey took the whisky slowly, remarking that he knew the brand, +"Peach-flavoured, sir. Very good, does credit to Penhallow's taste. As +Mr. Clay once remarked, the mellowing years, sir, have refined it." + +"Dinner is ready," said John. + +There was no necessity to entertain Mr. Grey. He talked at length, what +James Penhallow later described as "grown-up prattle." Horses, the crops, +and at length the proper methods of fining wine--a word of encouragement +from Rivers set him off again. Meanwhile the dinner grew cold on his +plate. At last, abruptly conscious of the lingering meal, Mr. Grey said, +"This comes, sir, of being in too interesting society." + +Was this mere quaint humour, thought Rivers; but when Grey added, "I +should have said, sir, too interested company," he began to wonder at the +self-absorption of what was evidently a provincial gentleman. At last, +with "Your very good health!" he took freely of the captain's Madeira. + +Rivers, who sipped a single glass slowly, was about to rise when to his +amusement, using his uncle's phrase, John said, "My uncle thinks that +Madeira and tobacco do not go well together; you may like to smoke in the +library." + +Grey remarked, "Quite right, as Henry Clay once said, 'There is nothing +as melancholy as the old age of a dinner; who, sir, shall pronounce its +epitaph?' That, sir, I call eloquence. No more wine, thank you." As he +spoke, he drew a large Cabana from his waistcoat pocket and lighted it +from one of the candles on the table. + +Rivers remarked, "We will find it warmer in the library." + +When the two men settled down to pipe or cigar at the library fire, John, +who had felt the rôle of host rather difficult, was eager to get a look +at the _Tribune_ which lay invitingly on the table, and presently caught +the eye of Mr. Grey. + +"I see you have the _Tribune_" he said. "A mischief-making +paper--devilish. I presume Penhallow takes it to see what the other +side has to say. Very wise, sir, that." + +Rivers, unwilling to announce his friend's political opinions, said, +smiling, "I must leave Mr. Penhallow to account for that wicked journal." + +Grey sat up with something like the alert look of a suddenly awakened +terrier on his thin face. "I presume the captain (he spoke of him usually +as the captain) must be able to control a good many votes in the village +and at the iron-works." + +"I rather fancy," said Rivers, "that he has taken no active part in the +coming election." + +"Unnecessary, perhaps. It is, I suppose, like my own county. We haven't a +dozen free-soil voters. 'Bleeding Kansas' is a dead issue with us. It is +bled to death, politically dead, sir, and buried." + +"Not here," said John imprudently. "Uncle James says Buchanan will carry +the State by a small majority, but he may not carry this county." + +"Then he should see to it," said Grey. "Elect Fremont, my boy, and the +Union will go to pieces. Does the North suppose we will endure a +sectional President? No, sir, it would mean secession--the death-knell of +the Union. Sir, we may be driven to more practical arguments by the +scurrilous speeches of the abolitionists. It is an attack on property, on +the ownership of the inferior race by the supremely superior. That is +the vital question." + +He spoke with excitement and gesticulated as if at a political meeting. +Mark Rivers, annoyed, felt a strong inclination to box John's ears. He +took advantage of the pause to say, "Would you like a little more rye, +Mr. Grey?" + +"Why, yes, sir. I confess to being a trifle dry. But to resume our +discussion--" + +"Pardon me. John, ask for the whisky." + +To John this was interesting and astonishing. He had never heard talk as +wild. The annoyance on Rivers's face was such as to be easily read by the +least observant. Elsewhere Mr. Rivers would have had a ready answer, but +as Grey sat still a little while enjoying his own eloquence, the fire and +the whisky, Rivers's slight negative hint informed John that he was to +hold his tongue. + +As the clergyman turned to speak to Grey, the latter said, "I wish to add +a word more, sir. You will find that the men at the South cling to State +rights; if these do not preserve for me and others my property and the +right, sir, to take my body-servant to Boston or Kansas, sure that he +will be as secure as my--my--shirt-studs, State rights are of no +practical use." + +"You make it very plain," said Rivers, feeling at last that he must +defend his own opinions. "I have myself a few words to say--but, is that +all?" + +"Not quite--not quite. I am of the belief that the wants of the Southern +States should be considered, and the demand for their only possible +labour considered. I would re-open the slave-trade. I may shock you, +reverend sir, but that is my opinion." + +"And, as I observe," said Rivers, "that also of some governors of +States." He disliked being addressed as "reverend," and knew how +Penhallow would smile when captained. + +There was a brief silence, what Rivers used to call the punctuation value +of the pipe. The Maryland gentleman was honestly clear in the statement +of his political creed, and Rivers felt some need to be amiable and +watchful of his own words in what he was longing to say. John listened, +amazed. He had had his lesson in our history from two competent masters +and was now intensely interested as he listened to the ultimate creed of +the owner of men. + +Grey had at last given up the cigar he had lighted over and over and let +go out as often. He set down his empty glass, and said with perfect +courtesy, "I may have been excessive in statement. I beg pardon for +having spoken of, or rather hinted at, the need for a resort to arms. +That is never a pleasant hint among gentlemen. I should like to hear how +this awful problem presents itself to you, a clergyman of, sir, I am glad +to know, my own church." + +"Yes, that is always pleasant to hear," said Rivers. "There at least we +are on common ground. I dislike these discussions, Mr. Grey, but I cannot +leave you without a reply, although in this house (and he meant the hint +to have its future usefulness) politics are rarely discussed." + +"Indeed!" exclaimed Grey. "At home we talk little else. I do believe the +watermelons and the pumpkins talk politics." + +Rivers smiled. "I shall reply to you, of course. It will not be a full +answer. I want to say that this present trouble is not a quarrel born +within the memory of any living man. The colonial life began with +colonial differences and aversions due to religion--Puritan, Quaker +and Church of England, intercolonial tariffs and what not. For the +planter-class we were mere traders; they for us were men too lightly +presumed to live an idle life of gambling, sport and hard drinking--a +life foreign to ours. The colonies were to one another like foreign +countries. In the Revolution you may read clearly the effect of these +opinions, when Washington expressed the wish that his officers would +forget that they came from Connecticut or Virginia, and remember only +they were Americans." + +Grey said, "We did our share, sir." + +"Yes, but all Washington's important generals were Northern men; but that +is not to the point. Washington put down the whisky-tax revolt with small +regard for State rights. The Constitution unhappily left those State +rights in a condition to keep up old differences. That is clear, I +regret to say. Then came the tariff and a new seed of dissension. +Slavery and its growing claims added later mischief, but it was not the +only cause of our troubles, nor is it to-day with us, although it is with +you, the largest. We have tried compromises. They are of the history of +our own time, familiar to all of us. Well, Mr. Grey, the question is +shall we submit to the threat of division, a broken land and its +consequences?--one moment and I have done. I am filled with gloom when I +look forward. When nations differ, treaties or time, or what not, may +settle disputes; too often war. But, Mr. Grey, never are radical, civil +or religious differences settled without the sword, if I have read +history aright. You see," and he smiled, "I could not let pass your hint +without a word." + +"If it comes to that--to war," said Grey, "we would win. In that belief +lies the certainty I dread." + +"Ah! sir, in that Southern belief lies the certainty I too dread. You +think we live merely lives of commerce. You do not realise that there is +with us a profound sentiment of affection for the Union. No people +worth anything ever lived without the very human desire of national +self-preservation. It has the force of a man's personal desire for +self-preservation. Pardon me, I suppose that I have the habit of the +sermon." + +Grey replied, "You are very interesting, but I am tired. A little more +rye, John. I must adjourn this discussion--we will talk again." + +"Not if I can help it," laughed Rivers. "I ought to say that I shall vote +the Republican ticket." + +"I regret it--I deeply regret it. Oh! thanks, John." He drank the whisky +and went upstairs to bed. + +Rivers sat down. "This man is what I call a stateriot. I am or try to be +that larger thing, a patriot. I did not say all, it was useless. Your +uncle cares little--oh, too little--about slavery, and generally the +North cares as little; but the antislavery men are active and say, as did +Washington, that the Union of the States was or will be insecure until +slavery comes to an end. It may be so, John; it is the constant seed of +discord. I would say, let them go in peace, but that would be only to +postpone war to a future day. I rarely talk about this matter. What made +you start him? You ought to have held your tongue." + +The young fellow smiled. "Yes, sir, I suppose so." + +"However, we won't have it again if I can help it." + +"It was very interesting." + +"Quite too interesting, but will he try it on the Squire and your aunt? +Now I am going home. I hate these talks. Don't sit up and read the +_Tribune_." + +"No, sir, and I will take Mr. Grey to ride to-morrow." + +"Do, and send him home too tired to talk politics." + +"I think if I put him on uncle's big John it will answer." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +While the two maids from Westways waited on the family at breakfast, the +guest was pleased to express himself favourably in regard to the coffee +and the corn bread. John being left alone in care of the guest after the +meal proposed a visit to the stables. Mr. Grey preferred for a time the +fire, and later would like to walk to the village. Somewhat relieved, +John found for him the Baltimore paper, which Mrs. Penhallow read daily. +Mr. Grey would not smoke, but before John went away remarked, "I +perceive, my boy, no spittoon." He was chewing tobacco vigorously and +using the fireplace for his frequent expectoration. John, a little +embarrassed, thought of his Aunt Ann. The habit of chewing was strange to +the boy's home experience. Certainly, Billy chewed, and others in the +town, nor was it at that time uncommon at the North. He confided his +difficulty to the groom, his boxing-master, who having in his room the +needed utensil placed it beside the hall-fire, to Mr. Grey's +satisfaction--a square tray of wood filled with sawdust. + +"Not ornamental, but useful, John, in fact essential," said Mr. Grey, as +John excused himself with the statement that he had to go to school. When +he returned through the woods, about noon, to his relief he saw far down +the avenue Mr. Grey and the gold-headed, tasselled cane he carried. + +A little later Mr. Grey in the sun of a cool day early in October was +walking along the village street in keen search of news of politics. He +talked first to Pole, the butcher, who hearing that he was a cousin of +Mrs. Penhallow assured him that the town would go solid for Buchanan. +Then he met Billy, who was going a-fishing, having refused a wood-cutting +job the rector offered. + +"A nice fishing-rod that," said Grey. + +Billy who was bird-witted and short of memory replied, "Mrs. Penhallow +she gave me a dollar to pay pole-tax if I vote for--I guess it was +Buchanan. I bought a nice fishing-pole." + +Grey was much amused and agreeably instructed in regard to Mrs. Ann's +sentiments, as he realized the simple fellow's mental condition. "A +fishing-pole-tax--well--well--" and would tell John of his joke. "Any +barber in this town?" he asked. + +"Yes, there's Josiah," and Billy was no longer to be detained. + +Mr. Grey mailed a letter, but the post-mistress would not talk politics +and was busy. At last, wandering eastward, he came upon the only +unoccupied person in Westways. Peter Lamb, slowly recovering strength, +was seated on his mother's doorstep. His search for money had been +defeated by the widow's caution, and the whisky craving was being felt +anew. + +"Good morning," said Grey. "You seem to be the only man here with nothing +to do." + +"Yes, sir. I've been sick, and am not quite fit to work. Sickness is hard +on a working man, sir." + +Grey, a kindly person, put his hand in his pocket, "Quite right, it is +hard. How are the people here going to vote? I hope the good old ticket." + +"Oh! Buchanan and Breckenridge, sir, except one or two and the darkey +barber. He's a runaway--I guess. Been here these three or four years. +Squire likes him because he's clever about breaking colts." + +"Indeed!" + +"He's a lazy nigger, sir; ought to be sent back where he belongs." + +"What is his name? I suppose he can shave me." + +"Calls himself Josiah," said Peter. "Mighty poor barber--cut my face last +time he shaved me. You see, he's lost two fingers--makes him awkwarder." + +"What! what!" said Grey, of a sudden reflecting, "two fingers--" + +"Know him?" said Lamb quickly. + +"I--no--Do you suppose I know every runaway nigger?" + +"Oh, of course not. Might I ask your name, sir?" + +"I am a cousin of Mrs. Penhallow. My name is Grey." Peter became cautious +and silent. "Here is a little help, my man, until you get work. Stick to +the good old Party." He left two dollars in Lamb's eager hands. + +Surprised at this unusual bounty, Peter said, "Thank you, sir. God bless +you. It'll be a great help." It meant for the hapless drinker whisky, and +he was quick to note the way in which Grey became interested in the man +who had lost fingers. + +Grey lingered. "I must risk your barber's awkwardness," he said. + +"Oh, he can shave pretty well when he's sober. He's our only darkey, sir. +You can't miss him. I might show you his shop." This Grey declined. + +"I suppose, sir," said Peter, curious, "all darkies look so much alike +that it is hard to tell them apart." + +"Oh, not for us--not for us." + +Then Peter was still more sure that the gentleman with the gold-headed +cane was from the South. As Grey lingered thoughtful, Lamb was +maliciously inspired by the size of Grey's donation and the prospect it +offered. He studied the face of the Southern gentleman and ventured to +say, "Excuse me, sir, but if you want to get that man back--" + +"I want him! Good gracious! I did not own him. My inquiries were, I might +say, casual, purely casual." + +Lamb, thanks to the Penhallows, had had some education at the school for +the mill children, but what was meant by "purely casual" he did not know. +If it implied lack of interest, that was not the case, or why the +questions and this gift, large for Westways. But if the gentleman did not +own Josiah's years of lost labour, some one else did, and who was it? + +As Grey turned away, he said, "I may see you again. I am with my cousin +at Grey Pine. By the bye, how will the county vote?" + +Peter assured him that the Democratic Party would carry the county. "I am +glad," said Grey, "that the people, the real backbone of the country, +desire to do justice to the South." He felt himself on the way to another +exposition of constitutional rights, but realising that it was unwise +checked the outflow of eloquence. He could not, however, refrain from +adding, "Your people then are a law-abiding community." + +"Yes, sir," said the lover of law, "we are just that, and good sound +Democrats." + +Grey, curious and mildly interested, determined to be reassured in regard +to this black barber's former status. He walked slowly by Josiah's shop +followed at a distance by Peter. The barber was shaving Mr. Pole, and +intent on his task. Grey caught sight of the black's face. One look was +enough--it was familiar--unmistakable. In place of going in to be shaved +he turned away and quickened his steps. Peter grinned and went home. "The +darn nigger horse-thief," murmured Grey. "I'll write to Woodburn." Then +he concluded that first it would be well without committing himself to +know more surely how far this Democratic community would go in support of +the fugitive-slave law. He applauded his cautiousness. + +A moment later Pole, well shaven, overtook him. Grey stopped him, chatted +as they went on, and at last asked if there was in Westways a good +Democratic lawyer. Pole was confident that Mr. Swallow would be all that +he could desire, and pointed out his house. + +Meanwhile Peter Lamb began to suspect that there was mischief brewing for +the man who had brought down on him the anger of Mark Rivers, and like +enough worse things as soon as Penhallow came home. + +As Pole turned into his shop-door, Mr. Grey went westward in deep +thought. He was sure of the barber's identity. If Josiah had been his own +property, he would with no hesitation have taken the steps needful to +reclaim the fugitive, but it was Mr. Woodburn who had lost Josiah's years +of service and it was desirable not hastily to commit his friend. He knew +with what trouble the fugitive-slave law had been obeyed or not obeyed at +the North. He was not aware that men who cared little about slavery were +indignant at a law which set aside every safeguard with which the growth +of civilization had surrounded the trial of even the worst criminal. As +he considered the situation, he walked more and more slowly until he +paused in front of Swallow's house. Every one had assured him that since +General Jackson's time the town and county had changelessly voted the +good old Democratic ticket. Here at least the rights of property would be +respected, and there would be no lawless city mobs to make the +restoration of a slave difficult. The brick house and ill-kept garden +before which he paused looked unattractive. Beside the house a one-storey +wooden office bore the name "Henry W. Swallow, Attorney-at-law." There +was neither bell nor knocker. Mr. Grey rapped on the office door with his +cane, and after waiting a moment without hearing any one, he entered a +front room and looked about him. + +Swallow was a personage whose like was found too often in the small +Pennsylvania villages. The only child of a close-fisted, saving farmer, +he found himself on his father's death more than sufficiently well-off to +go to college and later to study law. He was careful and penurious, but +failing of success in Philadelphia returned to Westways when about thirty +years old, bought a piece of land in the town, built a house, married a +pretty, commonplace young woman, and began to look for business. There +was little to be had. The Squire drew his own leases and sold lands to +farmers unaided. Then Swallow began to take interest in politics and to +lend money to the small farmers, taking mortgages at carefully guarded, +usurious interest. Merciless foreclosures resulted, and as by degrees his +operations enlarged, he grew richer and became feared and important in a +county community where money was scarce. Some of his victims went in +despair to the much loved Squire for help, and got, over and over, +relief, which disappointed Swallow who disliked him as he did no other +man in the county. The Squire returned his enmity with contemptuous +bitterness and entire distrust of the man and all his ways. + +Mr. Grey saw in the further room the back of a thin figure in a white +jacket seated at a desk. The man thus occupied on hearing his entrance +said, without looking back, "Sit down, and in a moment I'll attend to +you." + +Grey replied, "In a moment you won't see me;" and, his voice rising, "I +am accustomed to be treated with civility." + +Swallow rose at once, and seeing a well-dressed stranger said, "Excuse +me, I was drawing a mortgage for a farmer I expected. Take a seat. I am +at your service." + +Somewhat mollified, Grey sat down. As he took his seat he was not at all +sure of what he was really willing to say or do. He was not an indecisive +person at home, but here in a Northern State, on what might be hostile +ground, he was in doubt concerning that which he felt he honourably owed +as a duty to his neighbour. The word had for him limiting definitions, +as indeed it has for most of us. Resolving to be cautious, he said with +deliberate emphasis, "I should like what I have to say to be considered, +sir, as George Washington used to remark, as 'under the rose'--a strictly +professional confidence." + +"Of course," said Swallow. + +"My name is George Grey. I am at Grey Pine on a visit to my cousin, Mrs. +Penhallow." + +"A most admirable lady," said the lawyer; "absent just now, I hear." He +too determined on caution. + +"I have been wandering about your quiet little town this morning and made +some odd acquaintances. One Billy, he called himself, most amusing--most +amusing. It seems that my cousin gave him money to pay his poll-tax. The +poor simple fellow bought a fishing-pole and line. He was, I fancy, to +vote for Buchanan. My cousin, I infer, must be like all our people a +sound Democrat." + +"I have heard as much," returned Swallow. "I am doing what I can for the +party, but the people here are sadly misled and our own party is slowly +losing ground." + +"Indeed! I talked a little with a poor fellow named Lamb, out-of-work and +sick. He assured me that the town was solid for Buchanan, and also the +county." + +Swallow laughed heartily. "What! Peter Lamb. He is our prize drunkard, +sir, and would have been in jail long ago but for Penhallow. They are +foster-brothers." + +"Indeed!" Mr. Grey felt that his knowledge of character had been sadly +at fault and that he had been wise in not having said more to the man +out-of-work. + +"Do you think, Mr. Swallow, that if a master reclaimed a slave in this +county that there would be any trouble in carrying out the law?" + +"No, sir," said Swallow. "The county authorities are all Democrats and +would obey the law. Suppose, sir, that you were frankly to put before me +the whole case, relying on my secrecy. Where is the man?" + +"Let me then tell you my story. As a sound Democrat it will at least have +your sympathy." + +"Certainly, I am all attention." + +"About the tenth of June over four years ago I rode with my friend +Woodburn into our county-town. At the bank we left our horses with his +groom Caesar, an excellent servant, much trusted; used to ride quarter +races for my father when a boy. When we came out, Woodburn's horse was +hitched to a post and mine was gone, and that infernal nigger on him. He +was traced to the border, but my mare had no match in the county." + +"So he stole the horse; that makes it an easy case." + +"No, sir. To be precise, he left the horse at a tavern in this State, +with my name and address. Some Quakers helped him on his way." + +"And he is in this county?" asked Swallow. + +"Yes, sir. His name here is Josiah--seems to be known by that name +alone." + +"Josiah!" gasped Swallow. "A special favourite of Penhallow. A case to be +gravely considered--most gravely. The Squire--" + +"But surely he will obey the law." + +"Yes--probably--but who can say? He was at one time a Democrat, but now +is, I hear, likely to vote for Fremont." + +"That seems incredible." + +"And yet true. I should like, sir, to think the matter over for a day or +two. Did the man see you--I mean, recognize you?" + +"No, but as I went by his shop, I at once recognized him; and he has lost +two fingers. Oh! I know the fellow. I can swear to him, and it is easy to +bring his master Woodburn here." + +"I see. Well, let me think it over for a day or two." + +"Very good," returned Grey, "and pray consider yourself as in my debt for +your services." + +"All right, Mr. Grey." + +With this Mr. Grey went away a thoughtful man. He attracted some +attention as he moved along the fronts of the houses. Strangers were +rare. Being careful not to go near Josiah's little shop, he crossed the +road and climbing the fence went through the wood, reflecting that until +this matter was settled he would feel that his movements must be +unpleasantly governed by the need to avoid Josiah. He felt this to be +humiliating. Other considerations presented themselves in turn. This +ungrateful black had run away with his, George Grey's, horse--a personal +wrong. His duty to Woodburn was plain. Then, if this black fellow was as +Swallow said, a favourite of Captain Penhallow, to plan his capture while +himself a guest in Penhallow's house was rather an awkward business. +However, he felt that he must inform his friend Woodburn, after which he +would turn him over to Swallow and not appear in the business at all. It +did not, however, present itself to the Maryland gentleman as a nice +situation. If his cousin Ann were, as he easily learned, a strong +Democrat, it might be well to sound her on the general situation. She had +lived half her life among slaves and those who owned them. She would know +how far Penhallow was to be considered as a law-abiding citizen, or +whether he might be offended, for after all, as George Grey knew, his own +share in the matter would be certain to become known. "A damned +unpleasant affair," he said aloud as he walked up the avenue, "but we as +Southern gentlemen have got to stand by one another. I must let Woodburn +know, and decide for himself." + +Neither was the lawyer Swallow altogether easy about the matter on which +he had desired time for thought. It would be the first case in the county +under the fugitive-slave act. If the man were reclaimed, he, Swallow, +would be heard of all through the State; but would that help him before +the people in a canvass for the House? He could not answer, for the old +political parties were going to pieces and new ones were forming. +Moreover, Josiah was much liked and much respected. Then, too, there was +the fee. He walked about the room singularly disturbed. Some prenatal +fate had decreed that he should be old-aged at forty. He had begun to be +aware that his legs were aging faster than his mind. Except the pleasure +of accumulating money, which brought no enjoyment, he had thus far no +games in life which interested him; but now the shifting politics of the +time had tempted him, and possibly this case might be used to his +advantage. The black eyebrows under fast whitening hair grew together in +a frown, while below slowly gathered the long smile of satisfaction. "How +Penhallow will hate it." This thought was for him what the stolen mare +was for George Grey. He must look up the law. + +Meanwhile George Grey, under the necessity of avoiding the village for a +time, was rather bored. He had criticized the stables and the horses, and +had been told that the Squire relied with good reason on the judgment of +Josiah in regard to the promise of good qualities in colts. Then, used to +easy roadsters, he had been put on the Squire's rough trotter and led by +the tireless lad had come back weary from long rides across rough country +fields and over fences. The clergyman would talk no more politics, John +pleaded lessons, and it was on the whole dull, so that Mr. Grey was +pleased to hear of the early return of his cousin. A letter to John +desired him to meet his aunt on the 8th, and accordingly he drove to the +station at Westways Crossing, picking up Billy on the way. Mrs. Ann got +out of the car followed by the conductor and brakeman carrying boxes and +bundles, which Billy, greatly excited, stowed away under the seats of the +Jersey wagon. Mrs. Penhallow distributed smiles and thanks to the men who +made haste to assist, being one of the women who have no need to ask help +from any man in sight. + +"Now, Billy," she said, "be careful with those horses. When you attend, +you drive very well." + +She settled herself on the back seat with John, delighted to be again +where her tireless sense of duty kept her busy--quite too busy at times, +thought some of the village dames. "Your Uncle James will soon be at +home. Is his pet scamp any better?" + +John did not know, but Josiah's rheumatism was quite well. + +"Sister-in-law has a baby. Six trout I ketched; they're at the house for +you--weighs seven pounds," said Billy without turning round. + +"Trout or baby?" said Ann, laughing. + +"Baby, ma'am." + +"Thanks, but don't talk any more." + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"How is Leila?" asked John. "Does she like it at school?" + +"No, not at all; but she will." + +"I don't, Aunt Ann." + +"I suppose not." + +"Am I to be allowed to write to her?" + +"I think not. There is some rule that letters, but--" and she laughed +merrily. The rector, who worshipped her, said once that her laugh was +like the spring song of birds. "But sometimes I may be naughty enough to +let you slip a few lines into my letters." + +"That is more than I hoped for. I am--I was so glad to get you back, Aunt +Ann, that I forgot to tell you, Mr. George Grey has come." + +"How delightful! He has been promising a visit for years. How pleased +James will be! I wonder how the old bachelor ever made up his mind. I +hope you made it pleasant, John." + +"I tried to, aunt." Whether James Penhallow would like it was for John +doubtful, but he said nothing further. + +"The cities are wild about politics, and there is no end of trouble in +Philadelphia over the case of a fugitive slave. I was glad to get away to +Grey Pine." + +John had never heard her mention this tender subject and was not +surprised when she added quickly, "But I never talk politics, John, and +you are too young to know anything about them." This was by no means +true, as she well knew. "How are my chickens?" She asked endless +questions of small moment. + +"Got a new fishing-rod," said Billy, but to John's amusement did not +pursue the story concerning which George Grey had gleefully enlightened +him. + +"Well, at last, Cousin George," she cried, as the cousin gave her his +hand on the porch. "Glad to see you--most glad. Come in when you have +finished your cigar." + +She followed John into the hall. "Ah! the dear home." Then her eyes fell +on the much used spittoon by the fireside. "Good gracious, John, a--a +spittoon!" + +"Yes, aunt. Mr. Grey chews." + +"Indeed!" She looked at the box and went upstairs. For years to come and +in the most incongruous surroundings John Penhallow now and then laughed +as he saw again the look with which Mrs. Ann regarded the article so +essential to Mr. Grey's comfort. She disliked all forms of tobacco use, +and the law of the pipe had long ago been settled at Grey Pine as Mrs. +Penhallow decreed, because that was always what James Penhallow decided +to think desirable. + +"But this! this!" murmured the little lady, as she came down the +staircase ready for dinner. She rang for the maid. "Take that thing away +and wash it well, and put in fresh sawdust twice a day." + +"I hope John has been a good host," she said, as Grey entered the hall. + +"Couldn't be better, and I have had some delightful rides. I found the +mills interesting--in fact, most instructive." He spoke in short +childlike sentences unless excited by politics. + +Mrs. Ann noted without surprise the free use of whisky, and later the +appreciative frequency of resort to Penhallow's Madeira. A glass of wine +at lunch and after dinner were her husband's sole indulgence. The larger +potations of her cousin in no way affected him. He talked as usual to +Mark Rivers and John about horses, crops and the weather, while Mrs. Ann +listened to the flow of disconnected trifles in some wonder as to how +James Penhallow would endure it. Grey for the time kept off the danger +line of politics, having had of late such variously contributed knowledge +as made him careful. + +When to Mrs. Ann's relief dinner was over, the rector said his sermon for +to-morrow must excuse him and went home. John decided that his role of +host was over and retired to his algebra and to questions more easy to +solve than of how to entertain Mr. George Grey. It was not difficult, as +Mrs. Penhallow saw, to make Grey feel at home; all he required was +whisky, cigars, and some mild appearance of interest in his talk. She had +long anticipated his visit with pleasure, thinking that James Penhallow +would be pleased and the better for some rational male society. Rivers +had now deserted her, and she really would not sit with her kinsman's +cigar a whole evening in the library. She said, "The night is warm for +October, come out onto the porch, George." + +"With all the pleasure in the world," said Grey, as he followed her. + +By habit and training hospitable and now resigned to her fate, Mrs. Ann +said, "Light your cigar, George; I do not mind it out-of-doors." + +"I am greatly indebted--I was given to understand that it was +disagreeable to you--like--politics--ah! Cousin Ann." + +"We are not much given to talking politics," she said rather sharply. + +"Not talk politics!" exclaimed Grey. "What else is there to talk about +nowadays? But why not, Cousin Ann?" + +"Well, merely because while I am Southern--and a Democrat, James has seen +fit to abandon our party and become a Republican." + +"Incomprehensible!" said Grey. "Ours is the party of gentlemen--of old +traditions. I cannot understand it." + +"Nor I," said she, "but now at least," and she laughed--"there will be +one Republican gentleman. However, George, as we are both much in +earnest, we keep politics out of the house." + +"It must be rather awkward, Ann." + +"What must be rather awkward?" + +Did he really mean to discuss, to criticize her relations to James +Penhallow? The darkness was for a time the grateful screen. + +Grey, a courteous man, felt the reproof in her question, and replied, "I +beg pardon, my dear Ann, I have heard of the captain's unfortunate change +of opinion. I shall hope, however, to be able to convince him that to +elect Fremont will be to break up the Union. I think I could put it so +clearly that--" + +Ann laughed low laughter as vastly amused she laid a hand on her cousin's +arm. "You don't know James Penhallow. He has been from his youth a +Democrat. There never was any question about how he would vote. But now, +since 1850--" and she paused, "in fact, I do not care to discuss with you +what I will not with James." Her great love, her birth, training, +education and respect for the character of her husband, made this +discussion hateful. Her eyes filled, and, much troubled, she was glad of +the mask of night. + +"But answer me one question, Ann. Why did he change?" + +"He was becoming dissatisfied and losing faith in his own party, but it +was at last my own dear South and its friends at the North who drove him +out." Again she paused. + +"What do you mean, Ann?" asked Grey, still persistent. + +"It began long ago, George. He said to me one day, 'That fool Fillmore +has signed the Fugitive-Slave Act; it is hardly possible to obey it.' +Then I said, 'Would you not, James?' I can never forget it. He said, +'Yes, I obey the law, Ann, but this should be labelled 'an act to +exasperate the North.' I am done with the Democrat and all his ways. Obey +the law! Yes, I was a soldier.' Then he said, 'Ann, we must never talk +politics again.' We never do." + +"And yet, Ann," said Grey, "that act was needed." + +"Perhaps," she returned, and then followed a long silence, as with +thought of James Penhallow she sat smiling in the darkness and watched +the rare wandering lanterns of the belated fireflies. + +The man at her side was troubled into unnatural silence. He had hoped to +find an ally in his cousin's husband, and now what should he do? He had +concluded that as an honest man he had done his duty when he had written +to Woodburn; but now as a man of honour what should he say to James +Penhallow? To conceal from his host what he had done was the obvious +business-like course. This troubled a man who was usually able to see his +way straight on all matters of social conduct and was sensitive on points +of honour. While Ann sat still and wondered that her guest was so long +silent, he was finding altogether unpleasant his conclusion that he must +be frank with Penhallow. He felt sure, however, that Ann would naturally +be on his side. He introduced the matter lightly with, "I chanced to see +in the village a black man who is said to be a vagabond scamp. He is +called Josiah--a runaway slave, I fancy." + +Ann sat up in her chair. "Who said he was a scamp?" + +"Oh, a man named Lamb." Then he suddenly remembered Mr. Swallow's +characterization, and added, "not a very trustworthy witness, I presume." + +Ann laughed. "Peter Lamb! He is a drunken, loafing fellow, who to his +good fortune chances to have been James's foster-brother. As concerns +Josiah, he turned up here some years ago, got work in the stables, and +was set up by James as the village barber. No one knew whence he came. I +did, of course, suspect him to be a runaway. He is honest and +industrious. Last year I was ill when James was absent. We have only +maids in the house, and when I was recovering Josiah carried me up and +downstairs until James returned. A year after he came, Leila had an +accident. Josiah stopped her horse and got badly hurt--" Then with quick +insight, she added, "What interest have you in our barber, George? Is +it possible you know Josiah?" + +Escape from truthful reply was impossible. "Yes, I do. He is the property +of my friend and neighbour Woodburn. I knew him at once--the man had lost +three fingers--he did not see me." + +"Well!" she said coldly, "what next, George Grey?" + +"I must inform his master. As a Southern woman you, of course, see that +no other course is possible. It is unpleasant, but your sense of right +must make you agree with me." + +She returned, speaking slowly, "I do wish you would not do it, George." +Then she said quickly, "Have you taken any steps in this matter?" + +He was fairly cornered. "Yes, I wrote to Woodburn. He will be here in a +couple of days. I am sure he will lose no time--and will take legal +measures at once to reclaim his property." + +"I suppose it is all right," she said despairingly, "but I am more than +sorry--what James will say I do not know. I hope he will not be called on +to act--under the law he may." + +"When does he return?" said Grey. "I shall, of course, be frank with +him." + +"That will be advisable. He may be absent for a week longer, or so he +writes. I leave you to your cigar. I am tired, and to-morrow is Sunday. +Shall you go to church?" + +"Certainly, Ann. Good-night." + +At the door she turned back with a new and relieving thought. "Suppose +I--or we--buy this man's freedom." + +"If I owned him that would not be required after what you have told me, +but Woodburn is an obstinate, rather stern man, and will refuse, I fear, +to sell--" + +"What will he do with Josiah if he is returned to him as the Act orders?" + +"Oh! once a runaway--and the man is no good?--he would probably sell him +to be sent South." + +She rose and for a moment stood still in the darkness, and then crying, +"The pity of it, my God, the pity of it!" went away without the usual +courtesy of good-night. + +George Grey, when left to his own company, somewhat amazed, began to wish +he had never had a hand in this business. Ann Penhallow went up to her +room, although it was as yet early, leaving John in the library and Grey +with a neglected cigar on the porch. In the bedroom over his shop the man +most concerned sat industriously reading the _Tribune_. + +Ann sat down to think. The practical application of a creed to conduct is +not always easy. All her young life had been among kindly considered +slaves. Mr. Woodburn had a right to his property. The law provided for +the return of slaves if they ran away. She suddenly realized that this +man's future fate was in her power, and she both liked and respected him, +and he had been hurt in their service. Oh! why was not James at home? +Could she sit still and let things go their way while the mechanism of +the law worked. Between head and heart there was much argument. Her +imagination pictured Josiah's future. Had he deserved a fate so sad? +She fell on her knees and prayed for help. At last she rose and went down +to the library. John laid down his book and stood up. The young face +greeted her pleasantly, as she said, "Sit down, John, I want to talk to +you. Can you keep a secret?" + +"Why--yes--Aunt Ann. What is it?" + +"I mean, John, keep it so that no one will guess you have a secret." + +"I think I can," he replied, much surprised and very curious. + +"You are young, John, but in your uncle's absence there is no one else to +whom I can turn for help. Now, listen. Has Mr. Grey gone to bed?" + +"Yes, aunt." + +She leaned toward him, speaking low, almost in a whisper, "I do not want +to explain, I only want to tell you something. Josiah is a runaway slave, +John." + +"Yes, aunt, he told me all about it." + +"Did he, indeed!" + +"Yes, we are great friends--I like him--and he trusted me. What's +the matter now?" He was quick to understand that Josiah was in some +danger. Naturally enough he remembered the man's talk and his one +fear--recapture. + +"George Grey has recognised Josiah as a runaway slave of a Mr. +Woodburn--" She was most unwilling to say plainly, "Go and warn him." + +He started up. "And they mean to take him back?" + +She was silent. The indecisions of the habitually decisive are hard to +deal with. The lad was puzzled by her failure to say more. + +"It is dreadful, Aunt Ann. I think I ought to go and tell +Josiah--now--to-night." + +She made no comment except to say, "Arrest is not possible on Sunday--and +he is safe until Monday or Tuesday." + +John Penhallow looked at her for a moment surprised that she did not say +go, or else forbid him to go; it was unlike her. He had no desire to wait +for Sunday and was filled with anxiety. "I think I must go now--now," he +said. + +"Then I shall go to bed," she said, and kissing him went away slowly step +by step up the stairs. + +Staircases are apt to suggest reflections, and there are various ways of +rendering the French phrase "_esprit de l'escalier_." Aware that want of +moral courage had made her uncertain what to do, or like the Indian, +having two hearts, Ann had been unable to accept bravely the counsel of +either. The loyal decisiveness of a lad of only sixteen years had settled +the matter and relieved her of any need to personally warn Josiah. Some +other influences aided to make her feel satisfied that there should be a +warning. She was resentful because George Grey had put her in a position +where she had been embarrassed by intense sectional sense of duty and by +kindly personal regard for a man who not being criminal was to be +deprived of all the safeguards against injustice provided by the common +law. There were other and minor causes which helped to content her with +what she well knew she had done to disappoint Mr. Woodburn of his prey. +George Grey was really a bore of capacity to wreck the social patience of +the most courteous. The rector fled from him, John always had lessons and +how would James endure his vacuous talk. It all helped her to be +comfortably angry, and there too was that horrible spittoon. + +The young fellow who went with needless haste out of the house and down +the avenue about eleven o'clock had no indecisions. Josiah trusted him, +and he felt the compliment this implied. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +On the far side of the highroad Westways slumbered. Only in the rector's +small house were lights burning. The town was in absolute darkness. +Westways went to bed early. A pleased sense of the responsibility of his +errand went with John as he came near to where Josiah's humble two-storey +house stood back from the street line, marked by the well-known striped +pole of the barber, of which Josiah was professionally proud. John paused +in front of the door. He knew that he must awaken no one but Josiah. +After a moment's thought he went along the side of the house to the small +garden behind it where Josiah grew the melons no one else could grow, and +which he delighted to take to Miss Leila or Mrs. Penhallow. In the novel +the heroes threw pebbles at the window to call up fair damsels. John +grinned; he might break a pane, but the noise--He was needlessly +cautious. Josiah had built a trellis against the back of the house for +grapevines which had not prospered. John began to climb up it with care +and easily got within reach of the second-storey window. He tapped +sharply on the glass, but getting no reply hesitated a moment. He could +hear from within the sonorous assurance of deep slumber. Somehow he must +waken him. He lifted the sash and called over and over in a low voice, +"Josiah!" The snoring ceased, but not the sleep. The lad was resolute and +still fearful of making a noise. He climbed with care into the dark room +upsetting a little table. Instantly Josiah bounded out of bed and caught +him in his strong grip, as John gasped, "Josiah!" + +"My God!" cried the black in alarm, "anything wrong at the house?" + +"No, sit down--I've got to tell you something. Your old master, Woodburn, +is coming to catch you--he will be here soon--I know he won't be here for +a day or two--" + +"Is that so, Master John? It's awful--I've got to run. I always knowed +sometime I'd have to run." He sat down on the bed; he was appalled. "God +help me!--where can I go? I've got two hundred dollars and seventy-five +cents saved up in the county bank, and I've not got fifty cents in the +house. I can't get the money out--I'd be afraid to go there Monday. Oh, +Lord!" + +He began to dress in wild haste. John tried in vain to assure him that he +would be safe on Sunday and Monday, or even later, but was in fact not +sure, and the man was wailing like a child in distress, thinking over his +easy, upright life and his little treasure, which seemed to him lost. He +asked no questions; all other emotion was lost in one over-mastering +terror. + +John said at last, "If I write a cheque for you, can you sign your name +to it?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Then I will write a cheque for all of it and I'll get it out for you." + +A candle was lighted and the cheque written. "Now write your name here, +Josiah--so--that's right." He obeyed like a child, and John who had often +collected cheques for his aunt of late, knew well enough how to word it +to be paid to bearer. He put it in his pocket. + +"But how will I ever get it?" said Josiah, "and where must I go? I'll get +away Monday afternoon." + +John was troubled, and then said, "I'll tell you. Go to the old cabin in +the wood. That will be safe. I will bring you your money Monday +afternoon." + +The black reflected in silence and then said, "That will do--no man will +take me alive, I know--my God, I know! Who set them on me? Who told? It +was that drunken rascal, Peter. He told me he'd tell if I didn't get him +whisky. How did he know--Oh, Lord! He set 'em on me--I'd like to kill +him." + +John was alarmed at the fierceness of the threat. "Oh! but you +won't--promise me. I've helped you, Josiah." + +"I promise, Master John. I'm a Christian man, thank the Lord. I'd like +to, but I won't--I won't." + +"Now, that's right," said John much relieved. "You'll go to the cabin +Monday--for sure." + +"Yes--who told you to tell me?" + +John, prudently cautious, refused to answer. "Now, let me out, I must go. +I can't tell you how sorry I will be--" and he was tempted to add his +aunt, but was wise in time. He had done his errand well, and was pleased +with the success of his adventure and the flavour of peril in what he had +done. He let himself into Grey Pine and went noiselessly upstairs. Then +a window was closed and a waiting, anxious woman went to bed and lay long +awake thinking. + +John understood the unusual affection of his aunt's greeting when before +breakfast she kissed him and started George Grey on his easy +conversational trot. She had compromised with her political conscience +and, notwithstanding, was strangely satisfied and a trifle ashamed that +she had not been more distinctly courageous. + +At church they had as usual a good congregation of the village folk and +men from the mills, for Rivers was eminently a man's preacher and was +much liked. John observed, however, that Josiah, who took care of the +church, was not in his usual seat near the door. He was at home terribly +alarmed and making ready for his departure on Monday. The rector missing +him called after church, but his knock was not answered. + +When Mr. Grey in the afternoon declared he would take a walk and mail +some letters, Mrs. Ann called John into the library. "Well," she said, +"did you see Josiah?" + +"Yes, aunt." It was characteristic of John Penhallow even thus early in +life that he was modest and direct in statement. He said nothing of his +mode of reaching Josiah. "I told him of his risk. He will hide in--" + +"Do not tell me where," said Ann quickly; "I do not want to know." + +He wondered why she desired to hear no more. He went on--"He has money in +the county bank--two hundred dollars." + +"He must have been saving--poor fellow!" + +"I wrote a cheque for him, to bearer. I am to draw it tomorrow and take +it to him in the afternoon. Then he will be able to get away." + +Here indeed was something for Ann to think about. When Josiah was missed +and legal measures taken, a pursuit organized, John having drawn his +money might be questioned. This would never do--never. Oddly enough she +had the thought, "Who will now shave James?" She smiled and said, "I must +keep you out of the case--give me the cheque. Oh, I see it is drawn to +bearer. I wonder if his owner could claim it. He may--he might--if it is +left there." + +"That would be mean," said John. + +"Yes," she said thoughtfully. "Yes--I could give him the money. Let me +think about it. Of course, I could draw on my account and leave Josiah's +alone. But he has a right to his own money. I will keep the cheque, John. +I will draw out his money and give it to you. Good gracious, boy! you are +like James Penhallow." + +"That's praise for a fellow!" said John. + +Ann had the courage of her race and meant at last to see this thing +through at all costs. The man had made his money and should have it. She +was now resolute to take her share in the perilous matter she had +started; and after all she was the wife of James Penhallow of Grey Pine; +who would dare to question her? As to George Grey, she dismissed him with +a low laugh and wondered when that long-desired guest would elect to +leave Grey Pine. + +At ten on Monday Billy, for choice, drove her over to the bank at the +mills. The young cashier was asked about his sick sister, and then rather +surprised as he took the cheque inquired, "How will you have it, ma'am? +Josiah must be getting an investment." + +"One hundred in fifties and the rest--oh, fifty in fives, the rest in +ones." + +She drove away, and in an hour gave the notes to John in an envelope, +asking no questions. He set off in the afternoon to give Josiah his +money. + +Meanwhile on this Monday morning a strange scene in this drama was being +acted in Josiah's little shop. He was at the door watchful and thinking +of his past and too doubtful future, when he saw Peter Lamb pause near +by. The man, fresh from the terrors of delirium tremens, had used the +gift of Grey with some prudence and was in the happy condition of slight +alcoholic excitement and good-humour. + +"Halloa!" cried Peter. "How are you? I'm going to the mills to see my +girl--want you to shave me--got over my joke; funny, wasn't it?" + +A sudden ferocious desire awoke in the good-natured barber--some +long-past inheritance of African lust for the blood of an enemy. + +"Don't like to kiss with a rough beard," said Peter. "I'll pay--got +money--now." + +"Come in," said Josiah. "Set down. I'll shut the door--it's a cold +morning." + +He spread the lather over the red face. "Head back a bit--that's right +comfortable now, isn't it?" + +"All right--go ahead." + +Josiah took his razor. "Now, then," he said, as he set a big strong +hand on the man's forehead, "if you move, I'll cut your throat--keep +quiet--don't you move. You told I was a slave--you ruined my life--I +never did you no harm--I'd kill you just as easy as that--" and he +drew the blunt cold back of the razor across the hairy neck. + +"My God!--I--" The man shuddered. + +"Keep still--or you are a dead man." + +"Oh, Lord!" groaned Lamb. + +"I would kill you, but I don't want to be hanged. God will take care +of you--He is sure. Some day you will do some wickedness worse than +this--you just look at me." + +There was for Peter fearful fascination in the black face of the man who +stood looking down at him, the jaw moving, the white teeth showing, the +eyes red, the face twitching with half-suppressed passion. + +"Answer me now--and by God, if you lie, I will kill you. You set some one +on me? Quick now!" + +"I did." + +"Who was it? No lies, now!" + +"Mr. George Grey." Then Josiah fully realized his danger. + +"Why did you?" + +"You wouldn't help me to get whisky." + +"Well, was that all?" + +"You went and got the preacher to set Mr. Penhallow on me. He gave me the +devil." + +"My God, was that all? You've ruined me for a drink of whisky--you've got +your revenge. I'm lost--lost. Your day will come--I'll be there. Now go +and repent if you can--you've been near to death. Go!" he cried. + +He seized the terrified man with one strong hand, lifted him from the +chair, cast open the door and hurled him out into the street. A little +crowd gathered around Lamb as he rose on one elbow, dazed. + +"Drunk!" said Pole, the butcher. "Drunk again!" + +Josiah shut and locked the door. Then he tied up his bundle of clothes, +filled a basket with food, and went out into his garden. He cast a look +back at the neatly kept home he had recently made fresh with paint. He +paused to pick a chilled rosebud and set it in his button-hole--a fashion +copied from his adored captain. He glanced tearfully at the glass-framed +covers of the yellowing melon vines. He had made money out of his melons, +and next year would have been able to send a good many to Pittsburgh. As +he turned to leave the little garden in which he took such pride, he +heard an old rooster's challenge in his chicken-yard, which had been +another means of money-making. He went back and opened the door, leaving +the fowl their liberty. When in the lane behind his house, he walked +along in the rear of the houses, and making sure that he was unobserved, +crossed the road and entered the thick Penhallow forest. He walked +rapidly for half an hour, and leaving the wood road found his way to the +cabin the first Penhallow built. It was about half after one o'clock when +the fugitive lay down on the earth of the cabin with his hands clasped +behind his head. He stared upward, wondering where he could go to be +safe. He would have to spend some of the carefully saved money. That +seemed to him of all things the most cruel. He was not trained to +consecutive thinking; memories old or new flitted through his mind. Now +and then he said to himself that perhaps he had had no right to run +away--and perhaps this was punishment. He had fled from the comforts of +an easy life, where he had been fed, clothed and trusted. Not for a +moment would he have gone back--but why had he run away? What message +that soaring hawk had sent to him from his swift circling sweep overhead +he was not able to put in words even if he had so desired. "That wicked +hawk done it!" he said aloud. + +At last, hearing steps outside, he bounded to his feet, a hand on the +knife in his belt. He stood still waiting, ready as a crouching tiger, +resolute, a man at bay with an unsated appetite for freedom. The door +opened and John entered. + +"You sort of scared me, Master John." + +"You are safe here, Josiah, and here is your money." + +He took it without a word, except, "I reckon, Master John, you know I'm +thankful. Was there any one missing me?" + +"No, no one." + +"I'll get away to-night. I'll go down through Lonesome Man's Swamp and +take my old bateau and run down the river. You might look after my +muskrat traps. I was meaning to make a purse for the little missy. Now do +you just go away, and may the Lord bless you. I guess we won't ever meet +no more. You'll be mighty careful, Master John?" + +"But you'll write, Josiah." + +"I wouldn't dare to write--I'd be takin' risks. Think I'm safe here? Oh, +Lord!" + +"No one knows where you are--you'll go to-night?" + +"Yes, after dark." He seemed more at ease as he said, "It was Peter Lamb +set Mr. Grey on me. He must have seen me after that. I told you it was +Peter." + +"Yes,"--and then with the hopefulness of youth--"but you will come back, +I am sure." + +"No, sir--never no more--and the captain and Miss Leila--it's +awful--where can I go?" + +John could not help him further. "God bless you, Master John." They +parted at length at the door of the cabin which had seen no other parting +as sad. + +The black lay down again. Now and then he swept his sleeve across tearful +eyes. Then he stowed his money under his shirt in a linen bag hung to his +neck, keeping out a few dollars, and at last fell sound asleep exhausted +by emotion, + +Josiah's customers were few in number. Westways was too poor to be able +to afford a barber more than once a week, and then it was always in +mid-morning when work ceased for an hour. Sometimes the Squire on his way +to the mills came to town early, but as a rule Josiah went to Grey Pine +and shaved him while they talked about colts and their training. As he +was rarely needed in the afternoon, Josiah often closed his shop about +two o'clock and went a-fishing or set traps on the river bank. His +absence on this Monday afternoon gave rise, therefore, to no surprise, +but when his little shop remained closed on Tuesday, his neighbours began +to wonder. Peter Lamb wandering by rather more drunken than on Monday, +stood a while looking at the shut door, then went on his devious way, +thinking of the fierce eyes and the curse. Next came Swallow for his +daily shave. He knocked at the door and tried to enter. It was locked. He +heard no answer to his louder knock. He at once suspected that his prey +had escaped him, and that the large fee he had counted on was to say the +least doubtful. But who could have warned the black? Had Mr. Grey been +imprudent? Lamb had been the person who had led Grey, as Swallow knew +from that gentleman, to suspect Josiah as a runaway; but now as he saw +Peter reeling up the street, he was aware that he was in no state to be +questioned. He went away disappointed and found that no one he met knew +whither Josiah had gone. + +At Grey Pine Mrs. Ann, uneasily conscious of her share in the matter, +asked John if he had given the money to Josiah. He said yes, and that the +man was safe and by this time far away. Meanwhile, the little town buzzed +with unwonted excitement and politics gave place about the grocer's door +at evening to animated discussion, which was even more interesting when +on Wednesday there was still no news and the town lamented the need to go +unshaven. + +On Thursday morning Billy was sent with a led horse to meet Penhallow at +Westways Crossing. Penhallow had written that he must go on to a meeting +of the directors of the bank at the mills and would not be at home until +dinner-time. The afternoon train brought Mr. Woodburn, who as advised by +Grey went at once to Swallow's house, where Mrs. Swallow gave him a note +from her husband asking that if he came he would await the lawyer's +return. + +"Well, Billy, glad to see you," said Penhallow, as he settled himself in +the saddle. "All well at Grey Pine?" + +"Yes, sir." + +The Squire was in high good-humour on having made two good contracts for +iron rails. "How are politics, Billy?" + +"Don't know, sir." + +"Anything new at Westways?" + +"Yes, sir," replied Billy with emphasis. + +"Well, what is it?" + +"Josiah's run away." + +"Run away! Why?" + +"Don't know--he's gone." + +Penhallow was troubled, but asked no other questions, as he was late. He +might learn more at home. He rode through the town and on to the mills. +There he transacted some business and went thence to the bank. The board +of well-to-do farmers was already in session, and Swallow--a member--was +talking. + +"What is that?" said Penhallow as he entered, hearing Josiah mentioned. + +Some one said, "He has been missing since Monday." "He drew out all his +money that morning," said Swallow, "all of it." + +"Indeed," said Penhallow. "Did _he_ draw it--I mean in person?" + +"No," said the lawyer, who was well pleased to make mischief and hated +Penhallow. + +Penhallow was uneasily curious. "Who drew it?" he asked. "Josiah could +hardly have known how to draw a cheque; I had once to help him write +one." + +"It was a cheque to bearer, I hear," said Swallow smiling. "Mrs. +Penhallow drew the money. No doubt Josiah got it before he left." + +Penhallow said, "You are insolent." + +"You asked a question," returned Swallow, "and I answered it." + +"And with a comment I permit no man to make. You said, 'no doubt he got +it.' I want an apology at once." He went around the table to where +Swallow sat. + +The lawyer rose, saying, "Every one will know to-day that Josiah was a +runaway slave. His master will be here this evening. Whoever warned him +is liable under the Fugitive-Slave Act--Mrs. Penhallow drew the money +and--" + +"One word more, sir, of my wife, and I will thrash you. It is clear +that you know all about the matter and connect my wife with this man's +escape--you have insulted her." + +"Oh, Mr. Penhallow," said the old farmer who presided, "I beg of you--" + +"Keep quiet," said the Squire, "this is my business." + +"I did not mean to insult Mrs. Penhallow," said Swallow; "I +apologize--I--" + +"You miserable dog," said Penhallow, "you are both a coward and a lying, +usurious plunderer of hard-working men. You may be thankful that I am a +good-tempered man--but take care." + +"I shall ask this board to remember what has been said of me," said +Swallow. "The law--" + +"Law! The law of the cowhide is what you will get if I hear again that +you have used my wife's name. Good-day, gentlemen." + +He went our furious and rode homeward at speed. Before the Squire reached +Grey Pine he had recovered his temper and his habitual capacity to meet +the difficulties of life with judicial calmness. He had long been sure +that Josiah had been a slave and had run away. But after these years, +that he should have been discovered in this remote little town seemed to +him singular. The man was useful to him in several ways and had won his +entire respect and liking, so that he felt personal annoyance because +of this valuable servant having been scared away. That Ann had been in +any way concerned in aiding his escape perplexed him, as he remembered +how entire was her belief in the creed of the masters of slaves who with +their Northern allies had so long been the controlling legislative power +of the country. + +"I am glad to be at home, my dear Ann," he said, as they met on the +porch. "Ah! Grey, so you are come at last. It is not too late to say how +very welcome you are; and John, I believe you have grown an inch since I +left." + +They went in, chatting and merry. The Squire cast an amused look at the +big spittoon and then at his wife, and went upstairs to dress for dinner. +At the meal no one for a variety of good reasons mentioned Josiah. The +tall soldier with the readiness of helpless courtesy fell into the talk +of politics which Grey desired. "Yes, Buchanan will carry the State, +Grey, but by no large majority." + +"And the general election?" asked the cousin. + +"Yes, that is my fear. He will be elected." + +Ann, who dreaded these discussions, had just now a reproachful political +conscience. She glanced at her husband expecting him to defend his +beliefs. He was silent, however, while Grey exclaimed, "Fear, sir--fear? +You surely cannot mean to say--to imply that the election of a black +Republican would be desirable." He laid down his fork and was about to +become untimely eloquent--Rivers smiled--watching the Squire and his +wife, as Penhallow said: + +"Pardon me, Grey, but I cannot have my best mutton neglected." + +"Oh, yes--yes--but a word--a word. Elect Fremont--and we secede. Elect +Buchanan--and the Union is safe. There, sir, you have it in a nutshell." + +"Ah, my dear Grey," said Penhallow, "this is rather of the nature of a +threat--never a very digestible thing--for me, at least--and I am not +very convincible. We will discuss it over our wine or a cigar." He turned +to his wife, "Any news of Leila, Ann?" + +"Yes, I had a letter to-day," she returned, somewhat relieved. "She seems +to be better satisfied." + +Grey accepted the interrupting hint and fell to critical talk of the +Squire's horses. After the wine Penhallow carried off his guest to the +library, and avoiding politics with difficulty was unutterably bored by +the little gentleman's reminiscent nothings about himself, his crops, +tobacco, wines, his habits of life, what agreed with him and what did +not. At last, with some final whisky, Mr. Grey went to bed. + +Ann, who was waiting anxiously, eager to get through with the talk she +dreaded, went at once into the library. Penhallow rising threw his cigar +into the fire. She laughed, but not in her usual merry way, and cried, +"Do smoke, James, I shall not mind it; I am forever disciplined to any +fate. There is a spittoon in the hall--a spittoon!" + +The Squire laughed joyously, and kissed her. "I can wait for my pipe; we +can't have any lapse in domestic discipline." Then he added, "I hear that +my good Josiah has gone away--I may as well say, run away." + +"Yes--he has gone, James." She hesitated greatly troubled. + +"And you helped him--a runaway slave--you--" He smiled. It had for him an +oddly humorous aspect. + +"I did--I did--" and the little lady began to sob like a child. "It +was--was wrong--" There was nothing comic in it for Ann Penhallow. + +"You angel of goodness," he cried, as he caught her in his arms and held +the weeping face against his shoulder, "my brave little lady!" + +"I ought not to have done it--but I did--I did--oh, James! To think that +my cousin should have brought this trouble on us--But I did--oh, James!" + +"Listen, my dear. If I had been here, I should have done it. See what you +have saved me. Now sit down and let us have it all out, my dear, all of +it." + +"And you really mean that?" she wailed piteously. "You won't think I did +wrong--you won't think I have made trouble for you--" + +"You have not," he replied, "you have helped me. But, dear, do sit down +and just merely, as in these many years, trust my love. Now quiet +yourself and let us talk it over calmly." + +"Yes--yes." She wiped her eyes. "Do smoke, James--I like it." + +"Oh, you dear liar," he said. "And so it was Grey?" + +She looked up. "Yes, George Grey; but, James, he did not know how much we +liked Josiah nor how good he had been to me, and how he got hurt when he +stopped Leila's pony. He was sorry--but it was too late--oh, James!--you +will not--oh, you will not--" + +"Will not what, dear?" Penhallow was disgusted. A guest entertained in +his own house to become a detective of an escaped slave in Westways, at +his very gate! "My charity, Ann, hardly covers this kind of sin against +the decencies of life. But I wish to hear all of it. Now, who betrayed +the man--who told Grey?" + +"I am sorry to say that it was Peter Lamb who first mentioned Josiah to +George Grey as a runaway. When he spoke of his lost fingers, George was +led to suspect who Josiah really was. Then he saw him, and as soon as he +was sure, he wrote to a Mr. Woodburn, who was Josiah's old owner." + +"I suppose he recognized Josiah readily?" + +"Yes, he had been a servant of George's friend, Mr. Woodburn, and George +says he was a man indulgently treated and much trusted." + +"I infer from what I learned to-day that George told you all this and had +already seen Swallow, so that the trap was set and Mr. Woodburn was to +arrive. Did George imagine you would warn my poor barber--" + +"But I--I didn't--I mean--I let John hear about it--and he told Josiah." + +He listened. Here was another Mrs. Ann. There was in Ann at times a +bewildering childlike simplicity with remarkable intelligence--a +combination to be found in some of the nobler types of womanhood. He made +no remark upon her way of betraying the trust implied in George Grey's +commonplace confession. + +"So, then, my dear, John went and gave the man a warning?" + +"Yes, I would have gone, but it was at night and I thought it better to +let John see him. How he did it I did not want to know--I preferred to +know nothing about it." + +This last sentence so appealed to Penhallow's not very ready sense of +humour that he felt it needful to control his mirth as he saw her +watching earnestness. "Grey, I presume, called on that rascal Swallow, +Mr. Woodburn is sent for, and meanwhile Josiah is told and wisely runs +away. He will never be caught. Anything else, my dear?" + +"Yes, I said to George that we would buy Josiah's freedom--what amuses +you, James?" He was smiling. + +"Oh, the idea of buying a man's power to go and come, when he has +been his own master for years. You were right, but it seems that you +failed--or, so I infer." + +"Yes. He said Mr. Woodburn was still angry and always had considered +Josiah wickedly ungrateful." Penhallow looked at his wife. Her sense of +the comedies of life was sometimes beyond his comprehension, but now--now +was she not a little bit, half consciously, of the defrauded master's +opinion? + +"And so, when that failed, you went to bank and drew out the poor +fellow's savings?" He meant to hear the whole story. There was worse yet, +and he was sure she would speak of it. But now she was her courageous +self and desired to confess her share in the matter. "Of course, he had +to have money, Ann." + +She wanted to get through with this, the most unpleasant part of the +matter. "I want to tell you," she said. "I drew out his money with a +cheque John made out and Josiah signed. John took him his two hundred +dollars, as he knew where Josiah would hide--I--I did not want to know." + +Her large part in this perilous business began to trouble the Squire. His +face had long been to her an open book, and she saw in his silence the +man's annoyance. She added instantly, "I could not let John draw it--and +Josiah would not--he was too scared. He had to have his money. Was I +wrong--was I foolish, James?" + +"No--you were right. The cheque was in John's handwriting. You were the +person to draw it. I would have drawn the money for him. He had a man's +right to his honest savings. It will end here--so you may be quite at +ease." Of this he was not altogether certain. He understood now why she +had not given him of her own money, but Ann was clearly too agitated to +make it well or wise to question her methods further. "Go to bed, dear, +and sleep the sleep of the just--you did the right thing." He kissed her. +"Good-night." + +"One moment more, James. You know, of course--you know that all my life I +have believed with my brothers that slavery was wise and right. I had to +believe that--to think so might exact from me and others what I never +could have anticipated. I came face to face with a test of my creed, and +I failed. I am glad I failed." + +"My dear Ann," he said, "I am supposed to be a Christian man--I go to +church, I have a creed of conduct. To-day I lost my temper and told a man +I would thrash him if he dared to say a word more." + +"It was at the bank, James?" + +"Yes. That fellow Swallow spoke of your having drawn Josiah's money. He +was insolent. You need have no anxiety about it--it is all over. I only +mention it because I want you to feel that our creeds of conduct in life +are not always our masters, and sometimes ought not to be. Let that +comfort you a little. You know that to have been a silent looker-on at +the return to slavery of a man to whom we owed so much was impossible. +My wonder is that for a moment you could have hesitated. It makes me +comprehend more charitably the attitude of the owners of men. Now, dear, +we won't talk any more. Good-night--again--good-night." + +He lighted a cigar and sat long in thought. He had meant not to speak to +her of Swallow, but it had been, as he saw, of service. Then he wondered +how long Mr. George Grey would remain and if he would not think it +necessary to speak of Josiah. As concerned John, he would be in no hurry +to talk to him of the barber; and how the lad had grown in mind and +body!--a wonderful change and satisfactory. + +When after breakfast Mr. Grey showed no desire to mention Josiah and +prudently avoided talk about politics, Penhallow was greatly relieved. +That his host did not open the question of Mr. Grey's conduct in the +matter of the runaway was as satisfactory to the Maryland gentleman, +whose sense of duty had created for him a situation which was +increasingly disagreeable. He warmly welcomed Penhallow's invitation to +look at some newly purchased horses, and expressed the most cordial +approval of whatever he saw, somewhat to the amusement of Penhallow. + +Penhallow left him when, declining to ride to the mills, Mr. Grey retired +to the library and read the _Tribune_, with internal comment on its +editorial columns. He laid the paper aside. Mr. Woodburn would probably +have arrived in the afternoon, and would have arranged with Swallow for a +consultation in which Mr. Grey would be expected to take part. It was +plain that he really must talk to the Captain. He rose and went slowly +down the avenue. A half-hour in Westways singularly relieved him. +Swallow was not at home, and Josiah, the cause of Mr. Grey's +perplexities, had certainly fled, nor did he learn that Mr. Woodburn +had already arrived. + +He was now shamefully eager to escape that interview with the captain, +and relieved to find that there was no need to wait for the friend he had +brought to Westways on a vain errand. Returning to Grey Pine, he +explained to his cousin that letters from home made it necessary for him +to leave on the mid-afternoon train. Never did Ann Penhallow more +gratefully practise the virtue that speeds the parting guest. He was +sorry to miss the captain and would have the pleasure of sending him a +barrel of the best Maryland whisky; "and would you, my dear cousin, say, +in your delightful way, to the good rector how much I enjoyed his +conversation?" + +Ann saw that the lunch was of the best and that the wagon was ready in +more than ample season. As he left, she expressed all the regret she +ought to have felt, and as the carriage disappeared at a turn of the +avenue she sank down in a chair. Then she rang a bell. "Take away that +thing," she said,--"that spittoon." + +"If James Penhallow were here," she murmured, "I should ask him to +say--damn! I wonder now if that man Woodburn will come, and if there will +be a difficulty with James on my account." She sat long in thought, +waiting to greet her husband, while Mr. Grey was left impatient at the +station owing to the too hospitable desire of Ann to speed the parting +guest. + +When about dusk the Squire rode along the road through Westways, he came +on the rector and dismounted, leaving his horse to be led home by Pole's +boy. "Glad to see you, Mark. How goes it; and how did you like Mr. Grey?" + +"To tell you the truth, Squire, I did not like him. I was forced into a +talk about politics. We differed, as you may suppose. He was not quite +pleasant. He seemed to have been so mixed up with this sad business about +Josiah that I kept away at last, so that I might keep my temper. Billy +drove him to the station after lunch." + +"Indeed!" said Penhallow, pleased that Grey had gone. It was news to him +and not unwelcome. Ann would no doubt explain. "What put Grey on the +track of Josiah as a runaway? Was it a mere accidental encounter?" He +desired to get some confirmatory information. + +"No--I suspect not." Then he related what Josiah had told him of Peter's +threats. "I may do that reprobate injustice, but--However, that is all I +now know or feel justified in suspecting." + +"Well, come up and dine to-day; we can talk it out after dinner." + +"With pleasure," said Rivers. + +Penhallow moodily walking up the street, his head bent in thought, was +made aware that he was almost in collision with Swallow and a large man +with a look of good-humoured amusement and the wide-open eyes and uplift +of brow expressive of pleasure and surprise. + +"By George, Woodburn!" said the Squire. "I heard some one of your name +was here, but did not connect the name with you. I last heard of you as +in a wild mix-up with the Sioux, and I wished I was with you." As +Penhallow spoke the two men shook hands, Swallow meanwhile standing apart +not over-pleased as through the narrowed lids of near-sight he saw that +the two men must have known one another well and even intimately, for +Woodburn replied, "Thought you knew I'd left the army, Jim. The last five +years I've been running my wife's plantation in Maryland." + +The Squire's pleasure at his encounter with an old West Point comrade for +a moment caused him to forget that this was the master who had been set +on Josiah's track by Grey. It was but for a moment. Then he drew up his +soldierly figure and said coldly, "I am sorry that you are here on what +cannot be a very agreeable errand." + +"Oh!" said Woodburn cheerfully, "I came to get my old servant, Caesar. It +seems to have been a fool's errand. He has slipped away. I suppose that +Grey as usual talked too freely. But how the deuce does it concern you? I +see that it does." + +Penhallow laughed. "He was my barber." + +"And mine," said Woodburn. "If you have missed him, Jim, for a few days, +I have missed him for three years and more." Then both men laughed +heartily at their inequality of loss. + +"I cannot understand why this fellow ran away. He was a man I trusted and +indulged to such an extent that my wife says I spoiled him. She says he +owned me quite as much as I owned him--a darned ungrateful cuss! I came +here pretty cross when I got George's letter, and now I hear of an amount +of hostile feeling which rather surprised me." + +"That you are surprised, Will, surprises me," said Penhallow. "The +Fugitive-Slave Act will always meet with opposition at the North. It +seems made to create irritation even among people who really are not +actively hostile to slavery. If it became necessary to enforce it, I +believe that I would obey it, because it is the law--but it is making +endless trouble. May I ask what you propose to do about this present +case?" + +"Do--oh, nothing! I am advised to employ detectives and hunt the man +down. I will not; I shall go home. It is not Mr. Swallow's advice." + +"No, it is not," said the lawyer, who stood aside waiting a chance to +speak. "Some one warned the man, and it is pretty generally suspected how +he came to be told." + +Penhallow turned to Woodburn, "Has Mr. Swallow ventured to connect me or +any of my family with this matter?" + +"No," said Woodburn, which was true. Swallow meant to keep in reserve +Mrs. Penhallow's share in the escape until he learned how far an angry +slave-owner was disposed to go. Woodburn had, however, let him understand +that he was not of a mind to go further, and had paid in good-humour a +bill he thought excessive. Grey had made it all seem easy, and then as +Swallow now learned had gone away. He had also written to his own +overseer, and thus among their neighbours a strong feeling prevailed that +this was a case for prompt and easy action. The action had been prompt +and had failed. Woodburn was going home to add more bitterness to the +Southern sense of Northern injustice. + +When Woodburn, much to Penhallow's relief, had said he was done with the +case, the Squire returned, "Then, as you are through with Mr. Swallow, +come home and dine with me. Where are you staying?" + +"At Mr. Swallow's, but I leave by the night train." + +"So soon! But come and dine. I will send for your bag and see that you +get to your train." + +The prospect of Swallow and his feeble, overdressed wife, and his +comrade's urgency, decided Woodburn. He said, "Yes, if Mr. Swallow will +excuse me." + +Swallow said, "Oh, of course!" relieved to be rid of a dissatisfied +client, and the two ex-soldiers went away together chatting of West Point +life. + +Half-way up the avenue Penhallow said, "Before we go in, a word or two--" + +"What is it, Jim?" + +"That fellow said nothing of Mrs. Penhallow, you are sure?" + +"Yes," returned Woodburn, "not a word. I knew that you lived here, but +neither of you nor of Mrs. Penhallow did he say a word in connection with +this business. I meant to look you up this afternoon. Why do you speak of +your wife?" + +"Because--well--I could not let you join us without an honest word +concerning what I was sure you would have heard from Swallow. Now if you +had taken what I presume was his advice--to punish the people concerned +in warning Josiah, you--indeed I--might hesitate--" + +"What do you mean, Jim?" said his companion much amazed. + +"I mean this: After our loose-tongued friend Grey told my wife that +Josiah was in danger, she sent him word of the risk he ran, and then drew +out of our bank for him his savings and enabled him to get away. Now +don't say a word until I have done. Listen! This man turned up here over +three years ago and was soon employed about my stables. He broke his leg +in stopping a runaway and saved my wife's young niece, our adopted child, +Leila Grey. There was some other kind and efficient service. That's all. +Now, can you dine with me?" + +"With all my heart, Jim. Damn Grey! Did he talk much?" + +"Did he? No, he gabbled. But are you satisfied?" + +"Yes, Jim. I am sorry I drove off your barber--and I shall hold my tongue +when I get home--as far as I can." + +"Then come. I have some of my father's Madeira, if Grey has left any. I +shall say a word to Mrs. Penhallow. By George! I am glad to have you." + +Penhallow showed Woodburn to a room, and feeling relieved and even +elated, found his wife, who had tired of waiting and had gone to get +ready to dine. He told her in a few words enough to set her at ease with +the new guest. Then Mark Rivers came in and John Penhallow, who having +heard about the stranger's errand was puzzled when he became aware of the +cordial relations of his uncle and Mr. Woodburn. + +The dinner was pleasant and unembarrassed. The lad whom events had +singularly matured listened to gay memories of West Point and to talk of +cadets whose names were to live in history or who had been distinguished +in our unrighteous war with Mexico. When now and then the talk became +quite calmly political, Ann listened to the good-natured debate and was +longing to speak her mind. She was, however, wisely silent, and reflected +half amused that she had lost the right to express herself on the +question which was making politics ill-tempered but was now being +discussed at her table with such well-bred courtesy. John soon ceased to +follow the wandering talk, and feeling what for him had the charm of +romance in the flight of Josiah sat thinking over the scene of the +warning at night, the scared fugitive in the cabin, and the lonely voyage +down through the darkness of the rapids of the river. Where would the man +go? Would they ever see him again? They were to meet in far-away days and +in hours far more perilous. Then he was caught once more by gay stories +of adventures on the plains and memories of Indian battles, until the +wine had been drunk and the Squire took his friend to the library for an +hour. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Penhallow himself drove his guest to meet the night express to the East, +and well pleased with his day returned to find his wife talking with +Rivers and John. He sat down with them at the fire in the hall, saying, +"I wanted to keep Woodburn longer, but he was wise not to stay. What are +you two talking over--you were laughing?" + +"I," said Rivers, "was hearing how that very courteous gentleman chanced +to dine with these mortal enemies who stole his property. I kept quiet, +Mrs. Penhallow said nothing, John ate his dinner, and no one quarrelled. +I longed for Mr. Grey--" + +"For shame," said Mrs. Ann. "Tell him why we were laughing--it was at +nothing particular." + +"It was about poor old Mrs. Burton." + +"What about her? If you can make that widow interesting in any way, I +shall be grateful." + +"It was about her dead husband--" + +"Am I to hear it or not?" said Penhallow. "What is it?" + +"Why, what she said was that she was more than ever confirmed in her +belief in special Providences, because Malcolm was so fond of tomatoes, +and this year of his death not one of their tomatoes ripened." + +The Squire's range of enjoyment of the comic had limitations, but this +story was immensely enjoyed and to his taste. He laughed in his hearty +way. "Did she tell you that, Mark, or has it improved in your hands?" + +"No--no, I got it from Grace, and he had it from the widow. I do not +think it seemed the least bit funny to Grace." + +"But after all," said Mrs. Ann, "is it so very comic?" + +"Oh, now," said Penhallow, "we are in for a discussion on special +Providences. I can't stand it to-night; I want something more definite. +My manager says sometimes, 'I want to close out this-here business.' Now +I want to close out this abominable business about my poor Josiah. You +and your aunt, John, have been, as you may know, breaking the law of your +country--" + +Rivers, surprised and still partially ignorant, looked from one to +another. + +"Oh, James!" remonstrated his wife, not overpleased. + +"Wait a little, my dear Ann. Now, John, I want to hear precisely how you +gave Josiah a warning and--well--all the rest. You ought to know that my +little lady did as usual the right thing. The risks and whatever there +might have been of danger were ours by right--a debt paid to a poor +runaway who had made us his friends. Now, John!" + +Rivers watched his pupil with the utmost interest. John stood up a little +excited by this unexpected need to confess. He leaned against the side of +the mantel and said, "Well, you see, Uncle Jim, I got in at the back--" + +"I don't see at all. I want to be made to see--I want the whole story." + +John had in mind that he had done a rather fine thing and ought to relate +it as lightly as he had heard Woodburn tell of furious battles with +Apaches. But, as his uncle wanted the whole story, he must have some good +reason, and the young fellow was honestly delighted. Standing by the +fire, watched by three people who loved him, and above all by the +Captain, his ideal of what he felt he himself could never be, John +Penhallow told of his entrance to Josiah's room and of his thought of +the cabin as a hiding-place. When he hesitated, Penhallow said, "Oh, +don't leave out, John Penhallow, I want all the details. I have my +reasons, John." + +Flushed and handsome, with his strong young face above the figure which +was to have his uncle's athletic build, he related his story to the +close. As he told of the parting with the frightened fugitive and the +hunted man's last blessing, he was affected as he had not been at the +time. "That's all, Uncle Jim. It was too bad--and he will never come +back." + +"He could," said Rivers. + +"Yes--but he will not. I know the man," said Penhallow. "He has the +courage of the minute, but the timidity of the slave. We shall see him no +more, I fear." + +The little group around the fire fell to silence, and John sat down. He +wanted a word of approval, and got it. "I want you to know, John," said +Penhallow, "that I think you behaved with courage and discretion. It was +not an errand for a boy, but no man could have done better, and your aunt +had no one else. I am glad she had not." + +Then John Penhallow felt that he was shaky and that his eyes were +uncomfortably filling. With a boy's dislike of showing emotion, he +mastered his feelings and said, "Thank you, Uncle Jim." + +"That is all," said the Squire, who too saw and comprehended what he saw, +"go to bed, you breaker of the law--" + +"And I," said Ann, "a wicked partner. Come, John." + +They left the master of the house with the rector. Rivers looked at the +clock, "I think I must go. I do not stand late hours. If I let the day +capture the night, the day after is apt to find me dull." + +"Well, stand it this once, Mark. I hate councils of war or peace without +the pipe, and now, imagine it, my dear wife wanted me to smoke, and that +was all along of that terrible spittoon and the long-expected cousin of +whom I have heard from time to time. _Les absens n'out pas toujours +tort_. Now smoke and don't watch the clock. I said this abominable +business was to be closed out--" + +"And is it not?" asked Rivers. + +"No. I do not talk about Peter Lamb to my wife, because she thinks my +helping him so often has done the man more harm than good. It was not +Grey alone who was responsible. He told Mrs. Penhallow that Peter had +sent him to Josiah's shop. He told Grey too that Josiah must be a runaway +slave and that any one would know him by his having lost two fingers. +That at once set Grey on this mischievous track." + +"I am only too sure that you are right," returned Rivers. "Peter tried a +very futile blackmailing trick on Josiah. He wanted to get whisky, and +told the poor negro that he must get it for him or he would let his +master know where he was. Of course, the scamp knew what we all knew and +no more, but it alarmed Josiah, who came to me at once. He was like a +scared child. I told him to go home and that Peter had lied. He went away +looking as if the old savagery in his blood might become practically +active." + +"I don't wonder," said Penhallow. "Did it end there?" + +"No, I saw Peter next day, and he of course lied to me very cleverly, +said it was only a joke on Josiah, and so on. I think, sir, and you will +I hope excuse me--I do think that the man were better let alone. Every +time you help him, he gets worse. When he was arrested and suspected of +burning Robert's hayrick, you pleaded with the old farmer and got the man +off. He boasted of it the next time he got drunk." + +"I know--I know." The Squire had paid Robert's loss, and aware of his own +folly was of no mind to confess to any one. "I have no wish or will to +help him. I mean now to drop him altogether, and I must tell him so. But +what a pity it is! He is intelligent, and was a good carpenter until he +began to drink. I must talk to him." + +"You will only make him more revengeful. He has what he calls 'got even' +with Josiah, and he is capable of doing it with you or me. Let him +alone." + +"Not I," said the Squire; "if only for his mother's sake, I must see what +I can do." + +"Useless--quite useless," said Rivers. "You may think that strange advice +for a clergyman, but I do sometimes despair of others and occasionally of +Mark Rivers. Goodnight." + +During these days the fugitive floated down the swift little river at +night, and at dawn hid his frail boat and himself in the forests of a +thinly settled land. He was brave enough, but his ignorance of geography +added to his persistent terror. On the third day the broader waters +brought him to farms and houses. Then he left his boat and struck out +across the country until he came to a railway. In the station he made out +that it led to Philadelphia. Knowing that he would be safe there, he +bought a ticket and arrived in the city the next day--a free man with +money, intelligence, and an honest liking for steady work. + +The Squire had the good habit of second thought. His wife knew it well +and had often found it valuable and to be trusted. At present he was +thoroughly disgusted with the consequences of what he knew to be in some +degree the result of his own feeling that he was bound to care for the +man whose tie to him was one few men would have considered as in any +serious degree obligatory. The night brought good counsel, and he made +up his mind next morning simply to let the foster-brother alone. Fate +decreed otherwise. In the morning he was asked by his wife to go with her +to the village; she wanted some advice. He did not ask what, but said, +"Of course. I am to try the barber's assistant I have brought from the +mills to shave me, and what is more important--Westways. I have put him +in our poor old Josiah's shop." + +They went together to Pole's, and returning she stopped before the +barn-like building where Grace gathered on Sundays a scant audience to +hear the sermons which Rivers had told him had too much heart and too +little head. + +"What is it?" asked Penhallow. + +"I have heard, James, that their chapel (she never called it church) is +leaking--the roof, I mean. Could not you pay for a new roof?" + +"Of course, my dear--of course. It can't cost much. I will see Grace +about it." + +"Thank you, James." On no account would she now have done this herself. +She was out of touch for the time with the whole business of politics, +and to have indulged her usual gentle desire to help others would have +implied obligation on the part of the Baptist to accept her wish that he +should vote and use his influence for Buchanan. Now the thing would be +done without her aid. In time her desire to see the Democrats win in the +interest of her dear South would revive, but at present what with Grey +and the threat of the practical application of the Fugitive-Slave Act and +her husband's disgust, she was disposed to let politics alone. + +Presently, as they walked on, Peter Lamb stopped them. "I'd like to speak +to you for a moment, Mr. Penhallow." Mrs. Penhallow walked on. + +"What is it?" said the Squire. + +"I'm all right now--I'll never drink again. I want some work--and +mother's sick." + +"We will see to her, but you get no more work from me." + +"Why, what's the matter, sir?" + +"Matter! You might ask Josiah if he were here. You know well enough what +you did--and now I am done with you." + +"So help me God, I never--" + +"Oh! get out of my way. You are a miserable, lying, ungrateful man, and I +have done with you." + +He walked away conscious of having again lost his temper, which was rare. +The red-faced man he left stood still, his lips parted, the large yellow +teeth showing. "It's that damned parson," he said. + +Penhallow rejoined his wife. "What did he want?" she asked. + +"Oh, work," he said. "I told him he could get no more from me." + +"Well, James," she said, "that is the first sensible thing you have ever +done about that man. You have thoroughly spoiled him, and now it is very +likely too late to discipline him." + +"Yes--perhaps--you may be right." He knew her to be right, but he did not +like her agreement with his decision to be connected with even her mild +statement that it had been better if long before he had been more +reasonably severe and treated Lamb as others would have treated him. In +the minor affairs of life Ann Penhallow used the quick perception of a +woman, and now and then brought the Squire's kindly excesses to the bar +of common sense. Sometimes the sentence was never announced, but now and +then annoyed at his over-indulgent charity she allowed her impatience the +privilege of speech, and then, as on this occasion, was sorry to have +spoken. + +Dismissing his slight vexation, Penhallow said presently, "He told me his +mother was sick." + +"She was not yesterday. I took her our monthly allowance and some towels +I wanted hemmed and marked. He lied to you, James. Did you believe him +even for a moment?" + +"But she might be sick, Ann. I meant you to stop and ask." + +"I will, of course." This time she held her tongue, and left him at +Grace's door. + +The perfect sweetness of her husband's generous temperament was sometimes +trying to Ann in its results, but now it had helped her out of an awkward +position, and with pride and affection she watched his soldierly figure +for a moment and then went on her way. + +Intent with gladness on fulfilling his wife's errand, he went up the +steps of the small two-storey house of the Baptist preacher. He had +difficulty in making any one hear where there was no one to hear. If at +Westways the use of the rare bells or more common knockers brought no one +to the door, you were free to walk in and cry, "Where are you, Amanda +Jane, and shall I come right up?" Penhallow had never set foot in the +house, but had no hesitation in entering the front room close to the +narrow hall which was known as the front entry. The details of men's +surroundings did not usually interest Penhallow, but in the mills or the +far past days of military service nothing escaped him that could be of +use in the work of the hour. The stout little Baptist preacher, with his +constant every-day jollity and violent sermons, of which he had heard +from Rivers, in no way interested Penhallow. When he once said to Ann, +"The man is unneat and common," she replied, "No, he is homely, but +neither vulgar nor common. I hate his emotional performances, but the man +is good, James." "Then I do wish, Ann, he would button his waistcoat and +pull up his socks." + +Now he looked about him with some unusual attention. There was no carpet. +A set of oddly coloured chairs and settees which would have pleased Ann, +a square mahogany table set on elephantine legs, completed the +furnishings of a whitewashed room, where the flies, driven indoors by +cool weather, buzzed on window glasses dull with dust. The back room had +only a writing-table, a small case of theological books, and two or +three much used volumes of American history. Penhallow looked around him +with unusually awakened pity. The gathered dust, the battered chairs, the +spider-webs in the darker corners, would have variously annoyed and +disgusted Ann Penhallow. A well-worn Bible lay on the table, with a +ragged volume of "Hiawatha" and "Bunyan's Holy War." There were no other +books. This form of poverty piteously appealed to him. + +"By George!" he exclaimed, "that is sad. The man is book-poor. Ann must +have that library. I will ask him to use mine." As he stood still in +thought, he heard steps, and turned to meet Dr. McGregor. + +"Come to see Grace, sir?" said the doctor. + +"Yes, I came about a little business, but there seems to be no one in." + +"Grace is in bed and pretty sick too." + +"What is the matter?" + +"Oh, had a baptism in the river--stood too long in the water and got +chilled. It has happened before. Come up and see him--he'll like it." + +The Squire hesitated and then followed the doctor. "Who cares for him?" +he asked as they moved up the stairs. + +"Oh, his son. Rather a dull lad, but not a bad fellow. He has no +servant--cooks for himself. Ever try it, Squire?" + +"I--often. But what a life!" + +The stout little clergyman lay on a carved four-post bedstead of old +mahogany, which seemed to hint of better days. The ragged patch-work +quilt over him told too of busy woman-hands long dead. The windows were +closed, the air was sick (as McGregor said later), and there was the +indescribable composite odour which only the sick chamber of poverty +knows. The boy, glad to escape, went out as they entered. + +Grace sat up. "Now," he said cheerfully, "this is real good of you to +come and see me! Take a seat, sir." + +The chairs were what the doctor once described as non-sitable, and +wabbled as they sat down. + +"You are better, I see, Grace," said the doctor. "I fetched up the Squire +for a consultation." + +"Yes, I'm near about right." He had none of the common feeling of the +poor that he must excuse his surroundings to these richer visitors, nor +any least embarrassment. "It's good to see some one, Mr. Penhallow." + +"I come on a pleasant errand," said Penhallow. "We will talk it over and +then leave you to the doctor. Mrs. Penhallow wants me to roof your +church. I came to say to you that I shall do it with pleasure. You will +lose the use of it for one Sunday at least." + +"Thank you, Squire," said Grace simply. "That's real good medicine." + +"I will see to it at once." + +The doctor opened a window, and Penhallow drew a grateful breath of fresh +air. + +"Don't go, sir," said Grace. The Squire sat down again while McGregor +went through his examination of the sick man. Then he too rose to leave. + +"Must you go?" said Grace. "It is such a pleasure to see some one from +the outside." The doctor smiled and lingered. + +"I suppose, Squire, you'll get Joe Boynton, the carpenter, to put on the +roof? He's one of my flock." + +"Yes," said Penhallow, "but he will want to put his old workman, Peter +Lamb, on the job, and I have no desire to help that man any further. He +gives his mother nothing, and every cent he makes goes for drink." + +McGregor nodded approval, but wondered why at last the Squire's unfailing +good-nature had struck for higher wages of virtue in the man he had +ruined by kindness. + +"I try to keep work in Westways," said Penhallow. "Joe Shall roof the +chapel, and like as not Peter will be too drunk to help. I can't quite +make it a condition with Joe that he shall not employ Peter, but I should +like to." McGregor's face grew smiling at Penhallow's conclusion when he +added, "I hope he may get work elsewhere." Then the Squire went +downstairs with the doctor, exchanging brevities of talk. + +"Are you aware, Penhallow, that this wicked business about Josiah has +beaten Buchanan in Westways? Come to apply the Fugitive-Slave Act and +people won't stand it. As long as it was just a matter of newspaper +discussion Westways didn't feel it, but when it drove away our barber, +Westways's conscience woke up to feel how wicked it was." + +The Squire had had an illustration nearer home and kept thinking of it as +he murmured monosyllabic contributions while the doctor went on--"My own +belief is that if the November election were delayed six months, Fremont +would carry Pennsylvania." + +Penhallow recovered fuller consciousness and returned, "I distrust +Fremont. I knew him in the West. But he represents, or rather he stands +for, a party, and it is mine." + +"I am glad to know that," said McGregor. "I am really glad. It is a +relief to be sure about a man like you, Penhallow. I suppose you know +that you are loved in the county as no one else is." + +"Nonsense," exclaimed the Squire, laughing, but not ill-pleased. + +"No, I am serious; but it leads up to this: Am I free to say you will +vote the Republican ticket?" + +"Yes--yes--you may say so." + +"It will be of use, but couldn't I persuade you to speak at the meeting +next week at the mills?" + +"No, McGregor. That is not in my line." He had other reasons for refusal. +"Let us drop politics. What is that boy of yours going to do?" + +"Study medicine," he says. "He has brains enough, and Mr. Rivers tells me +he is studious. Our two lads fell out, it seems, and my boy got the worst +of it. What I don't like is that he has not made up with John." + +"No, that is bad; but boys get over their quarrels in time. However, I +must go. If I can be of any use to Tom, you know that I am at your +service." + +"When were you not at everybody's service?" said the doctor, and they +went out through the hall. + +"Good-bye," said Penhallow, but the doctor stopped him. + +"Penhallow, may I take the liberty to bother you with a bit of unasked +advice?" + +"A liberty, nonsense! What is it?" + +"Well, then--let that drunken brute Peter alone. You said that you would +not let the carpenter use him, but why not? Then you hoped he would get +work. Let him alone." + +"McGregor, I have a great charity for a drunkard's son--and the rest you +know." + +"Yes, too well." + +"I try to put myself in his place--with his inheritance--" + +"You can't. Nothing is more kind than that in some cases, and nothing +more foolish in others or in this--" + +"Perhaps. I will think it over, Doctor. Good-bye." + +Meanwhile Grace lay in bed thoughtfully considering the situation. While +her husband seemed practically inactive in politics, Mrs. Penhallow had +been busy, and she had clearly hinted that the roofing of the chapel +might depend on how Grace used his large influence in the electoral +contest, but had said nothing very definite. He was well aware, however, +that in his need for help he had bowed a little in the House of Rimmon. +Then he had talked with Rivers and straightened up, and now did the +Squire's offer imply any pledge on his own part? While he tried to solve +this problem, Penhallow reappeared. + +"I forgot something, Grace," he said. "Mrs. Penhallow will send Mrs. Lamb +here for a few days, and some--oh, some little luxuries--ice and fresh +milk." + +The Baptist did not like it. Was this to keep him in the way he had +resolved not to go. "Thank you and her," he returned, and then added +abruptly, "How are you meaning to vote, Squire?" + +"Oh, for Fremont," replied Penhallow, rather puzzled. + +"Well, that will be good news in Westways." It was to him, too, and he +felt himself free. "Isn't Mrs. Penhallow rather on the other side?" + +He had no least idea that the question might be regarded as impertinent. +Penhallow said coldly, "My wife and I are rather averse to talking +politics. I came back to say that I want you to feel free to make use of +my library--just as Rivers does." + +"Now that will be good. I am book-starved except for Rivers's help. Thank +you." He put out a fat hand and said, "God has been good to me this day; +may He be as kind to you and yours." + +The Squire went his way wondering what the deuce the man had to do with +Ann Penhallow's politics. + +Mrs. Lamb took charge of Grace, and Mrs. Penhallow saw that he was well +supplied and gave no further thought to the incorrigible and changeful +political views of Westways. + +The excitement over the flight of Josiah lessened, and Westways settled +down to the ordinary dull routine of a little community dependent on +small farmers and the mill-men who boarded at the old tavern or with some +of the townspeople. + + * * * * * + +The forests were rapidly changing colour except where pine and spruce +stood darkly green amid the growing magnificence of maple and oak. It was +the intermediate season in which were neither winter nor summer sports, +and John Penhallow enjoying the pageant of autumn rode daily or took long +walks, exploring the woods, missing Leila and giving free wing to a mind +which felt the yearning, never to be satisfied, to translate into human +speech its bird-song of enjoyment of nature. + +On an afternoon in mid-October he saw Mr. Rivers, to his surprise, far +away on the bank of the river. Well aware that the clergyman was rarely +given to any form of exercise on foot, John was a little surprised when +he came upon the tall, stooping, pallid man with what Ann Penhallow +called the "eloquent" eyes. He was lying on the bank lazily throwing +stones into the river. As John broke through the alders and red willows +above him, he turned at the sound and cried, as John jumped down the +bank, "Glad to see you, John! I have been trying to settle a question no +one can settle to the satisfaction of others or even himself. You might +give me your opinion as to who wrote the Epistle to the Hebrews. Origen +gave it up, and Philo had a theory about Apollos, and there is +Tertullian, that's all any fellow knows; and so now I await your opinion. +What nobody knows about, anybody's opinion is good about." + +John laughed as he said, "I don't think I'll try." + +"Did you ever read Hebrews, John? The epistle I mean." + +"No." + +"Then don't or not yet. The Bible books ought to be read at different +ages of a man's life. I could arrange them. Your aunt reads to you or +with you, I believe?" + +"Yes--Acts just now, sir. She makes it so clear and interesting that it +seems as if all might have happened now to some missionaries somewhere." + +"That is an art. Some of the Bible stories require such help to make them +seem real to modern folk. How does, or how did, Leila take Mrs. Ann's +teachings?" + +"Oh, Leila," he replied, as he began to pitch pebbles in the little +river, "Leila--wriggled. You know, she really can't keep quiet, Mr. +Rivers." + +"Yes, I know well enough. But did what interested you interest Leila?" + +"No--no, indeed, sir. It troubled Aunt Ann because she could not make her +see things. Usually at night before bedtime we read some of the Gospels, +and then once a week Acts. Every now and then Leila would sit still and +ask such queer questions--about people." + +"What kind of questions, John?" He was interested and curious. + +"Oh, about Peter's mother and--I forget--oh, yes, once--I remember that +because aunt did not like it and I really couldn't see why." + +"Well, what was it?" + +"She wanted to know if Christ's brothers ever were married and if they +had children." + +"Did she, indeed! Well--well!" + +"Aunt Ann asked her why she wanted to know that, and Leila said it was +because she was thinking how Christ must have loved them, and maybe that +was why He was so fond of little children. Now, I couldn't have thought +that." + +"Nor I," said Rivers. "She will care more for people--oh, many +people--and by and by for things, events and the large aspects of life, +but she is as yet undeveloped." + +John was clear that he did not want her to like many people, but he was +inclined to keep this to himself and merely said, "I don't quite +understand." + +"No, perhaps I _was_ a little vague. Leila is at the puzzling age. You +will find her much altered in a year." + +"I won't like that." + +"Well, perhaps not. But you too have changed a good deal since you came. +You were a queer young prig." + +"I was--I was indeed." + +Then they were silent a while. John thought of his mother who had left +him to the care of tutors and schools while she led a wandering, unhappy, +invalid life. He remembered the Alps and the _spas_ and her fretful care +of his very good health, and then the delight of being free and +surrounded with all a boy desires, and at last Leila and the wonderful +hair on the snow-drift. + +"Look at the leaves, John," said Rivers. "What fleets of red and gold!" + +"I wonder," said John, "how far they will drift, and if any of them will +ever float to the sea. It is a long way." + +"Yes," returned Rivers, "and so we too are drifting." + +"Oh, no, sir," said John, with the confidence of youth, "we are not +drifting, we are sailing--not just like the leaves anywhere the waves +take them." + +"More or less," added Rivers moodily, "more or less." + +He looked at the boy as he spoke, conscious of a nature unlike his own. +Then he laughed outright. "You may be sure we are a good deal hustled by +circumstances--like the leaves." + +"I should prefer to hustle circumstances," replied John gaily, and again +the rector studied the young face and wondered what life had in store for +this resolute nature. + +"Come, let us go. I have walked too far for me, I am overtired, John." + +What it felt to be overtired, John hardly knew. He said, "I know a short +cut, cater-cornered across the new clearing." + +As they walked homeward, Rivers said, "What do you want to do, John? You +are more than fit for the university--you should be thinking about it." + +"I do not know." + +"Would you like to be a clergyman?" + +"No," said John decisively. + +"Or a lawyer, or a doctor like Tom McGregor?" + +"I do not know--I have not thought about it much, but I might like to go +to West Point." + +"Indeed!" + +"Yes, but I am not sure." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +When John was eager to hear what Leila wrote, his aunt laughed and said, +"As you know, there is always a word of remembrance for you, but her +letters would hardly interest you. They are about the girls and the +teachers and new gowns. Write to her--I will enclose it, but you need +expect no answer." + +That Leila should have acquired interest in gowns seemed to him unlike +that fearless playmate. He learned that the rules of the school forbade +the writing of letters except to parents and near relatives. He was now +to write to Leila the first letter he had written since his laborious +epistles to his mother when at school. His compositions seemed to Rivers +childlike long after he showed notable competence in speech. + +"DEAR LEILA: It is very hard that you cannot write to me. We are all well +here except Lucy, who is lame. It isn't very much. + +"Of course you have heard about our good old Josiah. Isn't that slave law +wicked? Westways is angry and all turned round for Fremont. Mr. Grace has +been ill, and Uncle Jim is putting a roof on his chapel. Josiah left me +his traps when he ran away. He meant to make you a muskrat skin bag. I +found four in his traps, and I have caught four more, and when Mrs. Lamb +makes a bag of them, I am to have for it a silver clasp which belonged +to Great-grandmother Penhallow. No girl will have one like that. It was +on account of Josiah the town will not vote for Buchanan. + +"I wish I had asked you for a lock of your hair. I remember how it looked +on the snow when Billy upset us."-- + +He had found his letter-writing hard work, and let it alone for a time. +Before he finished it, he had more serious news to add. + +The autumnal sunset of the year, the red and gold of maple, oak and +sassafras, was new to the boy who had spent so many years in Europe, and +more wonderful was it when in this late October on the uplands there fell +softly upon the glowing colours of the woods a light covering of early +snow. Once seen it is a spectacle never to be forgotten, and he had the +gift of being charmed by the scenic ingenuities of nature. + +The scripture reading was over and he was thinking late in the evening of +what he had seen, when his aunt said, "Goodnight, John--bed-time," and +went up the stairway. John lay quiet, with closed eyes, seeing the sunlit +snow lightly dusted on the red and yellows of the forest. + +About eleven his uncle came from the library. "What, you scamp!--up so +late! I meant to mail this letter to-day; run down and mail it. It ought +to go when Billy takes the letters to Westways Crossing early to-morrow. +I will wait up for you. Now use those long legs and hurry." + +John took his cap and set off, liking the run over the snow, which was +light and no longer falling. He raced down the avenue and climbed the +gate, thinking of Leila. He dropped the letter into the post-office box, +and decided to return by a short way through the Penhallow woods which +faced the town. He moved eastward, climbed the fence, and stood still. He +was some two hundred yards from the parsonage. His attention was arrested +by a dull glow behind the house. He ran towards it as it flared upward a +broad rush of flame, brilliantly lighting the expanse of snow and sending +long prancing shafts of shadow through the woods as it struck on the tall +spruces. Shouting, "Fire! Fire!" John came nearer. + +The large store of dry pine and birch for winter-use piled in a shed +against the back of Rivers's house was burning fiercely, with that look +of ungoverned fury which gives such an expression of merciless, personal +rage to a great fire. The terror of it at first possessed the lad, who +was shouting himself hoarse. The flame was already running up and over +the outer planking and curling down upon the thin snow of the shingled +roof as he ran around the small garden and saw the front door open and +Rivers come out. The rector said, "It is gone, John; I will go for your +uncle. Run over to the Wayne and call up the men. Tell them to get out my +books and what they can, but to run no risks. Quick, now! Wake up the +town." + +There was little need, for some one at the inn had heard John's cries. In +a few minutes the village was awake and out of doors before Penhallow +arriving took charge and scattered men through the easily lighted pines, +in some dread of a forest fire. The snow on the floor of pine-needles and +on the laden trees was, however, as he soon saw, an insurance against the +peril from far-scattered sparks, and happily there was no wind. Little +of what was of any value was saved, and in the absence of water there was +nothing to do but to watch the fire complete its destructive work. + +"There is nothing more we can do, Rivers," said Penhallow. "John was the +first to see it. We will talk about it to-morrow--not now--not here." + +The three Grey Pine people stood apart while books and clothes and little +else were carried across the road and stored in the village houses. At +last the flames rose high in the air and for a few minutes as the roof +fell in, the beauty of the illumination was what impressed John and +Rivers. The Squire now and then gave quick orders or stood still in +thought. At last he said to the rector, "I want you to go to Grey Pine, +call up Mrs. Penhallow and tell her, and then go to bed. You will like +to stay here with me, John?" + +"Yes, sir." The Squire walked away as Rivers left them. + +"Fine sight, ain't it, Mr. John," said Billy, the one person who enjoyed +the fire. + +"Yes," said John, absently intent on the red-lighted snow spaces and the +gigantic shadows of the thinly timbered verge of the forest as they were +and were not. Then there was a moment of alarm. An old birch, loosely +clad with dry, ragged bark stood near to the house. A flake of falling +fire fell on it. Instantly the whole trunk-cover blazed up with a roar +like that of a great beast in pain. It was sudden and for the instant +terrible, but the snow-laden leaves still left on it failed to take fire, +and what in summer would have been a calamity was at an end. + +"Gosh!" exclaimed Billy, "didn't he howl?" John made no reply. + +"Couldn't wake Peter. I was out first." He had liked the fun of banging +at the doors. "Old Woman Lamb said she couldn't wake him." + +"Drunk, I suppose," said John absently, stamping out a spark among the +pine-needles at his feet, now freed from snow by the heat. + +The night passed, and when the dawning came, the Squire leaving some +orders went homeward with John, saying only, "Go to bed at once, we will +talk about it later. I don't like it, John. You saw it first--where did +it begin?" + +"Outside, sir, in the wood-shed." + +"Indeed! There has been some foul play. Who could it have been?" He said +no more. + +It was far into the morning when John awaking found that he had been +allowed to make up for the lost sleep of the past night. His aunt smiling +greeted him with a kiss, concerning which there is something to be said +in regard to what commentary the assistant features make upon the kiss. +"I would not have you called earlier," she said; "but now, here is your +breakfast, you have earned it." She sat down and watched the +disappearance of a meal which would have filled his mother with anxiety. +Ann was really enjoying the young fellow's wholesome appetite and +contrasting it with the apprehensive care concerning food he had shown +when long before he had seemed to her husband and herself a human problem +hard to solve. James Penhallow had been wise, and Leila a rough and +efficient schoolmistress. "Do not hurry, John; have another cup?" + +"Yes, please." + +"Have you written that letter? I mean to be naughty enough to enclose it +to Leila. I told you so." + +"Yes, but it is not quite done, and now I must tell her about the fire. I +wrote her that Josiah had gone away." + +"The less of it the better. I mean about--well, about your warning +him--and the rest--your share and mine." + +"Of course not, Aunt Ann. I would not talk about myself. I mean, I could +not write about it." + +"You would talk of it if she were here--you would, I am sure." + +"Yes, that's different--I suppose, I would," he returned. She was struck +with this as being like what James Penhallow would have said and have, or +not have, done. + +"If you have finished, John, I think your uncle wants you." + +"Why didn't you tell me, aunt?" he said, as he got up in haste. + +"Oh, boys must be fed," she cried. She too rose from her seat, and went +around the table and kissed him again, saying, "You are more and more +like my captain, John." + +Being a woman, as John was well aware, not given to express approval of +what were merely acts of duty, he was surprised at what was, for her, +excess of praise; nor was she as much given to kissing, as are many +women. The lad felt, therefore, that what she thus said and did was +unusual, and was what his Uncle Jim called one of Ann's rarely conferred +brevets of affection. + +"Yes," she repeated, "you are like him." + +"What! I like Uncle Jim! I wish I were." + +"Now go," she said, giving him a gentle push. She was shyly aware of a +lapse into unhabitual emotion and of some closer approach to the maternal +relation fostered by his growing resemblance to James Penhallow. + +"So," laughed his uncle as John entered the library, "you have burned +down the school and are on a holiday--you and Rivers." + +John grinned. "Yes, sir." + +"Sit down. We are discussing that fire. You were the first to see it, +John. It was about eleven--" + +"Yes, uncle, it struck as I left the hall." + +"No one else was in sight, and in fact, Rivers, no one in Westways is out +of bed at ten. Both you and John are sure the fire began outside where +the wood was piled under a shed." + +"Yes," said Rivers. "It was a well dried winter supply, birch and pine. +The shed, as you know, was alongside of the kitchen door. I went over the +house as usual about nine, after old Susan, the maid, had gone home. I +covered the kitchen fire with ashes--a thing she is apt to neglect. I +went to bed at ten and wakened to hear the glass crack and to smell +smoke. The kitchen lay under my bedroom. I fear it was a deliberate act +of wickedness." + +"That is certain," said Penhallow, "but who could have wanted to do it. +You and I, Rivers, know every one in Westways. Can you think of any one +with malice enough to make him want to bum a house and risk the +possibility of murder?" + +Rivers turned his lean pale face toward the Squire, unwilling to speak +out what was in the minds of both men. John listened, looking from one +serious face to the other. + +"It seems to me quite incredible," said Penhallow, and then Rivers knew +surely that the older man had a pretty definite belief in regard to the +person who had been concerned. He knew too why the Squire was unwilling +to accuse him, and waited to hear what next Penhallow would say. + +"It makes one feel uncomfortable," said Penhallow, and turning to John, +"Who was first there after you came?" + +"Billy, sir, I think, even before the men from the Wayne, but I am not +sure. I told him to pound on the doors and wake up the town." + +"Did he say anything?" + +"Oh, just his usual silliness." + +"Was Peter Lamb at the fire?" + +"I think not. His mother opened a window and said that she could not +waken Peter. It was Billy told me that. I told Billy, I supposed Peter +was drunk. But he wasn't yesterday afternoon--I saw him." + +"Oh, there was time enough for that," remarked Rivers. + +Then the two men smoked and were silent, until at last the Squire said, +"Of course, you must stay here, Rivers, and you know how glad we shall +be--oh, don't protest. It is the only pleasant thing which comes out of +this abominable matter. Ann will like it." + +"Thank you," returned Rivers, "I too like it." + +John went away to look at the ruin left by the fire, and the Squire said +to his friend, "As I am absent in the mornings at the mills, you may keep +school here, Rivers," and it was so settled. + +Before going out Penhallow went to his wife's little room on the farther +side of the hall. He had no desire to hide his conclusions from her. She +saw how grave he looked. "What is it, James?" she asked, looking up from +her desk. + +"I am as sure as a man can be that Peter Lamb set fire to the parsonage. +He has always been revengeful and he owed our friend, the Rector, a +grudge. I have no direct evidence of his guilt, and what am I to do? You +know why I have always stood by him. I suppose that I was wrong." + +She knew only too well, but now his evident trouble troubled her and she +loved him too well to accept the temptation to use the exasperating +phrase, "I always told you so." "You can do nothing, James, without more +certainty. You will not question his mother?" + +"No, I can't do that, Ann; and yet I cannot quite let this go by and +simply sit still." + +"What do you propose to do?" + +"I do not know," and with this he left her and rode to the mills. In the +afternoon he called at Mrs. Lamb's and asked where he could find Peter. + +She was evidently uneasy, as she said, "You gave him work on the new roof +of the Baptist chapel with Boynton; he might be there." + +He made no comment, and went on his way until reaching the chapel he +called Peter down from the roof and said, "Come with me, I want to talk +to you." + +Peter was now sober and was sharply on guard. "Come away from the town," +added the Squire. He crossed the street, entered his own woods and walked +through them until he came in sight of the smoking relics of the +parsonage, where at a distance some few persons were idly discussing what +was also on Penhallow's mind. Here he turned on his foster-brother, and +said, "You set that house on fire. I could get out of your mother enough +to make it right to arrest you, but I will not bring her into the matter. +Others suspect you. Now, what have you to say?" + +"Say! I didn't do it--that's all. I was in bed." + +"Why did you not get up and help?" + +"Wasn't any of my business," he replied sulkily. "Everybody in this +town's against me, and now when I've given up drinking, to say I set a +house afire--" + +"Well!" said Penhallow, "this is my last word, you may go. I shall not +have you arrested, but I cannot answer for what others may do." + +Peter walked away. He had been for several days enough under the +influence of whisky to intensify what were for him normal or at least +habitually indulged characteristics. For them he was only in part +responsible. His mother had spoiled him. He had been as a child the +playmate of his breast-brother until time and change had left him only in +such a relation to Penhallow as would have meant little or nothing to +most men. As a result, out of the Squire's long and indulgent care of a +lad who grew up a very competent carpenter, and gradually more and more +an idle drunkard, Peter had come to overestimate the power of his claim +on Penhallow. What share in his evil qualities his father's drunkenness +had, is in no man's power to say. His desire to revenge the slightest +ill-treatment or the abuse his evil ways earned had the impelling force +of a brute instinct. What he called "getting even" kept him in +difficulties, and when he made things unpleasant or worse for the +offenders, his constant state of induced indifference to consequences +left him careless and satisfied. When there was not enough whisky to be +had, his wild acts of revengeful malice were succeeded by such childlike +terror as Penhallow's words produced. 'The preacher would have him +arrested; the Squire would not interfere. Some day he would get even with +him too!' There was now, however, no recourse but flight. He hastened +home and finding his mother absent searched roughly until by accident as +he let fall her Bible, a bank note dropped out. There were others, some +sixty dollars or more, her meagre savings. He took it all without the +least indecision. At dark after her return he ate the supper she +provided. When she had gone to bed, he packed some clothes in a canvas +bag and went quietly out upon the highway. Opposite to the smoking ruin +of the rectory he halted. He muttered, "I've got even with him anyhow!" + +As he murmured his satisfaction, a man left on guard crossed the road. +"Halloa! Where are you bound, Peter?" + +"Goin' after a job. Bad fire, wasn't it--hard on the preacher!" + +"Hard. He's well lodged at the Squire's, and I do hear it was insured. +Nobody's much the worse, and it will make a fine bit of work for some of +us. Who done it, I wonder?" + +"How should I know! Good-night." + +When out of sight, he turned and said, "I ain't got even yet. Them rich +people's hard to beat. Damn the Squire! I'll get even with him some day." +He was bitterly disappointed. "Gosh! I ran that nigger out, and now I'm a +runaway too. It's queer." + +At Westways Crossing he waited until an empty freight train was switched +off to let the night express go by. Then he stowed himself away in an +open box-car and had a comfortable sense of relief as it rolled eastward. +He felt sure that the Squire's last words meant that he might be arrested +and that immediate flight was his only chance of escape. + +He thus passes, like Josiah, for some years out of my story. He had +money, was when sober a clever carpenter, and felt, therefore, no fear of +his future. He had the shrewd conviction that the Squire at least would +not be displeased to get rid of him, and would not be very eager to have +him pursued. + +James Penhallow was disagreeably aware that it was his duty to bring +about the punishment of his drunken foster-brother, but he did not like +it. When the next morning he was about to mount his horse, he saw Mrs. +Lamb, now an aged woman, coming slowly up the avenue. As she came to the +steps of the porch, Penhallow went to meet her, giving the help of his +hand. + +"Good-morning, Ellen," he said, "what brings you here over the snow this +frosty day? Do you want to see Mrs. Penhallow?" + +For a moment she was too breathless to answer. The withered leanness of +the weary old face moved in an effort to speak, but was defeated by +emotion. She gasped, "Let me set down." + +He led her into the hall and gave her a chair. Then he called his wife +from her library-room. Ann at once knew that something more than the +effect of exertion was to be read in the moving face. The dull grey eyes +of age stared at James Penhallow and then at her, and again at him, as in +the vigour of perfect health they looked down at his old nurse and with +kindly patience waited. "Don't hurry, Ellen," said Mrs. Ann. "You are out +of breath." + +She seemed to Ann like some dumb animal that had no language but a look +to tell the story of despair or pain. At last she found her voice and +gasped out, "I came to tell you he has run away. He went last night. I'd +like to be able to say, James Penhallow, that I don't know why he went +away--" + +"We will not talk of it, Ellen," said the Squire, with some sense of +relief at the loss of need to do what he had felt to be a duty. "Come +near to the fire," he added. + +"No, I want to go home. I had to tell you. I just want to be alone. +I'd have given it to him if he had asked me. I don't mind his taking +the money, but he took it out of my Bible. I kept it there. It was +like stealing from the Lord. It'll bring him bad luck. Mostly it was +in the Gospels--just a bank-note here and there--sixty-one dollars and +seventy-three cents it was." She seemed to be talking to herself rather +than to the man and woman at her side. She went on--sometimes a babble +they could not comprehend, as in pity and wonder they stood over her. +Then again her voice rose, "He took it from the book of God. Oh, my son, +my son! I must go." + +She rose feebly tottering, and added, "It will follow him like a curse +out of the Bible. He took it out of the Bible. I must go." + +"No," said Penhallow, "wait and I will send you home." + +She sat down again. "Thank you." Then with renewed strength, she said, +"You won't have them go after him?" + +"No, I will not." + +He went away to order the carriage, and returning said, "You know, Ellen, +that you will always be taken care of." + +"Yes, I know, sir--I know. But he took it out of my Bible--out of the +book of God." She was presently helped into the wagon and sent away +murmuring incoherently. + +"And so, James," said Ann, "she knew too much about the fire. What a +tragedy!" + +"Yes, she knew. I am glad that he has gone. If he had faced it out and +stayed, I must have done something. I suppose it is better for her on the +whole. When he was drunk, he was brutal; when he was sober, he kept her +worried. I am glad he has gone." + +"But," said Ann, "he was her son--" + +"Yes, more's the pity." + +In a day or two it was known that Peter had disappeared. The town knew +very well why and discussed it at evening, when as usual the men gathered +for a talk. Pole expressed the general opinion when he said, "It's hard +on the old woman, but I guess it's a riddance of bad rubbish." Then they +fell to talking politics, the roofing of the chapel and the price of +wheat and so Westways settled down again to its every-day quiet round of +duties. + +The excitement of the fire and Lamb's flight had been unfavourable to +literary composition, but now John returned to his letter. He continued: + +"The reticule will have to be finished in town. Uncle will take it after +the election or send it to you. If you remember your Latin, you will know +that reticule comes from _reticulus,_ a net. But this isn't really a net. + +"We have had a big excitement. Some one set fire to the parsonage and it +burnt down." [He did not tell her who set it on fire, although he knew +very well that it was Peter Lamb.] "Lamb has run away, and I think we are +well rid of him. + +"I do miss you very much. Mr. Rivers says you will be a fashionable young +lady when you come back and will never snowball any more. I don't believe +it. + +"Yours truly, + +"JOHN PENHALLOW." + +Mrs. Penhallow enclosed the letter in one of her own, and no answer came +until she gave him a note at the end of October. Leila wrote: + +"DEAR JOHN: It is against the rules to write to any one but parents, and +I am breaking the rules when I enclose this to you. I do not think I +ought to do it, and I will not again. + +"You would not know me in my long skirts, and I wear my hair in two +plaits. The girls are all from the South and are very angry when they +talk about the North. I cannot answer them and am sorry I do not know +more about politics, but I do know that Uncle Jim would not agree with +them. + +"I go on Saturdays and over Sundays to my cousins in Baltimore. They say +that the South will secede if Fremont should be elected. I just hold my +tongue and listen. + +"Yours sincerely, + +"LEILA GREY. + +"P.S. I shall be very proud of the bag. I hope you are studying hard." + +"Indeed!" muttered John. "Thanks, Miss Grey." There was no more of it. + +John Penhallow had come by degrees to value the rare privilege of a +walk with the too easily wearied clergyman, who had avenues of ready +intellectual approach which invited the adventurous mind of the lad and +were not in the mental topography of James Penhallow. The cool, hazy days +of late October had come with their splendour of colour-contrasts such as +only the artist nature could make acceptable, and this year the autumn +was unusually brilliant. + +"Do you enjoy it?" asked Rivers. + +"Oh, yes, sir. I suppose every one does." + +"In a measure, as some people do the great music, and as the poets +usually do not. People presume that the ear for rhythm is the same as +that for music. They are things apart. A few poets have had both." + +"That seems strange," said John. "I have neither," and he was lost in +thought until Rivers, as usual easily tired, said, "Let us sit down. How +hazy the air is, John! It tenderly flatters these wild colour-contrasts. +It is like a November day of the Indian summer." + +"Why do they call it Indian summer?" asked John. + +"I do not know. I tried in vain to run it down in the dictionaries. In +Canada it is known as 'L'été de St. Martin.'" + +"It seems," said John, "as if the decay of the year had ceased, in pity. +It is so beautiful and so new to me. I feel sometimes when I am alone in +these woods as if something was going to happen. Did you ever feel that, +sir?" + +Rivers was silent for a moment. The lad's power to state things in speech +and his incapacity to put his thoughts in writing had often puzzled the +tutor. "Why don't you put such reflections into verse, John? It's good +practice in English." + +"I can't--I've tried." + +"Try again." + +"No," said John decidedly. "Do look at those maples, Mr. Rivers--and the +oaks--and the variety of colour in the sassafras. Did you ever notice how +its leaves differ in shape?" + +"I never did, but nothing is exactly the same as anything else. We talked +of that once." + +"Then since the world began there never was another me or Leila?" + +"Never. There is only one of anything." + +John was silent--in thought of his unresemblance to any other John. "But +I am like Uncle Jim! Aunt says so." + +"Yes, outwardly you are; but you have what he has not--imagination. It +is both friend and foe as may be. It may not be a good gift for a +soldier--at least one form of it. It may be the parent of fear--of +indecisions." + +"But, Mr. Rivers, may it not work also for good and suggest +possibilities--let you into seeing what other men may do?" + +The reflection seemed to Rivers not like the thought of so young a man. +He returned, "But I said it might be a friend and have practical uses in +life. I have not found it that myself. But some men have morbid +imagination. Let us walk." They went on again through the quiet splendour +of the woodlands. + +"Uncle Jim is going away after the election." + +"Yes." + +"He will see Leila. Don't you miss her?" + +"Yes, but not as you do. However, she will grow up and go by you and be a +woman while you are more slowly maturing. That is their way. And then she +will marry." + +"Good gracious! Leila marry!" + +"Yes--it is a way they have. Let us go home." + +John was disinclined to talk. Marry--yes--when I am older, I shall ask +her until she does! + +November came in churlish humour and raged in storms of wind and rain, +until before their time to let fall their leaves the woods were stripped +of their gay colours. On the fourth day of November the Squire voted the +Fremont electoral ticket, and understood that with the exception of +Swallow and Pole, Westways had followed the master of Grey Pine. The +other candidates did not trouble them. The sad case of Josiah and the +threat to capture their barber had lost Buchanan the twenty-seven votes +of the little town. Mr. Boynton, the carpenter, fastening the last +shingles on the chapel roof remarked to a workman that it was an awful +pity Josiah couldn't know about it and that the new barber wasn't up to +shaving a real stiff beard. + +The Squire wrote to his wife from Philadelphia on the ninth: + +"DEAR ANN: We never talk politics because you were born a Democrat and +consider Andrew Jackson a political saint. I begin to wish he might be +reincarnated in the body of Buchanan. He will need backbone, I fear. He +has carried our State by only three thousand majority in a vote of +433,000. I am told that the excitement here was so great that the +peacemaking effect of a day of cold drizzle alone prevented riot and +bloodshed. Mr. Buchanan said in October, 'We shall hear no more of +"Bleeding Kansas."' Well, I hope so. Here we are at one. I should feel +more regret at the defeat of my party if I had more belief in Fremont, +but your man is, I am sure, elected, and we must hope for the best and +try to think that hope reasonable. + +"I have been fortunate in my contracts for rails with the two railroads. +I shall finish this letter in Baltimore.-- + +"Baltimore.--I saw Leila, who has quite the air of a young lady and is +well, handsome and reasonably contented. Dined with your brother Henry; +and really, Ann, the cold-blooded way the men talked of secession was a +little beyond endurance. I spoke my mind at last, and was heard with +courteous disapproval. My friend, Lt.-Colonel Robert Lee of the Army, was +the only man who was silent about our troubles. Two men earnestly +advocated the re-opening of the slave-trade, and if as they say slavery +is a blessing, the slave-trade is morally justified and logically +desirable. I do want you to feel, my dear Ann, how extreme are the views +of these pleasant gentlemen. + +"The Madeira was good, and despite the half-hidden bitterness of opinion, +I enjoyed my visit. Let John read this letter if you like to do so. + +"Yours always and in all ways, + +"JAMES PENHALLOW." + +She did not like, but John heard all about this visit when the Squire +came home. + +The winter of 1856-7 went by without other incident at Westways, with +Mrs. Ann's usual bountiful Christmas gifts to the children at the mills +and Westways. Mr. Buchanan was inaugurated in March. The captain smiled +grimly as he read in the same paper the message of the Governor of South +Carolina recommending the re-opening of the trade in slaves, and the new +President's hopes "that the long agitation over slavery is approaching +its end." Nor did Penhallow fancy the Cabinet appointments, but he said +nothing more of his opinions to Ann Penhallow. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +In the early days of May the Squire began to rebuild the parsonage, and +near by it a large room for Sunday school and town-meetings. Ann desired +to add a library-room for the town and would have set about this at once +had not her husband resolutely set himself against any addition to the +work with which she filled her usefully busy life. She yielded with +reluctance, and the library plan was set aside to the regret of Rivers, +who living in a spiritual atmosphere was slow to perceive what with the +anxiety of a great love James Penhallow saw so clearly--the failure of +Ann Penhallow's health. + +When at last Penhallow sat down with McGregor in his office, the doctor +knew at once that something serious was troubling his friend. + +"Well, Penhallow," he said, "what can I do for you?" + +"I want you to see my wife. She sleeps badly, tires easily, and worst of +all is unwilling to consult you." + +"Yes, that's serious. Of course, she does the work of two people, but has +it ever occurred to you, Penhallow, that in the isolated life you lead +she may be at times bored and want or need society, change?" + +"My dear Doctor, if I propose to her to ask our friends from the cities +to visit us, she says that entertaining women would only add to her +burdens. How could she amuse them?" The Squire had the helplessness of a +strong man who has to deal with the case of a woman who, when a doctor is +thought to be necessary, feels that she has a right to an opinion as to +whether or not it is worth while. She did not believe it to be necessary +and felt that there was something unpleasant in this medical intrusion +upon a life which had been one of unbroken health. To her husband's +annoyance she begged him to wait, and on one pretext or another put off +the consultation--it would do in a week, or 'she was better.' Her +postponement and lack of decision added to the Squire's distress, but it +was mid-June before she finally yielded and without a word to Penhallow +wrote to ask McGregor to call. + +In a week Leila would be at Grey Pine. The glad prospect of a summer's +leisure filled John with happy anticipations. He had his boat put in +order, looked after Lucy's condition, and had in mind a dozen plans for +distant long-desired rides into the mountains, rides which now his uncle +had promised to take with them. He soon learned that the medical +providence which so often interferes with our plans in life had to be +considered. + +Mrs. Penhallow to John's surprise had of late gone to bed long before her +accustomed hour, and one evening in this June of 1857 Penhallow seeing +her go upstairs at nine o'clock called John into the library. + +"Mr. Rivers," he said, "has gone to see some one in Westways, and I have +a chance to talk to you. Sit down." + +John obeyed, missing half consciously the ever-ready smile of the Squire. + +"I am troubled about your aunt. Dr. McGregor assures me that she has no +distinct ailment, but is simply so tired that she is sure to become ill +if she stays at home. No one can make her lessen her work if she stays +here. You are young, but you must have been aware of what she does for +this town and at the mills--oh, for every one who is in need or in +trouble. There is the every-day routine of the house, the sick in the +village, the sewing class, the Sunday afternoon reading in the small +hospital at our mills, letters--no end of them. How she has stood it so +long, I cannot see." + +"But she seems to like it, sir," said John. He couldn't understand that +what was so plainly enjoyed could be hurtful. + +"Yes, she likes it, but--well, she has a heavenly soul in an earthly +body, and now at last the body is in revolt against overuse, or that at +least is the way McGregor puts it. I ought to have stopped it long ago." +John was faintly amused at the idea of any one controlling Ann Penhallow +where her despotic beliefs concerning duties were concerned. + +The Squire was silent for a little while, and then said, "It has got to +stop, John. I have talked to McGregor and to her. Leila is to meet us in +Philadelphia. I shall take them to Cape May and leave them there for at +least the two months of summer. You may know what that means for me and +for her, and, I suppose, for you." + +"Could I not go there for a while?" + +"I think not. I really have not the courage to be left alone, John. I +think of asking you to spend a part of the day at the mills this summer. +You will have to learn the business, for as you know your own property, +your aunt's and mine are largely invested in our works. I thought too of +an engineering school for you in the fall, and then of the School of +Mines in Paris. It is a long look ahead, but it would fit you to relieve +me of my work. Think it over, my son. How does it look to you, or have +you thought of what you mean or want to do? Don't answer me now--think it +over. And now I have some letters to write. Good-night." + +John went upstairs to bed with much to think about, and above all else of +the disappointing summer before him and the wish he had long cherished, +but which his uncle's last words had made it necessary for him to +reconsider. + +Ann Penhallow had made a characteristic fight against the combined forces +of the doctor and her husband. She had declared she would give up this +and that, if only she could be left at home. She showed to the doctor an +irritability quite new to his experience of her and which he accepted as +added evidence of need of change. Her bodily condition and her want of +common sense in a matter so clear to him troubled the Squire and drove +him to his usual resort when worried--long rides or hard tramps with his +gun. After luncheon and a decisive talk with Mrs. Ann, she had pleaded +that he ought to remain with them at the shore. She was sure he needed it +and it would set her mind at ease. He told her what she knew well enough, +how impossible it would be for him to leave the mills and be absent long. +She who rarely manufactured difficulties now began to ask how this was to +be done and that, until Rivers said at last, "I can promise to read at +the hospital until I go away for my August holiday." + +"You would not know the kind of things to read." + +"No one could do it as well as you," said Rivers, "but I can try." + +"Everything will be cared for, Ann," said Penhallow, "only don't worry." + +"I never worry," she returned, rising. "You men think everything will run +along easily without a woman's attention." + +"Oh, but Ann, my dear Ann!" exclaimed Penhallow, not knowing what more to +say, annoyed at the discussion and at her display of unnecessary temper +and the entire loss of her usual common sense. + +She said, with a laugh in which there was no mirth, "I presume one of you +will, of course, run my sewing-class?" + +"Ann--Ann!" said the Squire. + +Rivers understood her now in the comprehending sympathy of his own too +frequent moods of melancholy. "Ah!" he murmured, "if I could but teach +her how to knit the ravelled sleeve of care." + +"I presume," she added, "that I am to accept it as settled," and so went +out. + +"Come, John," said Penhallow an hour later, "call the dogs--I must have a +good hard tramp, and a talk with you!" + +John kept pace with, the rapid stride of the Squire, taking note of the +reddening buds of the maples, for this year in the hills the spring came +late. + +"You must have seen your aunt's condition," said Penhallow. "I have seen +it coming on ever since that miserable affair of Josiah. It troubled her +greatly." + +John had the puzzled feeling of the inexperienced young in regard to the +matter of illness and its influential effect on temper, and was well +pleased to converse on anything else, when his uncle asked, "Have you +thought over what I said to you about your future?" + +"Well?" + +"I should like to go to West Point, Uncle Jim." + +To his surprise Penhallow returned, pausing as he spoke, "I had +thought of that, but as I did not know you had ever considered it, I +did not mention it. It would in some ways please me. As a life-long +career it would not. We are in no danger of war, and an idle existence +at army-posts is not a very desirable thing for an able man." + +"I had the idea, uncle, that I would not remain in the service." + +"But you would have to serve two years after you were graduated--and +still that was what I did, oh! and longer--much longer. As an education +in discipline and much else, it is good--very good. But tell me are you +really in earnest about it?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Well, it is better than college. I will think about it. If you go to the +Point, it should be this coming fall. I wonder what Ann will say." + +Then John knew that the Squire favoured what had been for a long time on +his own mind. What had made him eager to go into the army was in part +that tendency towards adventure which had been a family trait and his +admiration for the soldier-uncle; nor did the mere student life and the +quiet years of managing the iron-mills as yet appeal to him as desirable. + +"I wish, Uncle Jim, that you could settle the matter." + +This was so like his own dislike of unsettled affairs that the Squire +laughed in his hearty way. "So far as I am concerned, you may regard it +as decided; but securing a nomination to the Point is quite another +matter. It may be difficult. I will see about it. Now we will let it +drop. That dog is pointing. Ah! the rascal. It is a hare." + +They saw no more birds, nor did the Squire expect to find anything in the +woods except the peace of mind to be secured by violent exercise. He went +on talking about the horses and the mills. + +When near to the house, Penhallow said, "Your aunt is to go away +to-morrow. Every day here seems to add to her difficulty in leaving home. +I shall say nothing to her of West Point until it is settled one way or +another. I shall, of course, go to the Cape for a day, unless your aunt's +brother Charles will take my place when he brings Leila to Philadelphia +to meet us. I may be gone a week, and you and Rivers are to keep +bachelor's hall and watch the work on the parsonage. I shall ask Leila to +write to you and to me about your aunt. Did I say that we go by the +9:30 A.M. express?" + +"No, sir." + +"Well, we do." + +James Penhallow was pleased and amazed when he discovered that Mrs. Ann +was quietly submissive to the arrangements made for her comfort on the +journey. She appeared to have abruptly regained her good temper and, +Penhallow thought, was unnaturally and excessively grateful for every +small service. Being unused to the ways of sick women, he wondered as the +train ran down the descent from the Allegheny Mountains how long a time +was required to know any human being entirely. He had been introduced +within two weeks to two Ann Penhallows besides the Ann he had lived with +these many years. He concluded, as others have done, that people are hard +to understand, and thus thinking he ran over in mind the group they left +on the platform at Westways Crossing. + +There was Billy--apparently a simple character, abruptly capable of +doing unexpected things; useful to-day, useless tomorrow. He called +up to mind the very competent doctor; John, and his friend--the moody +clergyman--beloved of all men. The doctor had said of him, "a man living +in the monastery of himself--in our world, but not of it." + +"What amuses you, James?" asked his wife. + +This good sign of return to her normal curiosity was familiarly pleasant. +"I was recalling, Ann, what McGregor said of Rivers after that horrid +time of sickness at Westways. You may remember it." + +"No, I do not." + +"No! He said that Rivers was a round-shouldered angel." + +"That does not seem to me amusing, James." + +"Round-shouldered he is, Ann, and for the rest you at least ought to +recognize your heavenly fellow-citizens when you meet them." + +"Is that your poetry or your folly, James Penhallow?" + +"Mine, my dear? No language is expansive enough for McGregor when he +talks about you." + +"Nonsense, James. He knows how to please somebody. We were discussing +Mark Rivers." + +"Were we? Then here is a nice little dose from the doctor for you. Last +Christmas, after you had personally sat up with old Mrs. Lamb when she +was so ill, and until I made a row about it--" + +"Yes--yes--I know." Her curiosity got the better of her dislike of being +praised for what to her was a simple duty, and she added, "Well, what did +he say?" + +"Oh, that you and Rivers were like angels gone astray in the strange +country called earth; and then that imp of a boy, John, who says queer +things, said that it was like a bit of verse Rivers had read to him. He +knew it too. I liked it and got him to write it out. I have it in my +pocket-book. Like to see it?" + +"No," she returned--and then--"yes," as she reflected that it must have +originally applied to another than herself. + +He was in the habit of storing in his pocket-book slips from the +papers--news, receipts for stable-medicine, and rarely verse. Now and +then he emptied them into the waste basket. He brought it out of his +pocket-book and she read it: + +As when two angel citizens of Heaven +Swift winged on errands of the Master's love +Meet in some earthly guise. + +"Is that all of it?" + +"No, John could not remember the rest, and I did not ask Mark." + +"I should suppose not. Thank you for believing it had any application to +me. And, James, I have been a very cross angel of late." + +"Oh, my dear Ann, Dr. McGregor said--" + +"Never mind Dr. McGregor, James. Go and smoke your cigar. I am tired and +I must not talk any more--talking on a train always tires me." + +Two days after the departure of his aunt and uncle, John persuaded Rivers +to walk with him on the holiday morning of Saturday. The clergyman caring +little for the spring charm of the maiden summer, but much for John +Penhallow's youth of promise, wandered on slowly through the woods, with +head bent forward, stumbling now and then, lost to a world where his +companion was joyfully conscious of the prettiness of new-born and +translucent foliage. + +Always pleased to sit down, Rivers dropped his thin length of body upon +the brown pine-needles near the cabin and settling his back against a +fallen tree-trunk made himself comfortable. As usual, when at rest, he +began to talk. + +"John," he said, "you and Tom McGregor had a quarrel long ago--and a +fight." + +"Yes, sir," returned John wondering. + +"I saw it--I did not interfere at once--I was wrong." + +This greatly amused John. "You stopped it just in time for me--I was +about done for." + +"Yes, but now, John, I have talked to Tom, and--I am afraid you have +never made it up." + +"No, he was insolent to Leila and rude. But we had a talk about it--oh, a +good while ago--before she went away." + +"Oh, had you! Well, what then?" + +"Oh, he told me you had talked to him and he had seen Leila and told her +he was sorry. She never said a word to me. I told him that he ought to +have apologized to me--too." + +Rivers was amused. "Apologies are not much in fashion among Westways +boys. What did he say?" + +"Oh, just that he didn't see that at all--and then he said that he was +going away this fall to study medicine, and some day when he was a doctor +he would have a chance to get even with me, and wouldn't he dose me well. +Then we both laughed, and--I shook hands with him. That's all, sir." + +"Well, I am pleased. He is by no means a bad fellow, and as you know he +is clever--and can beat you in mathematics." + +"Yes, but I licked him well, and he knows it." + +"For shame, John. I wish my Baptist friend's boy would do better--he is +dull." + +"But I like him," said John. "He is so plucky." + +"There is another matter I want to talk about. I had a long conversation +about you with your uncle the night before he left. I heard with regret +that you want to go into the army." + +"May I ask why?" said John, as he lay on the ground lazily fingering the +pine-needles. + +"Is it because the hideous business called war attracts you?" + +"No, but I like what I hear of the Point from Uncle Jim. I prefer it to +any college life. Besides this, I do not expect to spend my life in the +service, and after all it is simply a first rate training for anything I +may want to do later--care of the mills, I mean. Uncle Jim is pleased, +and as for war, Mr. Rivers, if that is what you dislike, what chance of +war is there?" + +"You have very likely forgotten my talk with Mr. George Grey. The North +and the South will never put an end to their differences without +bloodshed." + +It seemed a strange opinion to John. He had thought so when he heard +their talk, but now the clergyman's earnestness and some better +understanding of the half-century's bitter feeling made him thoughtful. +Rising to his feet, he said, "Uncle Jim does not agree with you, and Aunt +Ann and her brother, Henry Grey, think that Mr. Buchanan will bring all +our troubles to an end. Of course, sir, I don't know, but"--and his voice +rose--"if there ever should be such a war, I am on Uncle Jim's side, and +being out of West Point would not keep me out of the fight." + +Rivers shook his head. "It will come, John. Few men think as I do, and +your uncle considers me, I suspect, to be governed by my unhappy way of +seeing the dark side of things. He says that I am a bewildered pessimist +about politics. A pessimist I may be, but it is the habitually hopeful +meliorist who is just now perplexed past power to think straight." + +John's interest was caught for the moment by the word, "meliorist." "What +is a meliorist, sir?" he asked. "Oh, a wild insanity of hopefulness. You +all have it. I dislike to talk about the sad future, and I wonder men at +the North are so blind." + +He fell again to mere musings, a self-absorbed man, while John, attracted +by a squirrel's gambols and used to the rector's long silences, wandered +near by among the pines, with a vagabond mind on this or that, and +watching the alert little acrobat of the forest. As he moved about, he +recalled his first walks to the cabin with Leila and the wild thing he +had said one day--and her reply. One ages fast, at seventeen, and now he +wondered if he had been quite wise, and with the wisdom and authority of +a year and a half of mental growth punished his foolish boy-past with +severity of reproach. He had failed for a time to hear, or at least to +hear with attention, the low-voiced soliloquies in which Mr. Rivers +sometimes indulged. McGregor, an observant man, said that Rivers's mind +jumped from thought to thought, and that his talk had at times no +connective tissue and was hard to follow. + +Now he spoke louder. "No one, John, no one sees that every new compromise +compromises principles and honour. Have you read any of the speeches of a +man named Lincoln in Illinois? He got a considerable vote in that +nominating convention." + +"No, sir." + +"Then read it--read him. A prophet of disaster! He says, 'A house divided +against itself cannot stand. This government cannot endure permanently +half slave, half free.' The man did not know that he was ignorantly +quoting George Washington's opinion. It is so, and so it will be. I would +let them go their way in peace, for the sin of man-owning is ours--was +ours--and we are to suffer for it soon or late--a nation's debts have +to be paid, and some are paid in blood." + +The young fellow listened but had no comment ready, and indeed knew too +little of the terrible questions for which time alone would have an +answer to feel the full force of these awful texts. He did say, "I will +read Mr. Lincoln's speeches. Uncle talks to me about Kansas and slavery +and compromises, but it is sometimes too much for me." + +"Yes, he will not talk of these things to your aunt, and is not willing +to talk to me. He thinks both of us are extremists. No, I won't walk any +further. Let us go home." + +The natural light-mindedness of a healthy lad easily disposes of the +problems which disturb the older mind. John forgot it all for a time in +the pleasant interest of a letter from Leila, received a day before his +uncle's return. + +"CAPE MAY, June 21st. + +"MY DEAR JOHN: Here at last I am free to write to you when I please, +and I have some rather strange news; but first of Aunt Ann. She is very +well pleased and is already much better. Uncle Jim left us to-day, and I +am to have Lucy here and one of the grooms. If only I could have you to +ride with me on this splendid beach and see the great blue waves roll up +like a vast army charging with white plumes and then rolling back in +defeat."-- + +John paused. This was not like Leila. He felt in a vague way that she +must be changing, and remembered the rector's predictions. Then he read +on-- + +"Now for my adventure: Aunt Ann wanted some hair-wash, and I went to the +barber's shop in the town to buy it. There was no one in but a black boy, +because it was the bathing-time. He, I mean the boy, said he would call +Mr. Johnson. In a moment there came out of a back room who do you think +but our Josiah! He just stood still a moment--and then said, 'Good God! +Miss Leila! Come into the back room--you did give me a turn.' I thought +he seemed to be alarmed. Well, I went with him, and he asked me at once +who was with me. I said, Aunt Ann, and that she was not well. Then I got +out of him that he had wandered a while, and at last chosen this as a +safe place. No one had told me fully about Cousin George Grey and why +Josiah was scared and ran away, but now I got it all out of him--and how +you warned him--and I do think it was splendid of a boy like you. He was +dreadfully afraid of being taken back to be a slave. It seems he saved +his money, and after working here bought out the shop when his master +fell ill. I did not like it, but to quiet him I really had to say that I +would not tell Aunt Ann, or he would have to run away again. I am sure +aunt would not do anything to trouble him, but it was quite impossible to +make him believe me, and he got me at last to promise him. I suppose +there is really no harm in it, but I never did keep anything from Aunt +Ann. I got the hair-wash and went away with his secret. Now, isn't that a +story! + +"I forgot one thing. As the Southern gentlemen come to be shaved and ask +where he was born, they hear--think of it--that 'Mr. Johnson' was born in +Connecticut! His grandfather had been a slave. I shall see him again. + +"This is the longest letter I ever wrote, and you are to feel duly +complimented, Mr. Penhallow. + +"Good-bye. Love from Aunt Ann. + +"Yours truly, + +"LEILA GREY. + +"P.S. I am sure that I may trust you not to speak of Josiah." + +Mr. John Penhallow, as they said at Westways, "going on seventeen," +gathered much of interest in reading and re-reading this letter from Miss +Grey. To own a secret with Leila was pleasant. To hear of Josiah as "Mr. +Johnson" amused him. That he was prosperous he liked, and that he was +fearful with or without reason seemed strange. It was and had been hard +for the young freeman to realize the ever-present state of mind of a man +in terror of arrest without any crime on his conscience. There was +perhaps a slight hint of doubt in Leila's request that he would be +careful not to mention what she had said of Josiah, "as if I am really a +boy and Leila older than I," murmured John. He knew, as he once more read +her words, that he ought to tell his uncle, who could best decide what to +do about Josiah and his terror of being reclaimed by his old owner. + +During the early hours of a summer night Mark Rivers sat on the porch in +a rocking-chair, which he declared gave him all the exercise he required. +It was the only rocking-chair at Grey Pine, and nothing so disturbed the +Squire as Mark Rivers rocking on that unpleasant piece of furniture and +smoking as if it were a locomotive. It was an indulgence of Ann +Penhallow, who knew that there had been a half-dozen rockers in the +burned rectory. + +John sat on the steps and listened to the shrill katydids or watched the +devious lanterns of the fireflies. A bat darted over the head of Rivers, +who ducked as it went by, watching its uncertain flight. + +"I am terribly afraid of bats," said the rector. "Are you?" + +"I--no. They're harmless." + +"Yes, I know that, but I am without reason afraid of them. I think of the +demons as being like monstrous bats. But that is a silly use of +imagination." + +"Uncle Jim doesn't like them, and you once told me that he had very +little imagination." + +"Yes. One can't explain these dislikes. Your uncle reasons well and has a +clear logical mind, but he has neither creative nor receptive +imagination." + +"Receptive?" asked John. + +"Yes, that is why he has none of your aunt's joy in poetry. When I read +to her Wordsworth's 'Brougham Castle,' he said that he had never heard +more silly nonsense." + +"I remember it was that wonderful verse about the 'longing of the +shield.'" + +"Yes--I forgot you were there. Verse like that is a good test of a +person's capacity to feel poetry--that kind, I mean." + +"I hear Uncle Jim's horse." + +"Yes. I can't see, John, why a man should want to have a horse sent to +meet him instead of a comfortable wagon,"--and for emphasis, as usual +with Rivers, the rocking-chair was swinging to the limits of its arc of +safe motion. + +The Squire dismounted and came up the steps with "Good-evening, +Rivers,"--and to John, "I have good news for you--but order my supper +at once, then we will talk." He was in his boyish mood of gaiety. "How +far have you travelled on that rocker, Rivers?" + +"Now, Squire--now, really--" It was a favourite subject of chaff. + +"Why not have rocking-chairs in church, Mark? Think what a patient +congregation you would have! Come, John, I am hungry." He fled laughing. + +While the Squire ate in silence, John waited until his uncle said, "Come +into the library." Here he filled his pipe and took the match John +offered. "There are many curious varieties of man, John. There is the man +who prefers a rocking-chair to the saddle. It's queer--very queer; and he +is as much afraid of a horse as I am--of--I don't know what." + +The Squire's memory failed to answer the call. "What are you grinning at, +you young scamp?" + +"Oh, Mr. Rivers did say, Uncle Jim, something about bats." + +"Yes, that's it--bats--and I do suppose every one has his especial fear. +Ah! quite inexplicable nonsense!--fears like mine about bats, or your +aunt's about dogs, but also fears that make a man afraid that he will not +face a danger that is a duty. When we had smallpox at the mills, soon +after Rivers came here, he went to the mill-town and lived there a month, +and nursed the sick and buried the dead. At last he took the disease +lightly, but it left a mark or two on his forehead. That I call--well, +heroic. Confound that rocking-chair! How it squeaks!" + +John was too intently listening to hear anything but the speaker who +declared heroic the long lean man with the pale face and the eyes like +search-lights. John waited; he wanted to hear something more. + +"Did many die, uncle?" + +"Oh, yes. The men had fought McGregor about vaccination. Many died. There +was blindness too. Supplies failed--no one would come in from the farms." + +John waited with the fear of defect in his ideal man. Then he ventured, +"And Aunt Ann, was she here?" + +"No, I sent her away when I went to Milltown." + +"Oh! you were there too, sir?" + +"Yes, damn it!" He rarely swore at all. "Where did you suppose I would +be? But I lived in terror for a month--oh, in deadly fear!" + +"Thank you, sir." + +"Thank me, what for? Some forms of sudden danger make me gay, with all my +faculties at their best, but not that. I had to nurse Rivers; that was +the worst of it. You see, my son, I was a coward." + +"I should like to be your kind of a coward, Uncle Jim." + +"Well, it was awful. Let us talk of something else. I left your aunt +better, went to Washington, saw our Congressman, got your nomination to +West Point and a letter from Leila. Your aunt must be fast mending, for +she was making a long list of furniture for the new parsonage, and 'would +I see Ellen Lamb and'--eleven other things, the Lord knows what else, +and 'when could she return?' McGregor said in September, and I so wrote +to her; she will hate it. And she dislikes your going to West Point. I +had to tell her, of course." + +"I have had a letter from Leila, uncle. Did she write you anything about +Josiah?" + +"About Josiah! No. What was that?" + +"She said I was not to tell, but I think you ought to know--" + +"Of course, I should know. Go on. Let me see the letter." + +"It is upstairs, sir, but this is what she wrote," and he went on to tell +the story. + +The Squire laughed. "I must let Mr. Johnson know, as Leila did not know, +that it was Ann who really sent you to warn him. Poor fellow! I can +understand his alarm, and how can I reassure him? George Grey is going to +Cape May, or so says your aunt, and I am sure if Josiah knows that he is +recognized, he will drop everything and run. I would run, John, and +quickly too. Grey will be sure to write to Woodburn again." + +"What then, sir?" + +"Oh, he told your Aunt Ann and me that he would not go any further unless +he chanced to know certainly where Josiah was. If he did, it would be his +duty, as he said, to reclaim him. It is not a pleasant business, and I +ought to warn Josiah, which you may not know is against the law. However, +I will think it over. Ann did not say when Grey was coming, and he is +just as apt not to go as to go. Confound him and all their ways." + +John had nothing to say. The matter was in older and wiser hands +than his. His uncle rose, "I must go to bed, but I have a word to say +now about your examinations for admission. I must talk to Rivers. +Good-night!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +On Saturday the Squire asked John to ride with him. As they mounted, +Billy came with the mail. Penhallow glanced at the letters and put them +in his pocket. + +As the horses walked away, John said, "I was in Westways yesterday, +uncle, to get my hair cut. I heard that Pole has had chicken-pox, uncle." + +"Funny that, for a butcher!" said the Squire. They chatted of the small +village news. "They have quit discussing politics, Uncle Jim." + +"Yes, every four years we settle down to the enjoyment of the belief that +now everything will go right, or if we are of those who lost the fight, +then there is the comfort of thinking things could not be worse, and that +the other fellows are responsible." + +"Uncle Jim, at Westways people talked about the election as if it were a +horse-race, and didn't interest anybody when it was over." + +"Yes, yes; but there are for the average American many things to think +about, and he doesn't bother himself about who is to be President or why, +until, as McGregor says, events come along and kick him and say, 'Get up +and think, or do something.'" + +"When I talked to Mr. Rivers lately, he seemed very blue about the +country. He seems to believe that everything is going wrong." + +"Oh, Rivers!" exclaimed Penhallow, "what a great, noble soul! But, John, +a half hour of talk with him about our national affairs leaves me tangled +in a net of despair, and I hate it. You have a letter, I see." + +"Yes, it is from Leila, sir." + +"Let's hear it," said Penhallow. + +John was inclined, he could hardly have told why, to consider this letter +when alone, but now there was nothing possible except to do as he was +bid. + +"Read it. I want to hear it, John." + +As they walked their horses along the road, John read: + +"DEAR JOHN": I did not expect to write to you again until you wrote to +me, but I have been perplexed to know what was best to do. I wanted--oh, +so much--to consult Uncle Jim, or some older person than you, and so I +ask you to send this to Uncle Jim if he is absent, or let him see it if +he is at home. He is moving about and we do not know how to address +him."-- + +"That's a big preface--go on." + +"I did not see Josiah again until yesterday morning. Aunt Ann has been +insisting that my hair needs singeing at the ends to make it grow. [It is +too long now for comfort.]"-- + +"That's in brackets, Uncle Jim--the hair, I mean." + +"Yes--what next?" + +"Well, John, when Aunt Ann keeps on and on in her gently obstinate, I +mean resolute, way, it is best to give up and make believe a little that +you agree with her. My hair was to be singed--I gave up."-- + +"Oh, Leila!" exclaimed Penhallow, rocking in the saddle with laughter, +while John looked up smiling. "Go on." + +"So aunt's new maid got her orders, and while aunt was asleep in her room +the maid brought up Josiah. It was as good as a play. He was very civil +and quiet. You know how he loved to talk. He singed my hair, and it was +horrid--like the smell of singeing a plucked chicken. After that he sent +the maid to his shop for some hair-wash. As soon as she was gone, he +said, 'I'm done for, Miss Leila. I met Mr. George Grey on the beach this +morning. He knew me and I knew him. He said, "What! you here, you +rascally runaway horse-thief!" I said, "I wasn't a thief or a rascal." +Then he said something I didn't hear, for I just left him and--I can't +stay here--he'll do something, and I can't run no risks--oh, Lord!'"-- + +"I thought," said the Squire, "we were done with that tiresome fool, +George Grey. Whether he will write again to Woodburn about Josiah or not, +no one can say. Woodburn did tell me that if at any time he could easily +get hold of his slave, he would feel it to be a duty to make use of the +Fugitive-Slave Law. I do not think he will be very eager, but after all +it is uncertain, and if I were Josiah, I would run away." + +As he talked, the horses walked on through the forest wood-roads. For a +moment he said nothing, and then, "It is hard to put yourself in another +man's place; that means to be for the time of decision that man with his +inheritances, all his memories, all his hopes and all his fears." + +This was felt by the lad to be somehow unlike his uncle, who added, "I +heard Mark Rivers say that about Peter, but it applies here. I would run. +But go on with your letter. What else does Leila say?" + +John read on: + +"Josiah was so scared that I could not even get him to listen to me. He +gathered up his barber things in haste, and kept on saying over and over, +'I have got to go, missy.' Now he has gone and his shop is shut up. I was +so sorry for him, I must have cried, for aunt's maid asked me what was +the matter. This is all. It is late. I shall mail this to-morrow. Aunt +Ann has been expecting Mr. George Grey, my far-away cousin. I wish he was +further away! "-- + +"Good gracious! Leila. Well, John, any more?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"He came in this morning, I mean Mr. Grey, and began to talk and was so +pleased to see his dear cousin. Aunt Ann went on knitting and saying +something pleasant now and then. At last he asked if she knew that +runaway horse-thief we called Josiah was the barber here. He said that he +must really write to that rascal's owner, and went over and over the same +thing. Aunt Ann looked at me when he mentioned the barber. Then she sat +up and said, 'If you have done talking, I desire to say a word.' Of +course, he was at her service. You know, John, how he talks. Aunt Ann +said, 'You made quite enough trouble, George, about this man at Westways. +I told you then that he had done us a service I could never forget. I +won't have him disturbed here. Mr. Woodburn behaved with discretion and +courtesy. If you make any more trouble, I shall never forgive you. I +won't have it, George Grey.' I never saw any one so embarrassed, John. He +put his hat on the floor and picked it up, and then he sat down in his +chair and, I call it, wilted. He said that he had not quite made up his +mind. At this Aunt Ann stood up, letting her knitting drop, and said, +'Then you had better; you've got no mind.' After this he got up and said +that she had insulted him. Aunt Ann was red and angry. She said, 'Tell +James Penhallow that, Mr. Grey.' After this he went away, and Aunt Ann +said to me, 'Tell Josiah if you can find him that he need not be afraid; +the man will not write to Mr. Woodburn.' After that I told her all about +Mr. Johnson and got a good scolding for not having told her before, and +that Josiah had gone away scared. She was tired and angry and sent me +away. That is all. Let Uncle Jim get this letter. + +"Yours truly, + +"LEILA. + +"P.S. Oh, I forgot. Josiah gave me a letter for Uncle Jim. I enclose it. +I did not give it to Aunt Ann; perhaps I ought to have done so. But it +would have been useless because it is sealed, and you know the rule at +Grey Pine." + +"Poor Josiah!" said Penhallow, "I wonder where he has gone." + +"He may say in his letter," said John. + +"Read it to me, my son. I forgot my glasses." + +"It is addressed to Captain Penhallow." + +"Yes, I was always that to Josiah--always." + +John opened the letter, which was carefully sealed with a large red +wafer. + +"It is well written, uncle." + +"Yes--yes. Rivers taught him--and he speaks nearly as good English as +George Grey." + +John looked up from the letter. "Oh, that is funny! It begins, +'Respectable Sir.'" + +"My dear John, that isn't funny at all--it's old-fashioned. I have seen a +letter from the great Dr. Rush in which the mother of Washington is +mentioned as 'that respectable lady.' But now, sir, you will be good +enough to let me hear that letter without your valuable comments." + +The tone was impatient. John said, "Excuse me, uncle, but I couldn't help +it." + +"Oh, read it." + +"I am driven away again. I write this to thank you for all you done for +me at Westways. Mr. Grey he met me here on the beach and I'm afraid--I +don't take no chances. I saved money here. I can get on anywhere. It's +awful to have to ran away, and that drunkard Peter Lamb all the while +safe with his mother. I can't get him out of my mind. I'm a Christian +man--and I tried to forgive him. I can't do it. If I am quiet and let +alone, I forget. I've got to get up and go and hide, and I curse him that +done it. Please, sir, not tell Mr. Rivers what I say. I seen Miss Leila. +I always said Miss Leila would be a beauty. There ain't no young lady +here can hold a candle to her. I want to say I did have hope to see Mr. +John. + +"God bless you, Captain. + +"Your obedient servant, + +"JOSIAH." + +The Squire halted in the open pine forest on a wood-road behind the +cabin. He threw one leg over the pommel and sat still with the ease of a +horseman in any of the postures the saddle affords. "Read me both of +those letters again, and slowly." + +This time John made no remarks. When he came to the end of Josiah's +letter, he looked towards the silent figure seated sideways. The Squire +made no comment, but searched his pockets for the flint and steel he +always carried. Lighting his pipe he slid to the ground. + +"Take the rein, John," he said, "or the mare will follow me." + +Penhallow was deep in the story these letters told, and he thought best +when walking. John sat in his saddle watching the tall soldierly figure +move up the road and back again to the cabin his ancestors had held +through one long night of fear. John caught sight of the face as +Penhallow came and then turned away on his slow walk, smoking furiously. +He sat still, having learned to be respectful of the long silences to +which at times Penhallow was given. Now and then with a word he quieted +the uneasy mare--a favourite taught to follow the master. At last +Penhallow struck his pipe on a stone to empty it, and by habit carefully +set a foot on the live coal. Then he came to the off side of his mare and +took the rein. Facing John, he set an elbow on the horse's back and a +hand on his own cheek. This was no unusual attitude. He did not mount, +but stood still. The ruddy good-humoured face, clean-shaven and large of +feature, had lost its look of constant good-humour. In fact, the feature +language expressed the minute's mood in a way which any one less familiar +with the man than John might have read with ease. Then he said, in an +absent way, "Are we men of the North all cowards like Josiah? They think +so--they do really think so. It is helping to make trouble." Then he +lifted himself lightly into the saddle, with swift change of mood and an +odd laugh of comment on his conclusion, as he broke into a gallop. "Let +us get into the sun." + +John followed him as they rode swiftly over a cross-road and out on to +the highway. Again the horses were walking, and Penhallow said, "I +suppose you may not have understood me. I was suddenly angry. It is a +relief sometimes to let off steam. Well, I fancy time will answer me--or +that is what I try not to believe--but it may--it may. Let us talk of +something else. I must find out from Rivers just how well you are +prepared for the Point. Then I mean to give you every night an hour or so +of what he cannot teach. You ride well, you know French and German, you +box--it may be of service, keep it up once a week at least. I envy you +the young disciplined life--the simpleness of it--the want of +responsibilities." + +"Thank you, sir," returned John, "I hope to like it and to do you credit, +uncle." + +"You will, I am sure. Let us go to the mills." + +John hesitated before he asked, "Could not I have, sir, a few days with +Aunt Ann at the Cape?" + +"No, I shall want you here." + +John was silent and disappointed. The Squire saw it. "It can't be +helped--I do not feel able to be alone. Leila will be away a year more +and you will be gone for several years. For your sake and mine I want you +this summer. Take care! You lost a stirrup when Dixy shied. Oh! here are +the mills. Good morning, McGregor. All well?" + +"Yes, sir. Tom has gone to the city. He is to be in the office of a +friend of mine this summer. I shall be alone." + +"John goes to West Point this September, Doctor." + +"Indeed! You too will be alone. Next it will be Leila. How the young +birds are leaving the nests! Even that slow lad of Grace's is going. He +is to learn farming with old Roberts. He has a broad back and the +advantage of not being a thinking-machine." + +"He may have made the best choice, McGregor." + +"No, sir," said the Doctor, "my son has the best of it." + +John laughed. "I don't think I should like either farm or medicine." + +"No," returned the Doctor, with his queer way of stating things, "there +must be some one to feed the people; Tom is to be trained to cure, and +you to kill." + +"I don't want to kill anybody," said John, laughing. + +"But that is the business you are going to learn, young man." John was +silent. The idea of killing anybody! + +"Heard from Mrs. Penhallow lately?" asked the doctor. + +"No, but from Leila to-day; and, you will be surprised, from Josiah too." + +"Is that so?" + +"Yes. Give him the two letters, John. Let me have them to-morrow, Doctor. +Good-bye," and they rode on to the mills. + +"It is a pity, John, Josiah gave no address," said Penhallow,--"a +childlike man, intelligent, and with some underlying temper of the old +African barbarian." The summer days ran on with plenty of work for John +and without incidents of moment, until the rector went away as was his +habit the first of August, more moody than usual. If the rectory were +finished, he would go there in September, and Mrs. Ann had written to him +about the needed furniture. + +On August 20th that lady wrote from Cape May that she must go home, and +Leila that her aunt was well but homesick. The Squire, who missed her +greatly, unreluctantly yielded, and on August 25th she was met at the +station by Penhallow and John. To the surprise of both, she had brought +Leila, as her school was not to begin until September 10th. + +"My dear James," cried Mrs. Ann, "it is worth while to have been away to +learn how good it is to get home again. I thought I would surprise you +with Leila." As the Squire kissed her, Leila and the maid came from the +car to the platform loaded with bundles. + +John stood still. Nature had been busy with her artist-work. A year had +gone by--the year of maturing growth of mind and body for a girl nearing +sixteen. Unprepared for her change, John felt at once that this was a +woman, who quickly smiling gave him a cordial greeting and her hand. +"Why, John Penhallow," she said, "what a big boy you are grown!" It was +as if an older person had spoken to a younger. A head taller than the +little Mrs. Ann, she was in the bloom of maiden loveliness, rosy, joyous, +a certain new stateliness in her movements. The gift of grace had been +added by the fairy godmother nature. + +John said, with gravity, "You are most welcome home, Leila," and then +quickly aware of some coldness in his words, "Oh, I am so very glad to +see you!" She had gone by him in the swift changes of life. Without so +putting it distinctly into the words of a mental soliloquy, John was +conscious that here was another Leila. + +"Come, in with you," said the happy master of Grey Pine. + +"How well you look, Ann, and how young! The cart will bring your +bundles." + +John Penhallow on an August afternoon was of Billy's opinion that Leila +had "rowed a lot" as she came out upon the porch and gaily laughing +cried, "At last,--Aunt Ann has done with me." + +They were both suffering from one of those dislocations of relation which +even in adult life are felt when friends long apart come together again. +The feeling of loss, as far as John was concerned, grew less as Leila +with return of childlike joy roamed with him over the house and through +the stables, and next day through Westways, with a pleasant word for +every one and on busying errands for her aunt. He was himself occupied +with study; but now the Squire had said it would be wise to drop his +work. + +With something of timidity he said to Leila, "I am free for this +afternoon; come and see again our old playgrounds. It will be a long +while before we can take another walk." + +"Certainly, John. And isn't it a nice, good-natured day? The summer is +over. Sometimes I wish we had no divisions of months, and the life of the +year was one quiet flow of days--oh, with no names to remind you." + +"But think, Leila, of losing all the poetry of the months. Why not have +no day or night? Oh, come along. What do you want with a sunshade and a +veil--we will be mostly in the woods." + +"My complexion, Mr. Penhallow," cried Miss Grey gaily. + +He watched her young figure as she went upstairs--the mass of darkened +gold hair coiled in the classic fashion of the day on the back of her +head. She looked around from the stair. "I shall be ready in a minute, +John. It rained yesterday--will it be wet in the woods?" + +"No," cried John, "and what does it matter?" He had a dull feeling of +resentment, of loss, of consciousness of new barriers and of distance +from the old comrade. + +Their way led across the garden, which was showing signs of feeling the +chilly nights of the close of summer in this upland, where the seasons +sometimes change abruptly. + +"The garden has missed Aunt Ann," said Leila. "Uncle Jim looks at it from +the porch, says 'How pretty!' and expects to see roses on his table every +day. I do believe he considers a garden as merely a kind of flower-farm." + +"Aunt Ann's garden interests her the way Westways does. There are sick +flowers and weeds like human weeds, and bugs and diseases that need a +flower-doctor, and flowers that are morbid or ill-humoured. That is not +my wisdom, Leila, it is Mr. Rivers's." + +"No, John, it isn't at all like you." + +"Aunt Ann didn't like it, and yet I think he meant it to be a compliment, +for he really considers Aunt Ann a model of what a woman ought to be." + +"I know that pretty well," said Leila. "When I used to lose my temper +over that horrid algebra, I was told to consider how Aunt Ann kept her +temper no matter what happened, as if that had anything to do with +algebra and equations. If he had seen her when she talked to George Grey +about Josiah, he would have known Aunt Ann better. I was proud of her." + +"Aunt Ann angry!" said John. "I should have liked to have seen that. Poor +Josiah!" + +They talked of the unlucky runaway, and were presently among the familiar +pine and spruce, far beyond the garden bounds. "Do put up that veil," +said John, "and you have not the least excuse for your parasol." + +"Oh, if you like, John. Tell me about West Point. It was such a +surprise." + +"I will when I am there, if I am able to pass the examinations." + +"You will--you will. Uncle Jim told me you would pass easily." + +"Indeed! He never told me that. I have my doubts." + +"And I have none," she returned, smiling. "Mr. Rivers dislikes it. +He wrote to me about it just before he left. Do you know, he did +really think that you ought to be a clergyman. He said you were so +serious-minded for--for a boy." + +John laughed, "nice clergyman I'd have made." Did Leila too consider him +a boy? "Oh! here we are at the old cabin. I never forget the first day we +came here--and the graves. The older I grow, Leila, the more clearly I +can see the fight and the rifle-flashes, and the rescue--and the night--I +can feel their terror." + +"Oh, we were mere children, John; and I do suppose that it is a pretty +well decorated tradition." He looked at her with surprise, as she added, +"I used to believe it all, now it seems strange to me, John--like a dream +of childhood. I think you really are a good deal of a boy yet." + +"No, I am not a boy. I sometimes fancy I never was a boy--I came here a +child." And then, "I think you like to tease me, Leila," and this was +true, although she was not pleased to be told so. "You think, Leila, that +it teases me to be called a boy by your ladyship. I think it is because +you remember what a boy once said to you here--right here." + +"What do you mean?" She knew very well what he meant, but quickly +repenting of her feminine fib, said, "Oh, I do know, but I wanted to +forget--I wanted to pretend to forget, because you know what friends we +have been, and it was really so foolish." + +He had been lying at her feet; now he rose slowly. "You are not like my +Leila to-day." + +"Oh, John!" + +"No--and it is hard, because I am going away--and--it will not be +pleasant to think how you are changed." + +"I wish you wouldn't say such things to me, John." + +"I had to--because--I love you. If I was a boy when I was, as you say, +silly, I was in earnest. It was nonsense to ask you, to say you would +marry me some day. It wasn't so very long ago after all; but I agree with +you, it _was_ foolish. Now I mean to make no such proposal." + +"Please, John." She looked up at him as he stood over her so grave, so +earnest--and so like Uncle Jim. For the time she got the fleeting +impression of this being a man. + +He hardly heard her appeal. "I want to say now that I love you." For a +moment the 'boy's will, the wind's will,' blew a gale. "I love you and I +always shall. Some day I shall ask you that foolish question again, and +again." + +She too was after all very young and had been playing a bit at being a +woman. Now his expression of passion embarrassed her--because she had no +answer ready; nor was it all entirely disagreeable. + +He stood still a moment, and added, "That is all--I ask nothing now." + +Then she stood up, having to say something and unwilling to hurt +him--wanting not to say too much or too little, and ending by a childlike +reply. "Oh, John, I do wish you would never say such things to me. I am +too young to listen to such nonsense." + +"And I am young too," he laughed. "Well--well--let us go home and confess +like children." + +"Now I know you are a fool, John Penhallow, and very disagreeable." + +"When we were ever so young, Leila, and we quarrelled, we used to agree +not to speak to one another for a day. Are you cross enough for that +now?" + +"No, I am not; but I want to feel sure that you will not say such things +to me again." + +"I make no promise, Leila; I should break it. If I gave you a boy's love, +forget it, laugh at it; but if I give you a man's love, take care." + +This odd drama--girl and woman, boy and maturing man--held the stage; now +one, now the other. + +"Take care, indeed!" she said, repeating his words and turning on him +with sudden ungraciousness, "I think we have had enough of this +nonsense." + +She was in fact the more disturbed of the two, and knowing it let anger +loose to chase away she knew not what, which was troubling her with +emotion she could neither entirely control nor explain later as the +result of what seemed to her mere foolishness. If he was himself +disturbed by his storm of primitive passion, he did not show it as she +did. + +"Yes," he said in reply, "we have had for the present enough of +this--enough talk, I mean--" + +"We!" she exclaimed. + +"Leila! do you want me to apologize?" + +"No." + +"Then--let us get those roses for Aunt Ann--what are left of them." + +She was glad to escape further discussion--not sure of her capacity to +keep in order this cousin who was now so young and now so alarmingly old. +His abrupt use of self-control she recognised--liked and then disliked, +for a little wrath in his reply would have made her feel more at ease. +With well-reassumed good-humour, she said, "Now you are my nice old +playmate, but never, never bother me that way again." + +"Yes, ma'am," said John, laughing. "I can hear Aunt Ann say, 'Run, dears, +and get me flowers--and--there will be cakes for you.'" + +"No, bread and apple-butter, John." They went along merry, making believe +to be at ease. + +"The robins are gone," said Leila. "I haven't seen one today; and the +warblers are getting uneasy and will be gone soon. I haven't seen a +squirrel lately. Josiah used to say that meant an early winter." + +"Oh, but the asters! What colour! And the golden-rod! Look at it close, +Leila. Each little flower is a star of gold." + +"How pretty!" She bent down over the flowers to pay the homage of honest +pleasure. "How you always see, John, so easily, the pretty little wild +beauties of the woods; I never could." She was "making up" as children +say. + +"Oh, you were the schoolmaster once," he laughed. "Come, we have enough; +now for the garden." + +They passed through the paling fence and along the disordered beds, where +a night of too early frost had touched with chill fingers of disaster the +latest buds. Leila moved about looking at the garden, fingering a bud +here and there with gentle epitaphs of "late," "too late," or gathering +the more matronly roses which had bloomed in time. John watched her bend +over them, and then where there were none but frost-wilted buds stand +still and fondle with tender touch the withered maidens of the garden. + +He came to her side, "Well, Leila, I'll swap thoughts with you." + +She looked up, "Your's first then." + +"I was thinking it must be hard to die before you came to be a rose--like +some other more human things." + +"Is that a charade, John? You will be writing poems about the lament of +the belated virgin roses that had not gathered more timely sunshine and +were alas! too late." + +He looked at her with a smile of pleased surprise. "Thanks, cousin; it is +you who should be the laureate of the garden. Shelley would envy you." + +"Indeed! I am flattered, sir, but I have not read any of Shelley as yet. +You have, I suppose? He is supposed to be very wicked. Get me some more +golden-rod, John." He went back to the edge of the wood and came again +laden, rejoining her at the porch. + +For two days her aunt kept her busy. Early in the week she went away to +be met in Philadelphia by her Uncle Charles, and to be returned to her +Maryland school. + +A day or two later John too left to undergo the dreaded examination at +West Point. The two older people were left alone at Grey Pine with the +rector, who had returned from his annual holiday later than usual. Always +depressed at these seasons, he was now indisposed for the society of even +the two people who were his most valued friends. He dined with them the +day John went away and took up the many duties of his clerical life, +until as was his custom, a week later he came in smiling for the Saturday +dinner, saying, "Well, here comes the old house-dog for his bone." + +They made him welcome as gaily. "Has the town wickedness accumulated in +your absence, Mark?" said Penhallow. + +"Mine has," said Ann Penhallow, "but I never confess except to myself." + +"Ann Penhallow might be a severe confessor," said Rivers as they sat +down. "How you must miss John and Leila. I shall most sadly." + +"Oh, for my part," said Ann, "I have made up my mind not to lament the +inevitable, but my husband is like a lost dog and--oh!--heart-hungry +for Leila, and worried about that boy's examination--his passing." + +"Have I said a word?" said the Squire indignantly. "Pass! Of course, he +will pass." + +"No one doubts that, James; but you are afraid he will not be near the +top." + +"You are a witch, Ann. How did you know that?" + +"How?" and she laughed. "How long have we been married!" + +"Nonsense, Ann! What has that got to do with the matter?" + +"Well," said Rivers, a little amused, "we shall know in a day or two. He +will pass high." + +"Of course," said Penhallow. + +Then the talk drifted away to the mills, the village and the farm work. +When after dinner Rivers declined to smoke with the Squire, Ann walked +with the clergyman down the avenue and said presently, "Dine with us on +Monday, Mark, and as often as possible. My husband is really worrying +about John." + +"And you, dear lady?" + +"I--oh, of course, I miss them greatly; but Leila needs the contact with +the social life she now has in the weekly holiday at Baltimore; and as +for John, did it never occur to you that he ought to be among men of his +age--and social position--and women too, who will not, I fancy, count for +much in the 'West Point education.' + +"Yes--yes, what you say is true of course, but ah! I dread for him the +temptations of another life than this." + +"Would you keep him here longer, if you could?" she asked. + +"No. What would life be worth or how could character be developed without +temptation? That is one of my puzzles about the world to come, a world +where there would be no 'yes and no' would hardly be worth while." + +"And quite beyond me," cried Ann, laughing. "We have done our best for +them. Let us pray that they will not forget. I have no fear for Leila. I +do not know about John. I must go home. Come often. Good-night. I suppose +the sermon takes you away so early." + +"Yes--more or less, and I am poor company just now. Good-night." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +When at breakfast on a Monday morning Penhallow said, "That mail is late +again," his wife knew that he was still eager for news from John. + +"The mail is always late on Monday morning, James. If you are in haste to +get to the mills, I will send it after you." + +"No, it is unimportant, Ann. Another cup, please. Ah! there it is now." +He went out on to the porch. "You are late, Billy." + +"I ain't late--it was Mrs. Crocker--she kept me." + +Penhallow selected two letters postmarked West Point, and opening one as +he went in to the breakfast-room, said, "My dear, it is rather +satisfactory--quite as much as could be expected." + +"Well, James! What is rather satisfactory? You are really exasperating at +times." + +"Am I? Well, John has passed in the first half dozen--he does not yet +know just where--" + +"And are you not entirely contented? You ought to be. What is the other +letter?" + +He opened it. "It is only a line from the old drawing-master to say that +John did well and would have been second or third, they said, except for +not being higher in mathematics." As he spoke he rose and put both +letters in his pocket. "Now I must go." + +"But let me see them, James." + +"Oh, John's is only a half dozen lines, and I must go at once--I have an +appointment at the mills--I want to look over the letters again, and +shall write to him from the office." Ann was slightly annoyed, but said +no more until on the porch before he mounted she took a mild revenge. +"I know where you are going." + +"Well, and where, please?" He fell into her trap. + +"First, you will stop at the rectory and read those letters to Mark +Rivers; then the belated mail will excuse a pause at the post-office to +scold Mrs. Crocker. Tell Pole as you go by that last mutton was +atrociously tough. Of course, you won't mention John." + +"Well, are you done?" he said, as he mounted Dixy. "I can wait, Ann, +until you read the letters." + +"Thanks, I am in no hurry." He turned in the saddle and gave her the +letters. She put aside her brief feeling of annoyance and stood beside +him as she read them. "Thank you, James. What an uneasy old uncle you +are. Now go. Oh, be off with you--and don't forget Dr. McGregor." As he +rode away, she called after him, "James--James--I forgot something." + +He turned, checking Dixy. "Oh, I forgot to say that you must not forget +the office clerks, because you know they are all so fond of John." + +"What a wretch you are, Ann Penhallow! Go in and repent." + +"I don't," and laughing, joyously, she stood and looked after the tall +figure as he rode away happy and gaily singing, as he was apt to do if +pleased, the first army carol the satisfaction of the moment suggested: + +Come out to the stable +As soon as you 're able, +And see that the horses +That they get some corn. +For if you don't do it, +The colonel will know it, +And then you will rue it +As sure as you're born. + +"Ah!" said his wife, "how he goes back--always goes back--to the wild +army life when something pleases him. Thank God that can never come +again." She recalled her first year of married life, the dull garrison +routine, the weeks of her husband's absences, and when the troop came +back and there were empty saddles and weeping women. + +At dinner the Squire must needs drink the young cadet's health and +express to Rivers his regret that there was not a West Point for Leila. +Mrs. Ann was of opinion that she had had too much of it already. Rivers +agreed with his hostess, and in one of his darkest days won the privilege +of long silences by questioning the Squire in regard to the studies and +life at West Point, while Mrs. Ann more socially observant than her +husband saw how moody was Rivers and with what effort he manufactured +an appearance of interest in the captain's enthusiasm concerning +educative methods at the great army school. She was relieved when he +carried off Rivers to the library. + +"It is chilly, Mark; would you like a fire?" he asked. + +"Yes, I am never too warm." + +The Squire set the logs ablaze. "No pipe, Mark?" + +"Not yet." He stretched out his lean length before the ruddy birch blaze +and was silent. The Squire watched him and made no attempt to disturb the +deep reverie in which the young clergyman remained. At last the great +grey eyes turned from the fire, and Rivers sat up in his chair, as he +said, "You must have seen how inconsiderately I have allowed my +depression to dismiss the courtesies of life. I owe you and my dear Mrs. +Penhallow both an apology and an explanation."-- + +"But really, Mark--" + +"Oh, let me go on. I have long wanted to talk myself out, and as often my +courage has failed. I have had a most unhappy life, Penhallow. All the +pleasant things in it--the past few years--have been given me here. I +married young--" + +"One moment, Mark. Before you came to us the Bishop wrote me in +confidence of your life. Not even Mrs. Penhallow has seen that letter." + +"Then you knew--but not all. Now I have had a sad relief. He told you +of--well, of my life, of my mother's hopeless insanity--and the rest." + +"Yes--yes--all, I believe--all." + +"Not quite all. I have spent a part at least of every August with her; +now at last she is dead. But my family story has left with me the fear of +dying like my brothers or of becoming as she became. When I came to you I +was a lonely soul, sick in mind and weak in body. I am better--far +better--and now with some renewal of hope and courage I shall face my +world again. You have had--you will have charity for my days of +melancholy. I never believed that a priest should marry--and yet I +did. I suffered, and never again can I dream of love. I am doubly armed +by memory and by the horror of continuing a race doomed to disaster. +There you have it all to my relief. There is some mysterious consolation +in unloading one's mind. How good you have been to me! and I have been so +useless--so little of what I might have been." + +Penhallow rose, set a hand on Rivers's shoulder, seeing the sweat on his +forehead and the appeal of the sad eyes turned up to meet his gaze. +"What," he said, "would our children have been without you? God knows I +have been a better man for your company, and the mills--the village--how +can you fail to see what you have done--" + +"No--no--I am a failure. It may be that the moods of self-reproach are +morbid. That too torments me. Even to-day I was thinking of how Christ +would have dealt with that miserable man, Peter Lamb, and how +uncharitable I was, how crude, how void of sympathy--" + +"You--you--" said Penhallow, as he moved away. "My own regret is that +I did not turn him over to the law. Well, points of view do differ +curiously. We will let him drop. He will come to grief some day. And now +take my thanks and my dear Ann's for what you have told me. Let us drop +that too. Take a pipe." + +"No, I must go. I am the easier in my mind, but I am tired and not at +all in the pipe mood." He went out through the hall, and with a hasty +"good-night" to his hostess and "pleasant dreams--or none," went slowly +down the avenue. + +The woman he left, with her knitting needles at rest a moment, was +considering the man and his moods with such intuitive sympathy and +comprehension as belongs to the sex which is physiologically the more +subject to abrupt changes in the climate of the mind. As her husband +entered, she began anew the small steadying industry for which man has no +substitute. + +"Upon my word, James, when you desire to exchange confidences, you must +get further away from me." + +"You don't mean me to believe you overheard our talk in the library, with +the door closed and the curtain across it." Her acuteness of hearing +often puzzled him, and he had always to ask for proof. + +She nodded gay assurance, and said again, ceasing to knit, "I overheard +too much--oh, not all--bits--enough to trouble me. I moved away so as not +to hear. All I care to know is how to be of real service to a friend to +whom we owe so much." + +"I want you--in fact, Mark wants you--to hear in full what you know in +part." + +"Well, James, I have very little curiosity about the details of the +misfortunes of my friends unless to know is to obtain means of +helpfulness." + +"You won't get any here, I fear, but as he has been often strange and +depressed and, as he says, unresponsive to your kindness, he does want +you now to see what cause there was." + +"Very well, if he wants it. I see you have a letter." + +"Yes, I kept it. It was marked strictly confidential--I hate that--" She +smiled as he added, "It seems to imply the possibility of indiscretion on +my part." + +"Oh, James! Oh, you dear man!" and she laughed outright, liking to tease +where she deeply loved, knowing him through and through, as he never +could know her. Then she saw that he was not in the mood for jesting with +an edge to it; nor was she. "At all events, you did not let me see that +letter--now I am to see it." + +"Yes, you are to see it. You might at any time have seen it." + +"Yes, read it to me." + +"When our good Bishop sent Mark Rivers here to us, he wrote me this +letter--" + +"Well, go on." + +"MY DEAR SIR: I send you the one of my young clergy with whom I am the +most reluctant to part. You will soon learn why, and learning will be +thankful. But to make clear to you why I urge him--in fact, order him to +go--requires a word of explanation. He is now only twenty-six years of +age but looks older. He married young and not wisely a woman who lived a +childlike dissatisfied life, and died after two years. One of his +brothers died an epileptic; the other, a promising lawyer, became insane +and killed himself. This so affected their widowed mother that she fell +into a speechless melancholy and has ever since been in the care of +nurses in a farmer's family--a hopeless case. I became of late alarmed at +his increasing depression and evident failure in bodily strength. He was +advised to take a small country parish, and so I send him to you and my +friend, Mrs. Penhallow, sure that he will give as much as he gets. I need +not say more. He is well worth saving--one of God's best--with too +exacting a conscience--learned, eloquent and earnest, and to end, a +gentleman." + +"There is a lot more about Indian missions, which I think are hopeless, +but I sent him a cheque, of course." + +"I supposed, James, that his depression was owing to his want of vigorous +health. Now I see, but how very sorrowful it is! What else is there? I +did not mean to listen, but something was said about his mother." + +"Yes. He has spent with her a large part of every August--he called it +his holiday. My God, Ann! Poor fellow! This August she died. It must be a +relief." + +"Perhaps." + +"Oh, surely. This is all, Ann." + +"I wish you had been less discreet long ago, James. I think that the +Bishop knowing how sensitive, how very reticent Mark is, meant only that +he should not learn what was confided to you." + +"I never thought of that, Ann. You may be right." + +She made no further comment, except to say, "But to know clears the air +and leaves me free to talk to him at need." Penhallow felt that where he +himself might be a useless confessor, his wife was surely to be trusted. + +"If, Ann, the man could only be got on to the back of a horse--" She won +the desirable relief of laughter, and the eyes that were full of the +tears of pity for this disastrous life overflowed of a sudden with mirth +at the Squire's one remedy for the troubles of this earthly existence. + +"Oh, I am in earnest," he said. "Now I must write to John." + +When after a week or more she did talk to Mark Rivers, he was the better +for it and felt free to speak to her as a younger man may to an older +woman and can rarely do to the closest of male friends, for, after all, +most friendships have their personal limitations and the man who has not +both men and women friends may at some time miss what the double +intimacies alone can give. + + * * * * * + +The uneasy sense of something lost was more felt than mentioned that fall +at Grey Pine, where quick feet on the stair and the sound of young +laughter were no longer heard. Rivers saw too how distinctly the village +folk missed these gay young people. Mrs. Crocker, of the shop where +everything was to be bought, bewailed herself to Rivers, who was the +receiver of all manner of woes. "Mrs. Penhallow is getting to be so +particular no one knows where to find her. You would never think it, sir, +but she says my tea is not fit to drink, and she is going to get her +sugar from Philadelphia. It's awful! She says it isn't as sweet as it +used to be--as if sugar wasn't always the same--" + +"Which it isn't," laughed Rivers. + +"And my tea!--Then here comes in the Squire to get a dog-collar, and +roars to my poor deaf Job, 'that last tea was the best we have ever had. +Send five pounds to Dr. McGregor from me--charge it to me--and a pound to +Mrs. Lamb.' It wasn't but ten minutes later. Do set down, Mr. Rivers." He +accepted the chair she dusted with her apron and quietly enjoyed the +little drama. The facts were plain, the small influential motives as +clear. + +Secure of her hearer, Mrs. Crocker went on: "I was saying it wasn't ten +minutes later that same morning Mrs. Penhallow came down on me about the +sugar and the tea--worst she ever had. She--oh, Lord!--She wouldn't +listen, and declared that she would return the tea and get sugar from +town." + +"Pretty bad that," said Rivers, sympathetic. "Did she send back the tea?" + +"No, sir. In came Pole grinning that very evening. He said she had made +an awful row about the last leg of mutton he sent. Pole said she was that +bad--She didn't show no temper, but she kept on a sort of quiet mad about +the mutton." + +"Well, what did Pole do?" + +"You'd never guess. It was one of the Squire's own sheep. Pole he just +sent her the other leg of the same sheep!" + +Again the rector laughed. "Well, and what did Mrs. Penhallow do?" + +"She told him that was all right. Pole he guessed I'd better send her a +pound of the same tea." + +"Did you?" + +"I did--ain't heard yet. Now what would you advise? Never saw her this +way before." + +"Well," said Rivers, "tell her how the town misses Leila and John." + +"They do. I do wonder if it's just missing those children upsets her so." + +Whether his advice were taken or not, Rivers did not learn directly, but +Mrs. Crocker said things were better when next they met, and the +clergyman asked no questions. + +Penhallow had his own distracting troubles. The financial condition which +became serious in the spring and summer of 1857 was beginning to cause +him alarm, and soon after the new year came in he felt obliged to talk +over his affairs and to advise his wife to loan the mill company money +not elsewhere to be had except at ruinous interest. She wished simply to +give him the sum needed, but he said no, and made clear to her why he +required help. She was pleased to be consulted, and showing, as usual, +notable comprehension of the business situation, at once did as he +desired. + +Rivers not aware of what was so completely occupying Penhallow's mind, +wondered later why he would not discuss the decision of the Supreme Court +in the Dred Scott case and did not share his own indignation. "But," he +urged, "it declares the Missouri Compromise not warranted by the +Constitution!" + +"I can't talk about it, Mark," said Penhallow, "I am too worried by my +own affairs." + +Then Rivers asked no further questions; he hoped he would read the +masterly dissenting opinion of Justices McLean and Curtis. Penhallow +returned impatiently that he had no time, and that the slavery question +were better left to the decision of "Chief Justice Time." + +It was unlike the Squire, and Rivers perplexed and more or less ignorant +concerning his friend's affairs left him, in wonder that what was so +angrily disturbing the Northern States should quite fail to interest +Penhallow. + +Meanwhile there were pleasant letters from Leila. She thought it hard to +be denied correspondence with John, and wrote of the satisfaction felt by +her Uncle Henry and his friends in regard to the Dred Scott decision. She +had been wise enough to take her Uncle Charles's advice and to hold her +Republican tongue, as he with a minority in Baltimore was wisely doing. + +The money crisis came with full force while the affairs of Kansas were +troubling both North and South. In August there was widespread ruin. +Banks failed, money was held hard, contracts were broken and to avoid a +worse calamity the Penhallow mills discharged half of the men. Meanwhile +under Governor Walker's just and firm rule, for a brief season 'Bleeding +Kansas' was no longer heard of. To add to the confusion of parties, +Douglas broke with the Administration and damaged the powerful Democratic +machine when he came out with changed opinions and dauntless courage +against the new Lecompton constitution. + +In June Leila's school life came to a close, and to the delight of her +relations she came home. When that afternoon Rivers came into the hall, a +tall young woman rose of a sudden and swept him a curtsey, saying, "I am +Leila Grey, sir. Please to be glad to see me." + +"Good gracious, Leila! You are a woman!" + +"And what else should I be?" + +"Alas! what? My little friend and scholar--oh! the evil magic of time." + +"Oh! Friend--friend!" she exclaimed, "then, now, and always." She gave +him both hands. + +"Yes, always," he said quickly. "And this," he said to himself, "is the +child who used to give me the morning kiss. It is very wonderful!" + +"I really think, Aunt Ann, that Mr. Rivers just for a moment did not know +me." + +"Indeed! That must have amused him." + +"Oh, here is James." There was laughter at dinner and a little gay +venture into the politics of Leila's school, which appeared to have been +disagreeable to Miss Grey. + +Rivers watched the animated face as she gave her account of how the +school took a vote in the garden and were all Democrats. The Squire a +little puzzled by his wife's evident disinclination to interfere with the +dinner-table politics got a faint suspicion that here had come into Grey +Pine a new and positive influence. He was more surprised that Mrs. Ann +asked, "What did you say, Leila?" + +"I? Now, Aunt Ann, what would you have done or said?" + +"Oh, voted with the Democrats, of course." + +"Oh, Mrs. Penhallow!" cried the Rector. + +The Squire much amused asked, "Well, Leila, did you run away?" + +"I--Oh, Uncle Jim! I said I was a democrat--I voted the Democratic +ticket." + +"Did you?" exclaimed Rivers. + +"So James Penhallow and my brother Charles have lost a Republican vote," +laughed Ann. + +"But, Aunt Ann, I added that I was a Douglas Democrat." + +The Squire exploded into peals of laughter. Ann said, "For shame!" + +"They decided to lynch me, but no one of them could catch me before Miss +Mayo appeared on the playground and we all became demure as pussy cats. +She was cross." + +"She was quite right," said her aunt. "I do not see why girls should be +discussing politics." + +Rivers became silently regardant, and Penhallow frowning sat still. The +anticipated bolt had fallen--it fell in vain. Leila did not accept the +decree, but defended herself gaily. "Aunt Ann," she said, "Douglas is +right, or at least half right. And do tell me how old must a girl be +before she has a right to think?" + +"Think! Oh, if you like, think. But, my dear Leila, your uncle, Mr. +Rivers and I, although we think and hold very diverse opinions, feel that +on such matters discussion only leaves a sting, and so we tacitly leave +it out of our talk. There, my dear, you have my opinion." + +There was a moment of silence. Leila looked up. "Oh, my dear Aunt Ann, if +you were on the side of old Nick, Mr. Rivers wouldn't care a penny less +for you, and I never could see why to differ in talk about politics is +going to hurt past anything love could accept. Aunt Helen and Uncle +Charles both talk politics and they do love one another, although Aunt +Helen is tremendously Democratic." + +"My dear Leila!" + +"Oh, Aunt Ann! I will not say a word more if you want me to hold my +tongue." + +"Wouldn't the other way be more wholesome on the whole?" said Rivers. + +"I have long thought so," said the Squire. "There are ways and ways--" + +"Perhaps," said Ann. "Shall you ride with your uncle tomorrow, Leila?" + +"Oh, shall I! I long for it--I dream about it. May I ride Dixy, Uncle +Jim?" + +"Yes, if you have a riding-habit you can wear. We will see to that. You +have grown a good bit, but I fancy we can manage." + +"And how is Pole, aunt; and the doctor and Crocker and his fat wife--oh, +and everybody?" + +"Oh, much, as usual. We had a skirmish about mutton, but the last Pole +sent is good--in fact, excellent. He needs watching." + +Then the talk fell on the lessened work at the mills, and there being now +four players the Squire had his whist again, and later carried Rivers +away to smoke in the library, leaving Ann and Leila. + +As the library door closed, Leila dropped on a cushion at her aunt's +feet, and with her head in Ann's lap expressed her contentment by a few +moments of silence. Then sitting up, she said, "I am so happy I should +like to purr. I was naughty at dinner, but it was just because I wanted +to make Uncle Jim laugh. He looks--Don't you think he looks worried, +aunt? Is it the mills and--the men out of work? Dear Aunt Ann, how can +one keep on not talking about politics and things that are next to one's +religion--and concerning our country--my country?" + +Ann made no direct reply, but went back to what was nearer than any creed +of politics. "Yes, dear. When one big thing worries James, then +everything worries him. The state of the money market makes all business +difficult, and he feels uncomfortable because the mill company is in want +of work, and because their debts are overdue and not likely to be paid in +full or at all." + +"I wish I could do something to help Uncle Jim." + +"You can ride with him and I cannot. You can talk to him without +limitations; I cannot. He is reasonable about this grave question of +slavery. He does not think it right; I do--oh, good for master and best +for the black. When, soon after our marriage, we spoke of it, he was +positive and told me to read what Washington had said about slavery. We +were both young and said angry things which left a pang of remembrance. +After that we were careful. But now this terrible question comes up in +the village and in every paper. It will get worse, and I see no end to +it." + +Leila was silent, remembering too her aunt's share in Josiah's escape. +The advice implied in her aunt's frank talk she saw was to be accepted. +"I will remember, Aunt Ann." At least she was free to talk to her uncle. + +"Has any one heard of Josiah?" asked Leila. + +"No, I was sorry for him. He had so many good traits. I think he would +have been more happy if he had remained with his master." + +Leila had her doubts, but was self-advised to say no more than, "I often +think of him. Now I shall go to bed." + +"Yes, you must be tired." + +"I am never tired, but to be free to sit up late or go to bed and read +what I want to--and to ride! Good-night. I can write to John--now there's +another bit of freedom. Oh, dear, how delightful it all is!" She went +upstairs thinking how hard it would be to keep off of the forbidden +ground, and after all was her aunt entirely wise? Well, there was Uncle +Jim and John. + +While this talk went on the rector alone with his host said, "You are +evidently to have a fresh and very positive factor in your household +life--" + +"Hush," said the Squire. "Talk low--Ann Penhallow has incredible +hearing." + +"True--quite true--I forgot. How amazingly the child has changed. She +will be a useful ferment, I fancy. How strange it is always--this abrupt +leap of the girl into the heritage of womanhood. The boy matures slowly, +by imperceptible gradations. Now Leila seems to me years older than John, +and the change is really somewhat startling; but then I have seen very +little of young women. There is the girl, the maid, the woman." + +"Oh, but there is boy, lad, and man." + +"Not comparable, Squire; continuously growing in one case, and in the +other developmental surprises and, ever after, fall and rise of energy. +The general trouble about understanding women is that men judge them by +some one well-known woman. I heard a famous doctor say that no man need +pretend to understand women unless he had been familiar with sick women." + +The Squire recalling the case of Ann Penhallow was silent. The clergyman +thinking too of his own bitter experience lapsed into contemplative +cleaning of a much valued meerschaum pipe. The Squire not given to morbid +or other psychological studies made brief reply. "I hope that Leila will +remain half boy." + +"Too late, Squire--too late. You've got a woman on your hands. There will +be two heads to Grey Pine." + +"And may I ask where do I come in?" He was at times almost dull-witted, +and yet in danger swift to think and quick to act. + +Rivers filling the well-cleaned pipe looked up. There was something of +unwonted gaiety in the moving face-lines which frame the eyes and give to +them the appearance of change of expression. "My dear friend, you were as +dough that is kneaded in the hands of Leila, the girl; you will be no +less so now in the hands of this splendid young woman." + +"Oh, now--by George! Rivers, you must think me--" + +"Think you! Oh, like other men. And as concerns Mrs. Ann, there +will sometimes be a firm alliance with Leila before which you will +wilt--or--no, I will not venture further." + +"You had better not, or you may fail like other prophets." + +"No, I was thinking as you spoke of the fact that Leila has seen a good +deal of a very interesting society in Baltimore, and has had the chance, +and I am sure the desire, to hear more of the wild Southern party-talk +than most girls have." + +"Yes, she has been in both camps." + +"And always was and is, I fancy, eagerly curious in the best sense. More +than my dear Mrs. Ann, she has wide intellectual sympathies--and +appetites." + +"That's a very fine phrase, Mark." + +"Isn't it, Squire? I was also comparing in my mind John's want of +association with men of his own social accident of position. He lived +here with some rough country lads and with you and me. He has had no such +chance as Leila's." + +"Oh, the Point will mature him. Then two years on the Plains--and after +that the mills." + +"Perhaps--two years! But, Penhallow, who can dare to predict what God has +in store for us. Two years!" + +"Yes--too true--who can! Just now we are financially diseased, and men +are thinking more of the bread and butter and debts of to-morrow than of +Mr. Buchanan in the toils of his Southern Cabinet." + +"That's so. Good-night." + +Leila took upstairs with her John's last letter to her aunt, and sitting +down read it eagerly: + +"WEST POINT. + +"MY DEAR AUNT: The life here, as I wrote you, is something almost +monastic in its systematic regularity, and its despotic claims on one's +time. It leaves small leisure for letters except on Sundays; and if a +fellow means to be well placed, even then he is wise to do some work. The +outside world seems far away, and we read and can read few papers. + +"I am of Uncle Jim's politics, but although there are many pretty +sensitive cadets from the South, some of them my friends, there is so +pleasant a camaraderie among us that there are few quarrels, and +certainly none of the bitterness of the two sections. + +"I think I may have told you that we have no furlough until we have been +here two years, but I hope some time for a visit from Uncle Jim and you, +or at least from him and Leila. How she would enjoy it! The wonderful +beauty of the great river in the embrace of these wooded mountains, the +charm of the heroic lives it has nourished and the romance of its early +history are delightful--" + +"Enjoy it," murmured Leila, "oh, would I not indeed!" Then she read on: + +"Tell Leila to write me all about the horses and the town, and if Josiah +has been heard of. Tom McGregor writes me that after he is graduated next +year, he means to try for a place in the army and get a year or two of +army life before he settles down to help his father. So it takes only two +years to learn how to keep people alive and four to learn how to kill +them." + +"I wonder who John means to kill." She sat in thought a while, and rising +to undress said, "He must be greatly changed, my dear boy, Jack. Jack!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +The widespread disapproval at the North of the Dred Scott Decision was +somewhat less manifest in the middle months of the year because of the +general financial distress, which diverted attention from what was so +agreeable to the slave States, where in fact the stringency in the money +market had been felt but little. + +At Grey Pine, as elsewhere in Pennsylvania, the evil influence of the +depression in trade was felt as never before. More men were discharged, +and Penhallow and his wife practised economy which to him was difficult +and distasteful. To limit expenditure on herself was of little moment to +Ann Penhallow, but to have to limit her ability to give where more and +more were needing help was to her at least a hard trial. With the spring +of 1858, business had begun to revive, while more bitterness arose when +in the senatorial contest Stephen Douglas encountered the soil-born +vigorous intellect of the little known lawyer Lincoln. The debate put +fresh life into the increasing power of the Republican party in the West. + +"Listen to this," said Rivers to the Squire in July of 1858. "Here is a +new choice. Long ago I got touch of this man, when he said, 'A house +divided against itself cannot stand.'" He went on to read aloud parts of +the famous speech. + +Leila sitting with them on the porch looked round to hear her uncle's +comment. He said, "It is too radical, Rivers. It leaves no chance for +compromise--it is a declaration of war." + +"It is God's truth," said Rivers. + +"The Democrats will rejoice," said Penhallow. "The Administration will be +as I am against Douglas and against this man's views." + +"I wish he were even more of an abolitionist, Squire. The right to life, +liberty and the pursuit of happiness, ought to apply to all men, black +and white." + +"Yes, but are there to be further applications. Shall your free black +vote? Does he say that?" + +"No, but I do." + +"Good gracious!" exclaimed the Squire. "I move we adjourn. Here comes +Ann." + +Keen to have the last word, Rivers urged, "He is not against some +fugitive-slave law--not for abolition of slavery in the District of +Columbia--or the slave trade between the States." + +"But," said Leila, "I read it all last night in my room. He said it was +the right and duty of Congress to prohibit slavery in all the +territories." + +"The right," said Penhallow, "Miss Politician?" + +"And the duty," returned Rivers. They rose as Ann came up the steps. + +Billy was carrying the baskets she had emptied in the village, and as +usual with Ann when there had been much to do, she came home, Rivers +said, refreshed by the exercise of her gentle despotisms as a man may be +by use of competent muscles. "You are all struck dumb," she cried. "I +smell the sulphur of bad politics." + +"I'm for Buch and Breck," said Billy. "Misses she give me a dollar to +vote for Buchanan, I know--" + +Leila delightedly encouraged him. "Did you?" + +"No, it was for poll-tax. Take in those baskets at once," said Ann. + +"Yes, ma'am. Bought a fishing-pole." + +The confusion of mind which had made this practical use of Ann's mild +political contribution was new to the Squire, and deliciously funny to +Leila. Penhallow laughed outright. Rivers was silent watching Mrs. Ann. + +To his surprise, she said, "You are bad--all of you. If the women could +vote we would cease to have trouble. It may please you all to know that +since that idiot Pole has mortgaged his farm to Swallow and bought out +the butcher at the mills, he has repented of his Democratic wickedness +and says, 'After all the Squire was right.'" + +"And where, my dear, did you get all this gossip?" asked Penhallow. + +"It is complicated; ask Pole." + +"I could guess," laughed Leila. + +"And I," cried the Squire. + +"You will all suffer," cried Ann, "and don't complain, James Penhallow, +if tough beef is the final result of political complications." Whereupon +she gathered her skirts and fled laughing. + +"Pole will pay dearly," said the Squire, who was secretly securing meat +for the discharged mill-hands and understood what had influenced Pole. + +Grey Pine and Westways during the summer and fall of 1858 felt, like many +in the Northern States, the need to live with economy. Want of employment +added to the unrest, and the idle men found time to discuss the angry +politics which rang through the debates in the Senate. The changed tariff +on iron, to which Pennsylvania was always selfishly sensitive, affected +the voting, and Penhallow was pleased when the Administration suffered +disaster in the October elections. All parties--Republican, American and +Douglas Democrats--united to cast discredit on the President's policy, +but Penhallow knew that the change of duties on iron had little to do +with the far-spread ruin of trade and manufactures the result of long +credits and the careless finance of an over-prosperous people. The +electoral results were looked upon as a Republican victory. He so +explained it on a November afternoon, as he rode through the still forest +with Leila Grey, when the faint haze and warmer days told of that +mysterious arrest of decay we call the Indian summer. + +As they rode, the long lapses into silence told of the pleasant relations +of two people entirely at ease with one another. Now it was a question +asked--and now quick discussion. She had slowly won with maidenhood what +few children have, more or less of the varied forms of imagination, which +once had rather amused or puzzled her in John Penhallow. Her uncle, who +thought slowly unless in danger, rode on with his mind upon a small order +for rails and was far from feeling the mystery of the autumn days. The +girl beside him was reading into the slow rocking to and fro of the +falling leaves some reluctance to become forever a part of the decaying +mould. + +"Please, Uncle Jim, don't trot. Let them walk. It is so full of tender +deaths." + +"What do you mean, Leila?--as if death were ever beautiful or tender. You +and your aunt bother me with your absurd manufacture of some relation to +nature--" + +"Oh, Uncle Jim! Once I saw you pat a big pine and say 'how are you, old +fellow?' I told John it was nonsense, but he said it was fine." + +"Oh, but that was a tree." + +Leila laughed. "Of that there can be no doubt." + +"Well, and what of it? It was half fun. You and John and your aunt sit up +and explode into enthusiasm over verse, when it could all be said far +better in simple prose." + +"I should like to put that to the test some night." + +"Not I, Miss Grey. I have no poetry in me. I am cold prose through and +through." + +"You--you!" she cried. "Some people like poetry--some people are poetry." + +"What--what?" + +"Wasn't your hero Cromwell just magnificent, stately blank verse?" + +"What confounded nonsense!" She glanced at the manly figure with the +cavalry seat, erect, handsome, to her heroic--an ideal gentleman in all +his ways. "Stuff and nonsense!" he added. + +"Well, Uncle Jim--to talk prose--the elections please you?" + +"Yes. The North is stiffening up. It is as well. Did you see what Seward +said, 'An irrepressible conflict,' and that man Lincoln, 'The house +divided against itself cannot stand'? Now I should like to think them +both wrong." + +"And do you not?" she asked. + +"No. Some devilish fate seems to be at the helm, as Rivers says. We avoid +one rock to fall into wild breakers of exasperation; with fugitive-slave +cases on one side, and on the other importations of slaves. Where will it +end?" + +"But what would you do, uncle?" + +"Oh, amend the Fugitive-Slave Law. Try the cases by jury. Let slavery +alone to cure itself, as it would in time. It would if we let it alone." + +"And Kansas?" asked Leila. + +"Oh, Douglas is right, but his view of the matter will never satisfy the +South nor the extreme men at the North. My dear Leila, the days are dark +and will be darker, and worst of all they really think we are afraid." +His face grew stern. "I hate to talk about it. Have you heard from John +lately?" + +"Yes, only last week." + +"And you write to him, of course?" + +"Yes, I answer his letters. Aunt Ann writes every Sunday. Are things +better at the mills?" + +"Rather. Now for a gallop--it puts me always in a more hopeful humour. +Don't let your aunt overwork you, Leila; she will." + +"She can't, Uncle Jim." It was true. Leila gently rebelled against +incessant good works--sewing-classes for the village girls, Sunday +school, and the endless errands which left no time for books. Her +occasional walks with Marks Rivers enabled her to form some clear idea of +the difference of opinion which so sharply divided parties north of +Maryland. His own belief was that slavery was a sinful thing with which +there should be no truce and no patient waiting upon the influence of +time. He combated the Squire's equally simple creed--the unbroken union +of the States. She fought the rector hard, to his delight. Far more +pleasant on three afternoons in the week were the lessons in Italian with +her aunt, and Rivers's brilliant commentary on Dante. The months ran on +into and through the winter, with an economical Christmas to Ann's +regret. + + * * * * * + +As a rule the political contests of our country go on without deeply +affecting the peace of families. In the cotton States opinion was or had +to appear to be at one. In the North the bitterness and unreason of +limited groups of anti-slavery people excited the anger of men who saw in +their ways and speeches continual sources of irritation, which made all +compromise difficult. The strife of parties where now men were earnest as +they never were before since revolutionary days was felt most seriously +in the border States. + +"James," said Ann after breakfast, when Leila had gone to dress for a +ride, "I think I ought to tell you that I have had this morning letters +from both my brothers. I wrote, you know, asking them to bring the girls +to us. Leila is too much alone. They both decline. Charles has come out +for the Republicans, and now--it is too dreadful--they do not speak. +Charles tells me there is a strong minority with him and that the State +is not all for the South. I cannot believe it." + +"Indeed!" He was not altogether displeased. "I am sorry for you, Ann, as +their sister." + +"And as a man, you are not! Where will it all end? There is neither +charity nor reason at the North. I am disturbed for our country." + +"You ask where it will all end. Where will it end? God alone knows. Let +us at least wait quietly the course of events we cannot control. I at +least try to be reasonable." He left her standing in tears, for which he +had no comfort in thought or word. Over all the land, North and South, +there were such differences of opinion between wife and husband, +brothers, friends and kinsmen. As he stood at the door about to ride to +the mills he looked back and heard her delayed comment. + +"One moment, James--" + +"Oh, what is the matter?" cried Leila at the foot of the stairs. To see +Ann Penhallow in tears was strange indeed. + +Her uncle standing with his hand on his wife's shoulder had just spoken. +Turning to Leila, he said: "Your aunt and I have had some unpleasant news +from your uncles in Baltimore--a political quarrel." + +"I knew it in the spring, Uncle Jim." + +The girl's thoughtful reticence surprised him. Neither to him nor to Ann +had she said a word of this family feud. + +"Thank you, Leila," murmured her aunt. The Squire wondered why, as her +aunt added, "I am greatly troubled. We have always been a most united +family; but, dear, this--this has brought home to me, as nothing else +has, the breaking up of the ties which bound the South and North +together. It is only the sign of worse things to come." + +"But, Ann," said Penhallow, "I must say"--A sharp grip on his arm by +Leila's hand stopped him. He checked himself in time--"it is all very +sad, but neither you nor I can help it." + +"That is too true, James. I should not have said what I did. I want to +see one of the men at the mills. His children are ill, his wife is in +great distress." + +"I will drive you myself this morning. I will send Dixy away and order +the gig." + +"Thank you; I shall like that, James." + +Meanwhile Leila rode away, having in a moment of tactful interference +made her influence felt. She was well aware of it and smiled as she +walked her horse down the avenue, murmuring, + +"I suppose I shall catch it from Uncle Jim." And then, "No, he will be +glad I pinched him, but he did look cross for a moment." No word of the +family dissension reached John in their ever cheerful letters. + +On a wild windy afternoon in February, the snow falling heavily, Leila on +her way to the village rang at the Rector's door. Getting no answer, she +went in and passing through the front room knocked at the library door. + +"Come in." Rivers was at his table in a room littered with books and +newspapers. The gentle smile of his usual greeting was missing. She saw +at once that he was in one of his moods of melancholy--rare of late. Her +eyes quick to see when she was interested noted that where he sat there +was neither book nor paper in front of him. He rose as she entered, tall, +stooping, lean, and so thin-featured that his large eyes were the more +notable. + +"Aunt Ann has a cold, and Joe Grace was at the house to say that his +father is ill, and aunt wishes you to go with me and see what is wanted. +He has no way to send for the doctor; and so you see, as he is in bed, +you must go with me." + +"Oh, I saw him this morning. It is of no moment. I did what was needed." + +"But I have to see Mrs. Lamb too. Come for the walk. It is blowing a gale +and the snow is splendid--do come." + +Of late he had rarely walked with her. He hesitated. + +"Do come." + +"If I die of cold, Leila." + +"Die! You do not take exercise enough to keep your blood in motion. Come, +please!" + +He said no more except "Wait a moment," and returned fitly clad. A fury +of charging battalions of snow met them in the avenue. She faced it +gallantly, joyous and rosy. He bent to avoid the sting of the driven +snow, shivering, and more at ease when in the town the houses broke the +force of the gale. + +"You won't need to go to Grace's," he urged. + +"I am under orders. Don't you know Aunt Ann?" + +Presently plunging through the snow-drifts they came into the dreary +disordered back room which had so troubled Penhallow. It was cold with +that indoor cold which is so unpleasant. Joe Grace came in--a big +strapping young fellow. "I came from the farm and found father in bed and +no wood in the stack. Some one has just fetched a load." He began to +make a fire. + +"Go up to your father," said Rivers. "Make a fire in his room. You ought +to have come sooner. Oh, that poor helpless Baptist saint--there isn't +much wrong, but the man is half frozen--and it is so needless." + +"Come," said Leila. "Does he require anything?" + +"No, I saw to that." As he spoke, he piled log on log and warmed his long +thin hands. "Wait a little, Leila." She sat down, while the loose +casements rattled. + +"Leila," he said, "there is no chance to talk to you at Grey Pine. I am +troubled about these, my friends. What I now have of health and mental +wholesomeness in my life, I owe to them. I came hither a broken, hopeless +man. Now they are in trouble." She looked up at him in some surprise at +his confession. "I want to help them. Your uncle told me of your aunt's +new distress and the cause. Then I made him talk business, and asked him +to let me lend him thirty thousand dollars. He said no, but I did see how +it pleased him. He said that it would be lost. At all events his refusal +was decisive." + +"But," said Leila, increasingly surprised, "that was noble of you." + +"Nonsense, my dear Leila; I have more than I need--enough to help +others--and would still have enough." + +She had a feeling of astonishment at the idea of his being so well-off, +and now from his words some explanation of the mysterious aid which had +so helped at the mills and so puzzled Mrs. Ann. Why had he talked to her? +He himself could not have told why. As he stood at the fire he went on +talking, while she made her quick mental comments. + +"You call it noble. It is a rather strange thing; but to go to a friend +in financial despair with a cheque-book is a test of friendship before +which many friendships fail. Before my uncle left me rich beyond my +needs, I had an unpleasant experience on a small scale, but it was a +useful example in the conduct of life." He paused for a moment, and then +said, "I shall try the Squire again." + +"I think you will fail--I know Uncle Jim. But what you tell me--is it +very bad? I mean, is he--are the mills--likely to fail?" + +"That depends as I see it on the summer nominations and the fall +elections, and their result no one can predict. The future looks to me +full of peril." + +"But why?" she asked, and had some surprise when he said, "I have lived +in the South. I taught school in Macon. I know the South, its increasing +belief in the despotic power of cotton and tobacco, its splendid courage, +and the sense of mastery given by the ownership of man. Why do I talk my +despair out to a young life like yours? I suppose confession to be a +relief--the tears of the soul. I suppose it is easier to talk to a +woman." "Then why not to Aunt Ann?" thought Leila, as he went on to say, +"I have often asked myself why confession is such a relief." He smiled as +he added, "I wonder if St. Francis ever confessed to Monica." Then he was +silent, turning round before the fire, unwilling to leave it. + +Leila had been but recently introduced to the knowledge of St. Francis, +and was struck with the oddity of representing Monica; and the tall, +gaunt figure with the sad eyes, as the joyful St. Francis. + +"Now, I must go home," he said. + +"Indeed, no! You are to go with me to the post-office and then to see +Mrs. Lamb." + +He had some pleasant sense of liking to be ordered about by this young +woman. As they faced the snow, he asked, "How tall are you, Leila?" + +"Five feet ten inches and--to be accurate--a quarter. Why do you ask?" + +"Idle curiosity." + +"Curiosity is never idle, Mr. Rivers. It is industrious. I proved that in +a composition I wrote at school. It did bother Miss Mayo." + +"I should think it might," said Rivers. "Any letters, Mrs. Crocker?" + +"No, sir; none for Squire's folk. Two newspapers. Awful cold, Miss Leila. +Molasses so hard to-day, had to be chopped--" + +"Oh, now, Mrs. Crocker!" + +The fat post-mistress was still handling the pile of finger-soiled +letters. "Oh, there's one for Mrs. Lamb." + +"We are going there. I'll take it." + +"Thanks, miss. She's right constant in coming for letters, but the +letters they don't come, and now here's one at last." Leila tucked it +into her belt. "I tell you, Miss Leila, a post-office is a place to make +you laugh one day and cry the next. When you see a girl from the country +come here twice a week for maybe two months and then go away trying that +hard to make believe it wasn't of any account. There ought to be some one +to write 'em letters--just to say, 'Don't cry, he'll come.' It might be a +queer letter." + +Rivers wondered at the very abrupt and very American introduction of +unexpected sentiment and humour. + +"Let me know and I'll write them, Mrs. Crocker," cried Leila. She had the +very youthful reflection that it was odd for such a fat woman to be +sentimental. + +"I should like to open all the letters for a week, Mrs. Crocker," said +Rivers. + +"Wouldn't Uncle Sam make a row?" + +"He would, indeed!" + +"Idle curiosity," laughed Leila, as they went out into the storm. + +He made no reply and reflected on this young woman's developmental change +and the gaiety which he so lacked. + +Leila, wondering what Peter wrote to the lonely old widow, went to look +for her in the kitchen, while Rivers sat down in the neatly kept front +room. He waited long. At last Leila came out alone, and as they walked +away she said, "The letter was from Peter." + +"Indeed!" + +"Yes, I got it all out of her." + +"Got what?" + +"She gets three dollars a week from Aunt Ann and all her vegetables from +Aunt Ann, and she is all the time complaining to Uncle Jim. Then, of +course, Uncle Jim gives her more money--and Peter gets it--" + +"Where is he?" + +"Oh, in Philadelphia, and here and there." + +"You should tell the Squire." + +"No, I think not." + +"Perhaps--yes--perhaps you are right." And facing the wild norther she +left him at his door and went homewards with a new burden of thought on +her mind. + +The winter broke up and late in May Penhallow left home on business. He +wrote from Philadelphia: + +"My dear Ann: Trade is dead, money still locked up, and the railways +hesitating to give orders for much-needed rails. I have one small order, +which will keep us going, but will hardly pay. + +"I never talk of the political disorder, but now you will feel as I do a +certain dismay at the action of the Vicksburg Convention in the interest +of the slave States. Not all were represented--Tennessee and Florida +voted against the resolution that all State and Federal laws prohibiting +the African slave trade ought to be repealed. South Carolina to my +surprise divided its vote; there were forty for, nineteen against this +resolution. It seems made to exasperate the North and build up the +Republican party. I who am simply for the Union most deeply regret this +action. + +"I want Leila to meet me here to-day week. We will take the steamer and +go to West Point, let her see the place, and bring John home for his +month of furlough. + +"I have talked here to the Mayor and other moderate Union men, and find +them more hopeful than I of a peaceful ending. + +"Yours always, + +"JAMES PENHALLOW." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +When Leila sat upon the upper deck of the great Hudson River steamer, she +was in a condition of excitement natural to an imaginative nature unused +to travel. Her mind was like a fresh canvas ready for the hand of the +artist. She was wondering at times what John Penhallow would look like +after over two years of absence and hardly heard the murmur of talk +around her, and was as unconscious of the interested glances of the young +men attracted by the tall figure standing in the bow as the great river +opened before her. + +"That," said her uncle, "is Weehawken. There--just there--Hamilton was +killed by Burr, and near by Hamilton's son four years before was killed +in a duel--a political quarrel." She knew the sad story well, and with +the gift of visualization saw the scene and the red pistol-flashes which +meant the death of a statesman of genius. + +"And there are the palisades, Leila." The young summer was clothing the +banks with leafage not yet dark green, and translucent in the morning +sun. No railroads marred the loveliness of the lawns on the East bank, +and the grey architecture of the palisades rose in solemn grandeur to +westward. + +"It is full of history, Leila. There is Tarrytown, where André was +taken." She listened in silence. The day ran on--the palisades fell away. +"Dobbs's Ferry, my dear;" and pointing across the river, "on that hill +André died." + +Presently the mountains rose before them, and in the afternoon they drew +up at the old wharf. "We stay at Cozzen's Hotel, Leila. I will send on +the baggage and we will walk up to the Point." + +She hardly heard him. A tall young man in white pantaloons and blue +jacket stood on the pier. "Good gracious, Uncle Jim, it is John!" A +strange sense of disappointed remembrance possessed her. The boy playmate +of her youth was gone. He gave both hands of welcome, as he said, "By +George, Leila, I am glad to see you." + +"You may thank uncle for our visit. Aunt Ann was not very willing to part +with me." + +He was about to make the obvious reply of the man, but refrained. They +talked lightly of the place, of her journey, and at last he said very +quietly, even coldly, as if it were merely a natural history observation, +"You are amazingly grown, Cousin Leila. It is as well for cadets and +officers that your stay is to be brief." + +"John, I have been in Baltimore. You will have to put it stronger than +that--I am used to it." + +"I will see if I can improve on it, Leila." + +Now this was not at all the way she meant to meet him, nor these the +words they meant to use--or rather, she--for John Penhallow had given it +no thought, except to be glad as a child promised a gift and then +embarrassed into a word of simple descriptive admiration. When John +Penhallow said, with a curious gravity and a little of his old formal +manner, "I will reflect on it," she knew with the quick perception of her +sex that here was a new masculine study for the great naturalist woman. +The boy--the lad--she knew were no more. + +"Who is that with Uncle James?" she asked. + +"The Commandant." + +"My niece, Miss Grey. Colonel Beauregard, my dear. Let us walk up to the +Point." The Commandant, who made good his name, took possession of the +delighted young woman and carried her away to his home with Penhallow, +leaving the cadet to return to his routine of duty. As they parted, he +said, "I am set free to-morrow, Leila, at five, and excused from the +afternoon parade. If you and Uncle Jim will walk up to Port Putnam, I +will join you." + +"I will tell Uncle Jim. You will be at the hop of course? I have been +thinking of nothing else for a week." + +"I may be late." + +"Oh, why?" + +"We are in the midst of our examinations. Even to get time for a walk +with you and uncle was hard. I wrote Uncle Jim not to come now. He must +have missed it." + +"And so I am to suffer." + +"I doubt the anguish," he returned, laughing, as he touched his cap, and +left her to brief consideration of the cadet cousin. + +"Uncle Jim might have been just like that--looked like that. They are +very unlike too. I used to be able to tell just what Jack would do when +we were children--don't think I can now. How tall he is and how handsome. +The uniform is becoming. I wonder if I too am so greatly changed." + +It is well here to betray the secrets of the novelists' confessional. +Leila Grey had seen in the South much of an interesting society where +love affairs were brief, lightly taken, easily ended, or hardly more than +the mid-air flirtations of butterflies. No such perilous approaches to +the most intimate relations of men and women were for this young woman, +on whom the love and tactful friendship of the married life of Grey Pine +had left a lasting impression. One must have known her well to become +aware of the sense of duty to her ideals which lay behind her alert +appearance of joyous gaiety and capacity to see the mirthful aspects of +life. Once long ago the lad's moment of passionate longing had but +lightly stirred the dreamless sleep of unawakened power to love. Even the +memory of John's boy-folly had faded with time. Her relation to him had +been little more than warm friendship. Even that tie--and she was +abruptly aware of it--had become less close. She was directly conscious +of the fact and wondered if this grave young man felt as she did. She lay +awake that night and wondered too if his ideals of heroism and ambition +were still actively present, and where too was his imagination--ever on +the wing and far beyond her mental flight? She also had changed. Did he +know it or care? Then she dismissed him and fell asleep. + +As John Penhallow near to noon came out a little weary and anxious from +the examination ordeal, he chanced on his uncle and Leila waiting with +the officer of the day, who said to him, "After dinner you are free for +the rest of the afternoon. Mr. Penhallow has asked me to relieve you." + +As he bade them good-morning, his uncle said, "How goes the examination?" + +"Don't ask me yet, sir; but I cannot go home until the end of next week. +Then I shall know the result." + +"But what examination remains?" persisted the Squire. + +"Don't ask him, Uncle Jim." + +"Well--all right." + +"Thank you, Leila. I am worn out. I am glad of a let-up. I dream +equations and pontoon bridges--and I must do some work after dinner. Then +I will find you and Uncle Jim on Fort Putnam, at five." + +"I want to talk with Beauregard," said Penhallow, "about the South. Leila +can find her way." + +"I can," she said. "I want to sketch the river, and that will give me +time." + +"Oh, there goes the dinner call. Come in at a quarter to one with Uncle +Jim. I have leave to admit you. There will be something to interest you." + +"And what, John--men eating?" + +"No. One of my best friends, Gresham from South Carolina, has been +ordered home by his father." + +"And why?" asked Penhallow. + +"Oh, merely because his people are very bitter, and, as he tells me, they +write about secession as if it were merely needed to say to the North 'We +mean to cut loose'--and go; it is just to be as simple as 'Good-bye, +children.' I think I wrote you, uncle, that we do not talk politics here, +but this quiet assumption of being able to do with us what they please is +not the ordinary tone of the Southern cadets. Now and then there is +a row--" + +Leila listened with interest and some presently gratified desire to hear +her cousin declare his own political creed. She spoke, as they stood +beside the staff from which the flag was streaming in the north wind, +"Would it not be better, John, as Mr. Rivers desires, to let the Southern +States go in peace?" As she spoke, she was aware of something more than +being merely anxious that he should make the one gallant answer to the +words that challenged opinion. The Squire caught on to some comprehension +of the earnestness with which she put the question. + +To his uncle's surprise, the cadet said, "Ah, my dear Leila, that is +really asking me on which side I should be if we come to an open +rupture." + +"I did not mean quite that, John, and I spoke rather lightly; but you do +not answer." + +He somewhat resented this inquisition, but as he saw his uncle turn, +apparently expectant, he said quietly and speaking with the low voice +which may be so surpassingly expressive, "I hardly see, Leila, why +you put such a question to me here under the flag. If there is to be +war--secession, I shall stand by the flag, my country, and an unbroken +union." The young face flushed a little, the mouth, which was of singular +beauty, closed with a grip on the strong jaw. Then, to Leila's surprise, +the Captain and John suddenly uncovered as music rang out from the +quarters of the band. + +"Why do you do that, Uncle Jim?" + +"Don't you hear, Leila? It is the 'Star Spangled Banner'--we all +uncover." Here and there on the parade ground, far and near, officers, +cadets and soldiers, stood still an instant bareheaded. + +"Oh," murmured Leila. "How wonderful! How beautiful!" Surprised at the +effect of this ceremonial usage upon herself, she stood a moment with +that sense of constriction in the throat which is so common a signal of +emotion. The music ceased, and as they moved on Penhallow asked, "What +about Gresham, your friend?" + +"Oh, you know, uncle, when a cadet resigns for any cause which involves +no dishonour, we have a little ceremony. I want you to see it. No college +has that kind of thing. Don't be late. I will join you in time." + +The captain and Leila attracted much attention from the cadets at dinner +in the Mess Hall. "Now, dear, look!" said Penhallow. At the end of the +long table a cadet rose--the captain of the corps in charge of the +battalion. There was absolute silence. The young officer spoke: + +"You all know that to our regret one of us leaves to-day. Mr. Gresham, +you have the privilege of calling the battalion to attention." + +A slightly built young fellow in citizen's dress rose at his side. For a +moment he could not fully command his voice; then his tones rang clear: +"Most unwillingly I take my farewell. I am given the privilege of those +who depart with honour. Battalion! Attention! God bless you! Good-bye!" + +The class filed out, and lifting the departing man on their shoulders +bore him down to the old south dock and bade him farewell. + +Penhallow looked after them. "There goes the first, Leila. There will be +more--many more--to follow, unless things greatly change--and they will +not. I hoped to take John home with us, but he will come in a week. I +must leave to-morrow morning. John is in the dumps just now, but +Beauregard has only pleasant things to say of him. I wish he were as +agreeable about the polities of his own State." + +"Are they so bad?" + +"Don't ask me, Leila." + +The capital of available energy in the young may be so exhausted by +mental labour, when accompanied by anxiety, that the whole body for a +time feels the effect. Muscular action becomes overconscious, and intense +use of the mind seems to rob the motor centres of easy capacity to use +the muscles. John Penhallow walked slowly up the rough road to where the +ruined bastions of Port Putnam rose high above the Hudson. He was aware +of being tired as he had not been for years. The hot close air and the +long hours of concentration of mind left him discouraged as well as +exhausted. He was still in the toils of the might-have-been, of that +wasting process--an examination, and turning over in his mind logistics, +logarithms, trajectories, equations, and a mob of disconnected questions. +"Oh, by George!" he exclaimed, "what's the worth while of it?" All the +pleasantly estimated assets of life and love and friendship became +unavailable securities in the presence of a mood of depression which came +of breathing air which had lost its vitalizing ozone. And now at a turn +in the road nature fed her child with a freshening change of horizon. + +Looking up he saw a hawk in circling flight set against the blue sky. He +never saw this without thinking of Josiah, and then of prisoned things +like a young hawk he had seen sitting dejected in a cage in the barracks. +Did he have dreams of airy freedom? It had affected him as an image of +caged energy--of useless power. With contrasted remembrance he went +back to the guarded procession of boys from the lyceum in France, the +flower-stalls, and the bird-market, the larks singing merrily in their +small wicker cages. Yes, he had them--the two lines he wanted--a poet's +condensed statement of the thought he could not fully phrase: + +Ah! the lark! +He hath the heaven which he sings,-- +But my poor hawk hath only wings. + +The success of the capture of this final perfection of statement of his +own thought refreshed him in a way which is one of the mysteries of that +wild charlatan imagination, who now and then administers tonics to the +weary which are of inexplicable value. John Penhallow felt the sudden +uplift and quickened his pace until he paused within the bastion lines of +the fort. Before him, with her back to him, sat Leila. Her hat lay beside +her finished sketch. She was thinking that John Penhallow, the boy +friend, was to-day in its accepted sense but an acquaintance, of whom she +desired, without knowing why, to know more. That he had changed was +obvious. In fact, he had only developed on the lines of his inherited +character, while in the revolutionary alterations of perfected womanhood +she had undergone a far more radical transformation. + +The young woman, whom now he watched unseen, rose and stood on the +crumbling wall. A roughly caressing northwest wind blew back her skirts. +She threw out her wide-sleeved arms in exultant pleasure at the +magnificence of the vast river, with its forest boundaries, and the +rock-ribbed heights of Crow's Nest. As she stood looking "taller than +human," she reminded him of the figure of victory he had seen as a boy +on the stairway of the Louvre. He stood still--again refreshed. The +figure he then saw lived with him through life, strangely recurrent in +moments of peril, on the march, or in the loneliness of his tent. + +"Good evening," he said as he came near. She sat down on the low wall and +he at her feet. "Ah, it is good to get you alone for a quiet talk, +Leila." + +She was aware of a wild desire to lay a hand among the curls his +cadet-cropped hair still left over his forehead. "Do you really like the +life here, John?" + +"Oh, yes. It is so definite--its duties are so plain--nothing is left to +choice. Like it? Yes, I like it." + +"But, isn't it very limited?" + +"All good education must be--it is only a preparation; but one's +imagination is free--as to a man's future, and as to ambitions. There +one can use one's wings." + +She continued her investigation. "Then you have ambitions. Yes, you must +have," she cried with animation. "Oh, I want you to have them--ideals too +of life. We used to discuss them." + +He looked up. "You think I have changed. You want to know how. It is all +vague--very vague. Yet, I could put my creed of what conduct is desirable +in life in a phrase--in a text." + +"Do, John." She leaned over in her interest. + +"Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's and to God the things +which are God's." The seriousness of the upturned face for a moment kept +her silently reflective. + +"Caesar! What of Caesar, John?" + +"My country, of course; that is simple. The rest, Leila, covers +all--almost all of life and needs no comment. But how serious we are. +Tell me all about home and the village and the horses and Uncle Jim. +He has some grey hairs." + +"He may well have grey hairs, John. The times are bad. He is worried. +Imagine Uncle Jim economical!" + +"Incredible." + +"Yes. He told me that his talk with Colonel Beauregard had made him +despair of a peaceful ending, and usually he is hopeful." + +"Well, don't make me talk politics. We rarely do. Isn't this outlook +beautiful? People rarely come here and it often gives me a chance to be +alone and to think." + +"And what do you think about, John?" She was again curious. + +"Oh, many things, big and little. Uncle Jim, Aunt Ann, Mr. Rivers, +Dixy--hornets, muskrats," he laughed. She noted the omission of Leila +Grey. + +"And what else?" + +"Oh, the tragedy of Arnold,--the pathos of Washington's despair,--his +words, 'Who is there now I can trust?'" + +"It came home to me, John, this morning when Colonel Beauregard showed us +the portraits of the major-generals of the Revolution. I saw a vacant +place and a tablet like the rest, but with 'Major General--Born 1740' and +no name! I asked what it meant. The Colonel said only, 'Arnold.' That is +too pitiful--and his wife--I read somewhere that she was young, +beautiful, and innocent of his horrible treason." + +"Yes, what crime could be worse than his, and, too, such a gallant +soldier. Let us walk around the fort. Oh, by the way, I found here last +week two Continental buttons, Third Pennsylvania Infantry. Like to have +them, Leila? I thought you might." + +"Would I like?" She took them eagerly. "They ought to be gilded and used +as sleeve-links." But where she kept them John Penhallow never knew. They +did not make the sleeve-links for which she agreed they were so suitable. + +"Isn't there a walk down through the woods?" asked Leila. + +"Yes, this way." Leaving the road they followed a rough trail through the +woods to a more open space half-way down the hill. Here he paused. "This +is our last chance to talk until I am at Grey Pine." + +"That will be very soon, John." She sat down amid numberless violets, +adding, "There will be the hop to-night, as you call it." + +"Yes, the hop. I forgot. You will give me the first dance?" + +To her surprise he asked no others. "Cadets have to learn to dance, but +Baltimore may have left you critical." + +Still on her investigation track, she returned, "Oh, Baltimore! It seems +odd to me that I should have seen so much of the world of men and women +and you who are older so little in this military monastery." + +He laughed outright. "We have the officers' families, and if we are +allowed to visit, the Kembles and Gouverneurs and Pauldings across the +river--no better social life anywhere. And as for young women--sisters, +cousins--_embarras de choix_, Miss Grey. They come in flocks like the +blackbirds. I assure you that this branch of natural history is pretty +well illustrated at the Point. We are apt to be rather over-supplied in +June." + +"Indeed!--all sorts, I suppose." + +"Yes, a variety, and just now three charming young women from the South." + +"Rather a strong adjective--charming. I might hesitate to apply it to a +whole flock. I think men are more apt to use it than women." + +"I stand by my adjective. Take care of your laurels, Miss Grey. I am +lucky enough to have two dances with Miss Ramsay. Her brother is a +cadet." + +"Introduce him to me. What myriads of violets!" + +"Do you remember how, when we were small, we used to fight violets?" + +"How long ago it seems, John. It must have been the first June after you +appeared in that amazing cap and--the cane I have it yet. Let's fight +violets. It may have a charm to make me look young again--I feel so old +sometimes." + +Intent on her game, she was already gathering the flowers in her lap, +while the young man a little puzzled and a little amused watched the face +which she described for his benefit as needing to look young. She ran on +gaily, "You will pick five and I will pick five. I never heard of any +other children fighting violets. It is a neglected branch of education. I +got it from the Westways children. Now, fair play, John Penhallow." He +was carelessly taking his five violets, while Leila was testing hers, +choosing them with care. The charm she sought was working--they were +children again. + +"That's not fair, Leila." + +"Why not?" + +"You are testing yours. It is a mean advantage. I would scorn to do such +a thing. It is just like a woman--the way you do about dress. All women +ought to dress alike--then the competition would be fair." + +Leila looked up from her lap full of violets. "I should like to see +_your_ Miss Ramsay in one of my gowns." + +"_My_ Miss Ramsay! No such luck." + +"You're a goose, Jack." + +"You're a silly, Leila." + +"Oh, now, we are children, John. This is the magic of the June violets." + +"And you are just fourteen, Leila. The wrinkles of age are gone--they +used to be dimples." + +"Nonsense! Let's play." + +They hooked together the bent stems of the flowers. Then there was a +quick jerk, and one violet was decapitated. "One for you, Leila;--and +another." + +"You are not paying any attention to the game. Please to keep young a +little while." He was watching the sunlight as it fell upon her neck when +it bent over the flowers. + +"And how am I to keep young, Miss Grey?" + +"Oh, any woman can answer that--ask Miss Ramsay." + +"I will. There! you have won, Leila, three to two. There used always to +be a forfeit. What must I pay?" + +"Now, John, what terrible task shall I put upon you? I have it. You shall +ask me to give you the third dance." + +"That is Miss Ramsay's. I am sorry." + +"Oh, one girl is as good as another." + +"Perhaps--for women." He did not ask of her any other dances. "But +really, Leila, the better bred of these Southern girls we see here are +most pleasant acquaintances, more socially easy of acquaintance than +Northern girls. As they are butterflies of the hour--their frank ways are +valuable in what you call our monastery." + +"Yes, I know them well. There may be time here for some brief +flirtations. I used to see them in Maryland, and once when Aunt Margaret +took me on visits to some old Virginia homes. These pleasant girls take +to it with no more conscience than birds in the spring. I used to see it +in Maryland." + +"Oh, yes," he said, "but it means very little;--quite harmless--mere +practice, like our fencing bouts." + +"Did you ever kiss a woman, John--just for practice?" "Why did I say +that!" thought Leila. "Come, sir, confess!" + +"Yes," he said, not liking it and far from any conception of the little +mob of motives which betrayed to her a state of mind he had not the +daring to guess. "Did I? That requires courage. Have I--ever kissed a +woman? Yes, often--" + +"Oh, I did not ask who." + +"Aunt Ann--and a girl once--" + +"Indeed!" + +"Yes--Leila Grey, aged fifteen--and got my ears boxed. This confession +being at an end, I want absolution." The air was cleared. + +"How about the first polka as absolution?" said Leila. + +"It is unusual, but as penance it may answer." + +"The penance may be mine. I shall know better after the first round, Mr. +Penhallow." + +"You are complimentary, Miss Grey," he added, with the whimsical display +of mirth which was more than a smile and not a laugh, and was singularly +attractive. + +In place of keeping up the gay game of trifles as shuttle-cocks, Leila +stood still upon the edge of the wood, "I don't think you liked what I +asked." + +"What, about kissing? I did not, but upon my honour I answered you +truly." He was grave as he replied. + +"You did not think it impertinent, Jack?" + +"I don't know what I thought it." And then, as if to avoid need to defend +or explain contradictory statements, he said, "Put yourself in my place. +Suppose I had dared to ask you if ever a man had kissed you--" + +"Oh, that's the difference between kissing and being kissed." + +"Then put it my way." + +"John Penhallow, I should dearly like to box your ears. Once a man did +kiss me. He was tall, handsome, and had the formal courtly manners you +have at times. He was General Winfield Scott. He kissed my hand." + +"You minx!" cried John, "you are no better than you used to be. There +goes the bugle!" And laughing as he deserted her, he ran down the hill +and across the parade ground. + +"He is not really handsome," said the young woman, "but no man ought to +have so beautiful a mouth--I could have made him do it in a minute. Why +did I not? What's the matter? I merely couldn't. He hasn't the remotest +idea that if he were to kiss me--I--" She reddened at the thought and +went with quick steps of "virgin liberty" to take tea with the +Commandant. + +In New York, on his way home, Penhallow received a telegram, "I am third. +John Penhallow." Then the Squire presented Leila with a bracelet, to the +belated indignation of Aunt Ann, who was practising the most disagreeable +economy. Her husband wrote her that the best policy for a man financially +in peril was to be extravagant enough to discredit belief in his need to +lessen expenditure. He was, moreover, pleasantly aware that the improving +conditions of trade this summer of 1859 had enabled him to collect some +large outstanding debts. He encouraged Leila to remember their old +village friends, but when he proposed a set of furs for Ann Penhallow's +winter wear Leila became ingeniously impossible about choice, and the +Squire's too lavish generosity somehow failed to materialize; but why or +how was not clear to him because of their being feminine diplomatic +ways--which attain results and leave with the male a mildly felt +resentment without apparent cause of defeat. + +As Cadet No. 3 of his class in this year's studies made the railway +journey of a warm June day, he recalled with wondering amusement his +first lonely railway travel. "I was a perfect little snob." The formal, +too old-mannered politeness of his childhood had left, if the child is +father of the man, an inheritance of pleasant courtesy which was unusual +and had varied values in the intercourse of life. Rivers said of him +later that the manner of John Penhallow's manners had the mystery of +charm. Even when younger, at Grey Pine, he liked to talk to people, with +curiosity about their lives and their work. Now, as the train moved on, +he fell into chat with the country folk who got on the train for short +travel. Soon or late they all talked politics, but 'generally guessed +things would be settled somehow'--which is the easily reached conclusion +of the American. When the old conductor, with the confidence John's +manner invited, asked what uniform he wore, John said, laughing, "Do you +not remember the boy with a cane who got out at Westways Crossing?" + +"You ain't him--?? not really? Why it's years ago! You are quite a bit +changed." + +"For the better, I hope." + +"Well, here's your station, and Miss Grey waiting." + +"Oh, John, glad to see you! I told aunt no one must go for you but me. +Get in. And Billy, look out how you drive." + +Billy, bewildered by the tall figure in cadet jacket and grey pantaloons, +needed the warning. + +Then there was the avenue, the big grey pine, home, and Aunt Ann's kiss +of welcome. The old familiar life was again his. He rode with the Squire +or Leila, swam, and talked to Rivers whenever he could induce the too +easily tired man to walk with him. He was best pleased to do so when +Leila was of the party. Then at least the talk was free and wandered from +poetry and village news to discussion of the last addition to the causes +of quarrel between the North and South. When tempted to speak at length, +Rivers sat down. + +"How can a man venture to speak, John, like Mr. Jefferson Davis? Have you +read his speech?" + +"No, sir." + +"Well, he says the importation of Africans ought to be left to the +States--and the President. He thinks that as Cuba is the only spot in the +civilized world where the African slave-trade is permitted, its cession +to us would put an end to that blot on civilization. An end to it, +indeed! Think of it!" His voice rose as he spoke. "End slavery and you +end that accursed trade. And to think that a woman like Ann Penhallow +should think it right!" Neither John nor Leila were willing to discuss +their aunt's definitely held views. + +"I think," said Leila, who had listened silently, "Aunt Ann has lost or +put aside her interest in politics." + +"I wish I could," said John. "But what do you mean, Leila? She has never +said so." + +"It's just this. Aunt Ann told me two weeks ago that Uncle Henry Grey was +talked of as a delegate to the Democratic Convention to meet next year. +Now her newspapers remain unopened. They are feeding these dissensions +North and South. No wonder she is tired of it all. I am with Uncle Jim, +but I hate to wrangle over politics like Senator Davis and this new man +Lincoln--oh, and the rest. No good comes of it. I can't see it as you do, +Mr. Rivers." + +"And yet, I am right," said Rivers gravely. "God knows. It is in His +hands." + +"What Aunt Ann thinks right," said Leila, "can't be so unpardonably +wicked." She spoke softly. "Oh, John, look at that squirrel. She is +carrying a young one on her back--how pretty! She has to do it. What a +lovely instinct. It must be heavy." + +"I suppose," said Rivers, "we all have loads we must carry, are born to +carry--" + +"Like the South, sir," said John. "We can help neither the squirrel nor +the South. You think we can throw stones at the chipmunk and make her +drop it--and--" + +"Bad logic, John," returned Rivers. "But soon there will be stones +thrown." + +"And who will cast the first stone?" rejoined Leila, rising. + +"It is an ancient crime," said Rivers. "It was once ours, and it will +be ours to end it. Now I leave you to finish your walk; I am tired." As +they moved away, he looked after them. "Beauty, intelligence, perfect +health--oh, my God!" + +In August with ever resisted temptation John Penhallow went back to West +Point to take up his work again. + +The autumn came, and in October, at night, the Squire read with dismay +and anger of the tragic attempt of John Brown at Harper's Ferry. "My poor +Ann," he exclaimed. He went at once from his library back to the hall, +where Leila was reading aloud. "Ann," he said, "have you seen the papers +to-day?" + +"I have read no paper for a month, James. They only fill me with grief +and the sense of how helpless I am--even--even--with those I love. What +is it now, James?" + +"An insane murderer named John Brown has made an attack on Harper's Perry +with a dozen or so of infatuated followers." He went on to tell briefly +the miserable story of a madman's folly. + +"The whole North is mad," said Ann, not looking up, but knitting faster +as she spoke, "mad--the abolitionists of Boston are behind it." It was +too miserably true. "Thank you, James, for wanting to make me see in this +only insanity." + +The Squire stood still, watched by the pitiful gaze of Leila. "I want +you, Ann--I wanted you to see, dear, to feel how every thoughtful man in +the North condemns the wickedness of this, and of any, attempt to cause +insurrection among the slaves." + +"Yes--yes, of course--no doubt--but it is the natural result of Northern +sentiment." + +"Oh, Aunt Ann!" + +"Keep quiet, child!" + +"You should not have talked politics to me, James." + +"But, my God, Ann, this is not politics!" He looked down at her +flushed face and with the fatal newspaper in his hand stood still a +moment, and then went back to his library. There he stayed before the +fire, distressed beyond measure. "Just so," he said, "the South will +take it--just so." + +Ann Penhallow said, "Where did you leave off, Leila? Go on, my dear, with +the book." + +"I can't. You were cruel to Uncle Jim--and he was so dear and sweet." + +"If you can't read, you had better go to bed." Leila broke into tears and +stumbled up the stairs with half-blinded eyes. + +Ann sat long, hearing Penhallow's steps as he walked to and fro. Then she +let fall her knitting, rose, and went into the library. + +"James, forgive me. I was unjust to say such things--I was--" + +"Please don't," he cried, and took her in his arms. "Oh, my love," he +said, "we have darker days than this before us. If only there was between +North and South love like ours--there is not. We at least shall love on +to the end--no matter what happens." + +The tearful face looked up, "And you do forgive me?" "Forgive! There +is no need for any such word in the dictionary of love." Between +half-hysterical laughter and ready tears, she gasped, "Where did you +get that prettiness?" + +"Read it in a book, you goosey. Go to bed." + +"No, not yet. This crime or craze will make mischief?" + +"Yes, Ann, out of all proportion to the thing. The South will be in a +frenzy, and the North filled with regret and horror. Now go to bed--we +have behaved like naughty children." + +"Oh, James, must I be put in a corner?" + +"Yes--of my heart. Now, good night." + +November passed. The man who had sinned was fairly tried, and on December +2nd went to a well-deserved death. Penhallow refused to talk of him to +Rivers, who praised the courage of his last hours. + +"Mark," he said, "have been twice or thrice sure I was to die--and I +have seen two murderers hanged, and I do assure you that neither they +nor I were visibly disturbed. The fact is, when a fellow is sure to be +put to death, he is either dramatic--as this madman was--or quietly +undemonstrative. Martyr! Nonsense! It was simply stupid. I don't want +to talk about it. Those mischief-makers in Congress will howl over it." +They did, and secession was ever in the air. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +The figure of Lincoln had been set on the by-ways of State politics by +his debate with Douglas. His address in New York in February of 1860 set +him on the highways of the nation's life. Meanwhile there were no talks +about politics at Grey Pine. The Christmas Season had again gone by with +unwonted economies. + +While Douglas defined his opinions in the Senate and Jefferson Davis made +plain that the Union would be dissolved if a radical Republican were +elected, it became clear that the Democratic party which in April was to +nominate candidates would be other than of one mind. Penhallow in +Washington heard Seward in the Senate. Of this memorable occasion he +wrote with such enthusiasm to Leila as he rarely showed: + +"I may not write to your aunt, and I am moved to write to you by the +effect Mr. Seward's speech had on me. He is not much of a man in his +make-up. His voice is husky and his gestures are awkward and have no +relation to what he says. It seemed a dried-up sort of talk, but he held +the Senate and galleries to fascinated attention for two hours, and was +so appealing, so moderate. The questions at issue were handled with what +Rivers calls and never uses--the eloquence of moderation. I suppose he +will be the nominee of the Republican party. It won't please the +abolitionists at all. I wish you could have heard it. + +"I came here to see two Southern Senators who have been counsel for us in +regard to debts owing the mills by Southern railways. I gathered easily +that my well-known Republican views made collection difficult. I was +about to say something angry--it would have done no good, and I am +opposed to useless anger. It is all pretty bad, because the South has +hardly felt the panic, or its continued effect on our trade. + +"I am wrong to trouble you with my troubles. We shall pull through. + +"Yours, + +"JAMES PENHALLOW." + +"P.S. I should have been prepared for my failure to get fair treatment. +I had learned in New York that lists of abolition houses have been +published in the South, and Southern buyers warned not to place orders +with them. I wonder if I am thus listed. Our agent in Savannah writes +that it is quite useless to solicit orders on account of the prevalent +sentiment, and he is leaving the town." + +Penhallow went home disappointed and discouraged, and called a private +meeting of his Pittsburgh partners. He set before them the state of their +affairs. There would be no debts collectible in the South. He smiled as +he added that he had collected certain vague promises, which could hardly +be used to pay notes. These could and would be met, they said, but +finally agreed with him that unless they had other orders, it might be +necessary to further reduce their small force. His partners were richer +than he, but indisposed to take risks until the fall conventions were +over. It was so agreed. As they were leaving, Penhallow said, "But there +will be our workmen--what will become of them?" They were sure times +would get better, and did not feel his nearness of responsibility for +workmen he knew so long and so well. + +He rode home at a walk. The situation of his firm was like that of many +others, and now this April of 1860 business doubts, sectional feeling and +love of country seemed to intensify the interest with which all classes +looked forward to the Charleston Democratic Convention. + +The Convention met on April 23rd. It was grave and able. There were daily +prayers in the churches of Charleston for the success of Southern +principles. Henry Grey, a delegate, wrote to his sister: + +"The Douglas platform was adopted and at once the delegations of six +cotton States withdrew. We who cannot accept Douglas meet in Richmond. It +means secession unless the Republicans are reasonable when they nominate +in Chicago. Mr. Alexander Stephens predicts a civil war, which most men I +meet here consider very unlikely." + +Ann handed this letter to her husband, saying, "This will interest you." + +He read it twice, and then said, "There is at least one man in the South +who believes the North will fight--Stephens." + +"But will it, James?" A predictive spectre of fear rose before her. + +Slowly folding the letter he said, "Yes, the South does not know us." She +walked away. + +On May 16th the Republicans met in Chicago. The news of the nomination of +Lincoln came to the Squire as riding from the mills he met Dr. McGregor +afoot. + +"What, walking!" he said. "I never before saw you afoot--away from that +saint of a mare." + +"Yes, my old mare got bit by something yesterday and kicked the gig to +smithereens, and lamed her off hind-leg." + +"I will lend you a horse and a gig," said Penhallow. + +"Thanks," said McGregor simply. "I am sweating through my coat." + +"But don't leave my horse half a day tied to a post--any animal with +horse-sense would kick." + +"As if I ever did--but when the ladies keep me waiting. Heard the good +news? No--We have nominated Lincoln--and Hamlin." + +"I preferred Seward. You surprise me. What of the platform?" + +"Oh, good! The Union, tariff, free soil. You will like it. The October +elections in Pennsylvania will tell us who will win--later you will have +to take an active part." + +"No. Come up to-morrow and get that horse--No, I'll send it." + +The Squire met Rivers on the avenue. As he walked beside the horse, he +said, "I am going to dine with you." + +"That is always good, but be on your guard about politics at Grey Pine. +Lincoln is nominated." + +"Thank God! What do you think of it, Squire?" + +"I think with you. This is definite--no more wabbling. But rest assured, +it means, if he is elected, secession, and in the end war. We will try to +avert it. We will invent compromises, at which the South will laugh; at +last, we will fight, Mark. But we are a quiet commercial people and will +not fight if we can avoid it. They believe nothing will make us fight. +The average, every-day Northerner thinks the threat of secession is +mere bluff." + +"Do you recall, Squire, what Thucydides said of the Greeks at the time of +the Peloponnesian War?" + +"I--how the deuce should I?--what did he say?" + +"He said the Greeks did not understand each other any longer, although +they spoke the same language. The same words in Boston and in Charleston +have different meanings." + +"But," said Penhallow, "we never did understand one another." + +"No, never. War--even war--is better than to keep up a partnership in +slavery--a sleeping partnership. Oh, I would let them go--or accept the +gage of battle." + +"Pretty well that, for a clergyman, Mark. As for me, having seen war, I +want never to see it again. This may please you." As he spoke, he +extracted a slip of paper from his pocket-book, where to Leila's +amusement queer bits of all kinds of matters were collected. Now it was +verse. "Read that. You might have written it. I kept it for you. There is +Ann on the porch. Don't read it now." + +Late that evening Rivers sat down to think over the sermon of the next +Sunday. The Squire had once said to him, "War brings out all that is best +and all that is worst in a nation." He read the verses, and then read +them aloud. + +"They say that war is hell, the great accursed, + The sin impossible to be forgiven; +Yet I can look beyond it at its worst + And still find blue in Heaven. + +"And as I note how nobly natures form + Under the war's red reign, I deem it true +That He who made the earthquake and the storm + Perchance makes battles too. + +"The life He loves is not the life of span + Abbreviated by each passing breath; +It is the true humanity of man + Victorious over death." + +"No great thing in the way of poetry--but--a thought--a thought. Oh, I +should like to preach of men's duty to their country just now. I envy +Grace his freedom. If I preached as he does, people would say it was none +of a preacher's business to apply Christ's creed of conduct to a question +like slavery. Mrs. Penhallow would walk out of the church. But before +long men will blame the preacher who does not say, 'Thou shalt love thy +country as thyself'--ah, and better, yes, and preach it too." + +During the early summer of 1860, James Penhallow guarded an awkward +silence about politics. Leila found that her uncle would not talk of what +the closing months of Buchanan's administration might contribute to +insure peaceful settlement. John Penhallow was as averse to answering her +eager questions. Their silence on matters which concerned a nation's +possible dismemberment and her aunt's too evident distress weighed +heavily upon Leila. The newspapers bewildered her. The _Tribune_ was for +peaceful separation, and then later was against it. Uncle Jim had said he +was too worried about the mills to talk politics, "Don't ask me, Leila." +At last, an errand to Dr. McGregor's gave her the chance she desired. + +"Yes," said the doctor, "I'll come to-day. One of the maids? Well, what +else, Leila?" seeing that she still lingered. + +"I want to know something about all this tangle of politics. There's +Breckinridge, Douglas, Bell and Lincoln--four candidates. Uncle Jim gets +almost cross when I ask him what they all stand for. Mr. Rivers told me +to be thankful I have no vote. If there is to be war, have I no interest? +There is Uncle Jim--and--and John." + +The doctor said, "Sit down, Leila. Your uncle could answer you. He won't +talk. I don't believe John Penhallow owns any politics except a soldier's +blind creed of devotion to the Flag." + +"Oh, the Flag, Doctor! But it is a symbol--it is history. I won't write +to a man any more who has no certain opinions. He never answers." + +"Well, my dear, see how hard it is to know what to think! One State after +another is seceding. The old juggle of compromises goes on in that circus +we call Congress. The audience is grimly silent. Crittenden's compromise +has failed. The President is at last against secession--and makes no +vigorous effort to reinforce Fort Sumter. The Cabinet was distinctly with +the South--the new men came in too late. You--a girl--may well call it a +tangle. It is a diabolical cat's-cradle. My only hope, my dear, is in a +new and practically untried man--Abraham Lincoln. The South is one in +opinion--we are perplexed by the fears of commerce and are split. There +you have all my wisdom. Read the news, but not the weathercock essays +called editorials. Oh! I forgot to tell the Squire that Tom, my young +doctor, has passed the Army Board and is awaiting orders in Washington. +By-bye!" + +"Tom as a doctor--and in uniform," Leila murmured, as her horse walked +away. "How these boys go on and on, and we women just wait and wait while +men dispose of our fates." + +In February the Confederacy of the South was organising, and in March of +1861 Mr. Lincoln was President. Penhallow groaned over Cameron as +Secretary of War, smiled approval of the Cabinet with Seward and Chase +and anxiously waited to see what Lincoln would do. + +Events followed fast in those eventful days. On the thirteenth of April +Ann Penhallow sat in the spring sunshine on the porch, while Leila read +aloud to her with entranced attention "The Marble Faun." The advent of an +early spring in the uplands was to be seen in the ruddy colour of the +maples. Bees were busy among the young flowers. There was noiseless peace +in the moveless infant foliage. + +"How still it is!" said Leila looking up from the book. They were far +from the madding crowd. "What is it, Billy?" + +He was red, breathless, excited, and suddenly broke out in his thin +boy-like voice, "Hurrah! They've fired on the flag." + +"Who--what flag?" + +"Don't know." He had no least idea of what his words meant. "Don't know," +and crying "Hurrah! They've fired on the flag," fled away. + +Ann said, "Go to the village and find out what that idiot meant." + +In a half hour Leila came back. "Well, what is it?" + +"The Charleston troops have fired on Fort Sumter--My God! Aunt Ann--on +the flag--our flag!" + +Ann rose, gathered up her work, hesitated a moment, and saying, "That is +bad news, indeed," went into the house. + +Leila sat down on the step of the porch and broke into a passion of +tears, as James Penhallow coming through the woods dismounted at her +side. "What is the matter, my dear child?" + +"They have fired on the flag at Sumter--it is an insult!" + +"Yes, my child, that--and much more. A blunder too! Mr. Lincoln should +thank God to-day. He will have with him now the North as one man. Colonel +Anderson must surrender; he will be helpless. Alas for his wife, a +Georgia woman!--and my Ann, my dear Ann." + +There are few alive to-day who recall the effect caused in the States of +the North by what thousands of men and women, rich and poor, felt to be +an insult, and for the hour, far more to them than the material +consequences which were to follow. + +When Rivers saw the working people of the little town passionately +enraged, the women in tears, he read in this outbreak of a class not +given to sentimental emotion what was felt when the fatal news came home +to lonely farms or great cities over all the North and West. + +Memorable events followed in bewildering succession during the early +spring and summer of 1861. John wrote that Beauregard and all but a score +of Southern cadets had left the Point. Robert Lee's decision to resign +from the army was to the Squire far more sorrowfully important. + +When Lincoln's call to arms was followed in July by the defeat of Bull +Run, James Penhallow wrote to his nephew: + +"My Dear John: Your aunt is beyond measure disturbed. I have been more at +ease now that this terrible decision as to whether we are to be one or +God knows how many is to be settled by the ordeal of battle. I am amazed +that no one has dwelt upon what would have followed accepted secession. +We should have had a long frontier of custom houses, endless rows over +escaping slaves, and the outlet of the Mississippi in the possession of a +foreign country. Within ten years war would have followed; better let it +come now. + +"I am offered a regiment by Governor Curtin. To accept would be fatal to +our interests in the mills. It may become an imperative duty to accept; +but this war will last long, or I much underestimate the difficulties of +overcoming a gallant people waging a defensive war in a country where +every road and creek is familiar. + +"Yours, in haste, + +"JAMES PENHALLOW." + +John wrote later: + +"MY DEAR UNCLE: Here is news for you! All of my class are ordered to +Washington. I shall be in the engineer corps. I see General McClellan is +put in command of the army. I will write again from Washington." + +Ann Penhallow heard the letter, and saying merely, "It had to come!" made +the bitter forecast that it would be James Penhallow's turn next. + +John wrote again as he had promised, but now to Leila: + +"At last we are in this crowded city. We get our uniforms in a day or +two. I am a lieutenant of engineers. We are now in tents. On arrival we +were marched to General Scott's headquarters, and while drawn up in line +Mr. Lincoln came out. He said a few words to us. His appearance was +strange to me. A tall stooping figure, in what our village calls 'store +clothes,' but very neat; the face big, homely, with a look of sadness in +the eyes. He shook hands with each of us in turn, saying a word of +encouragement. Why he spoke specially to me, I do not know. He asked my +name. I said 'Penhallow.' 'Oh,' he said, 'a Cornish name--the great +iron-works. Do you know the Cornish rhyme? It rings right true.' I said, +'No, sir.' 'Well, it is good. Do your duty. There is a whole creed in the +word--man needs no other. God bless you, boys.' It was great, Leila. What +is the Cornish rhyme? Ask Uncle Jim. Write me care of the Engineer Camp. + +"I put this on a separate slip for you. In Baltimore we were delayed and +I had an hour's leave. I called on your uncle, Charles Grey. He is Union +through and through. His brother Henry has gone South. While I was +walking with Mr. Charles Grey, a lady went by us, drawing away her skirts +with quite unmistakable contempt and staring at your uncle in a way which +was so singular that I asked what it all meant. He replied, 'It is your +United States cadet uniform--and the lady is Mrs. Henry Grey. I am not of +their acquaintance.' This, Leila, was my first taste of the bitterness of +feeling here. It is the worse for the uprising of union feeling all over +Maryland. + +"My class-mates are rather jolly about their commissions and the prospect +of active war. I have myself a certain sense of being a mere cipher, a +dread too of failure. I can say so to you and to no one else. I am going +where death is in the air--and there are things which make me eager to +live--and--to be able to live to feel that I have done my duty. Thinking +of how intensely you feel and how you grieve over being unable to do more +than pray, I mean to pet a little the idea that I am your substitute." + +At this point she sat a while with the letter on her lap. Then +she read on: + +"I hoped for a brief furlough, but got none, and so I shall apply to +memory and imagination for frequent leave of absence,--from duty. + +"Yours, + +"JOHN PENHALLOW." + +"To pet a little the idea! That is so like John. Well, yes--I don't mind +being petted as a substitute and at a distance. It's rather confusing." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +It was late in October and ten at night, when Leila with her uncle was +endeavouring to discover on one of the large maps, then so much in +demand, the situation of the many small conflicts which local feeling +brought about. + +"It all wants a head--one head, Leila. Now it is here, there and +everywhere, useless gain or loss--and no large scheme. John left +Washington two weeks ago. You saw his letter?" + +"No." + +"Then I may have told you--I am sure I did. Damn it, Leila! I am so +bothered. I did tell Ann, I suppose." + +"Why, of course, Uncle Jim. I wish I could help you. Is it the mills?" + +"Yes. Your little property, part of John's--your aunt's--are all in the +family business. Ann says, 'What's the difference? Nothing matters now.' +It isn't like her." + +"I'm sure I don't care, Uncle Jim." + +"Don't talk nonsense. In a month we shall know if we are bankrupt. I did +not mean to trouble you. I did mean to tell you that to my relief John is +out of Washington and ordered to report to General Grant at Cairo. See, +dear, there is a pin marking it on the map." + +"Do you know this General?" + +"Yes. He took no special rank at the Point, but--who can tell! Generals +are born, not made. I saw a beautiful water-colour by him at the Point. +That's all I know of him. Now, go to bed--and don't take with you my +worries and fight battles in your dreams." + +There was in fact no one on whom he could willingly unload all of his +burdens. The need to relieve the hands out of work--two-thirds of his +force--was growing less of late, as men drifted off into the State force +which the able Governor Curtin was sending to McClellan. Penhallow's +friends in Pittsburgh had been able to secure a mortgage on Grey Pine, +and thus aided by his partners he won a little relief, while Rivers +watched him with increasing anxiety. + +On the 17th of January, 1862, he walked into McGregor's office and said +to his stout friend, "McGregor, I am in the utmost distress about my +wife. Inside my home and at the mills I am beset with enough difficulties +to drive a man wild. We have a meeting in half an hour to decide what we +shall do. I used to talk to Ann of my affairs. No one has or had a +clearer head. Now, I can't." + +"Why not, my friend?" + +"She will not talk. Henry Grey is in the Confederate service; Charles is +out and out for the Union; we have no later news of John. We miserably +sit and eat and manufacture feeble talk at table. It is pitiful. Her +duties she does, as you may know, but comes home worn out and goes to bed +at nine. Even the village people see it and ask me about her. If it were +not for Leila, I should have no one to talk to." + +A boy came in. "You are wanted, sir, at the mill office." + +"Say I will come at once. I'll see you after the meeting, McGregor." + +"One moment, Squire. Here's a bit of good news for you. Cameron has +resigned, and Edwin Stanton is Secretary of War." + +"Stanton! Indeed! Thank Heaven for that. Now things will move, I am +sure." + +The Squire found in his office Sibley, one of his partners, a heavy old +man, who carried the indifferent manners of a farmer's son into a middle +age of successful business. He sat with his chair tilted back, a huge +Cabana cigar hanging unlighted from the corner of his mouth. He made no +movement towards rising, but gave his hand as he sat, and said: "There, +Penhallow, just read that!" + +As the Squire took the telegram, Sibley scratched a match on the back of +his pantaloons and waiting for the sulphur to burn out lit his cigar. +Ever after the smell of sulphur brought to the Squire of Grey Pine the +sense of some pleasant association and then a less agreeable remembrance. + +"Read it--read it out loud, Penhallow! It was a near thing. Wardlow +couldn't meet us--be here at noon. Read it--I've read it about ten +times--want to hear it again. I've been as near broke as you--but that's +an old story. When you're at your last dollar, buy a fast pair of +trotters--one thousand-dollar pair--and drive them. Up goes your credit! +Told you that once." + +Penhallow looked up from the telegram. "Is this certain?" + +"Yes, it has been repeated--you can rely on it." + +"WASHINGTON, Willard's Hotel. + +"Mr. Stanton has given contract for field artillery to the Penhallow +Mills. + +"RICHARD AINSELEY." + +Penhallow had read it aloud as he stood. Then he sat down. + +"Don't speak to me for a moment, Sibley. Thank God!" he murmured, while +the care-wrinkled face of the veteran speculator looked at him with a +faint smile of affectionate regard. + +"Well," said Penhallow, "is this all?" + +"No. While Cameron was in office the contract was drawn in favour of the +Lancaster Works. We have been urging our own claims, and their Washington +agent, your very particular friend, Mr. Swallow, would have had the job +in a week more. When Stanton saw our bid and that it was really a more +advantageous offer, he sent first for Swallow and then for Ainseley +and settled it at once. I believe your name and well-known character did +the business. Do you know--do you realize what it means to us?" + +"Hardly. I had no hope while Cameron was in office. I left it to you and +Ainseley." + +"Well, you will see the contract to-morrow." He wriggled on to one leg of +the frail office chair and came down with a crash. He gathered up his two +hundred pounds and laughing said, as he looked at the wreck, "That's what +we would have been tomorrow but for that bit of yellow paper. In six +months you will be a rich man, my friend. Cannon--shells--the whole +outfit. We must get to work at once. An ordnance officer will be here +to-morrow with specifications, and your own knowledge will be invaluable. +I'd like to see Swallow again. He was so darned sure!" + +Wardlow turned up by the noon train, and they worked until dusk, when his +partners left him to secure hands in Pittsburgh, while the good news +spread among the men still at work. Penhallow rode home through the woods +humming his old army songs--a relieved and happy man. + +The Doctor waited a half-hour in vain, and after his noonday dinner was +about to go out when Mrs. Penhallow was driven to his door. Somewhat +surprised, he went back with her. + +"Sit down," he said. "What can I do for you?" + +"Oh, for me nothing! I want to talk about my husband. He is ill, I am +sure--he is ill. He eats little, he sleeps badly, he has lost--oh, +altogether lost--his natural gaiety. He hardly speaks at all." + +The Doctor was silent. + +"Well," she said. + +"Can you bear a little frank talk?" he asked. + +"Yes--why not?" + +"Do you know that he is on the verge of complete financial ruin?" + +"What does that matter? I can--I can bear anything--give up anything--" + +"You have the woman's--the good woman's--indifference about money. Do you +talk to him about it?" + +"No. We get on at once to the causes of trouble--this unrighteous +war--that I can't stand." + +"Ah, Mrs. Penhallow, there must be in the North and South many families +divided in opinion; what do you suppose they do? This absolute silence is +fatal. You two are drifting apart--" + +"Oh, not that! Surely not that!" + +"Yes! The man is worried past endurance. If he really were to fall ill--a +serious typhoid, for instance, the South and your brother and John, +everything would be forgotten--there would be only James Penhallow. It +would be better to talk of the war--to quarrel over it--to make him talk +business--oh, anything rather than to live as you are living. He is not +ill. Go home and comfort him. He needs it. He has become a lonely man, +and it is your fault. He was here to-day in the utmost distress about +you--" + +"About me?" + +"Yes." + +"There is nothing the matter with me!" + +"Yes, there is--oh, with both of you. This war will last for years--and +so will you. All I have to say is that my friend, James Penhallow, is +worth all the South, and that soon or late he will stand it no longer and +will go where he ought to be--into the army." + +"You are talking nonsense--he will never leave the mills." He had called +up her constant fear. + +"It is not nonsense. When he is a broken man and you and he are become +irritable over a war you did not make and cannot end, he will choose +absence and imperative duty as his only relief." + +As she stood up, red and angry, she said, "You have only hurt and not +helped me." She said no other word as he went with her to the wagon. He +looked after her a moment. + +"Well, well! There are many kinds of fools--an intelligent fool is the +worst. I didn't help her any, and by George! I am sorry." + +When at twilight the doctor came home from distant visits to farms, he +met Leila near to his door. "I want to see you a minute," she said, as +she slipped out of her saddle. + +"A woman's minute or a man's minute?" + +"A man's." + +She secured her mare as he said, "Well, come in. It's rather amusing, +Leila. Sit down. I've had James Penhallow here to say his wife's breaking +down. I've had Mrs. Penhallow here to say James Penhallow is ill. Except +the maids and the cats and you, all Grey Pine is diagnosing one another. +And now, you come! Don't tell me you're ill--I won't have it." + +"Please don't joke, Doctor. I am troubled about these dear people. I +talked to Mr. Rivers about it, and he is troubled and says it is the +mills and money. I know that, but at the bottom of it all is the war. Now +Aunt Ann is reading the papers again--I think it is very strange; it's +confusing, Doctor." + +"Here," reflected the doctor, "is at least one person with some sense." + +She went on, speaking slowly, "Uncle Jim comes home tired. Aunt Ann eats +her dinner and reads, and is in bed by nine. The house is as melancholy +as--I feel as if I were in a mousetrap--" + +"Why mouse-trap, my dear?" + +"It sounds all right. The mouse is waiting for something awful to +happen--and so am I. Uncle Jim talked of asking people to stay with us. +It's just to please Aunt Ann. She said, 'No, James, I don't want any +one.' He wished to please her. She really thinks of nothing but the war +and Uncle Jim, and when Uncle Jim is away she will spend an hour alone +over his maps. She has--what do you call it--?" + +"Is obsession the word you want?" + +"Yes--that's it." + +"Now, Leila, neither you nor I nor Mark Rivers can help those two people +we love. Don't cry, Leila; or cry if it will help you. When you marry, be +sure to ask, 'what are your politics, Jeremiah?'" His diversion answered +his purpose. + +"I never would marry a man named Jeremiah." + +"I recommend a well-trained widower." + +"I prefer to attend to my husband's education myself. I should like a man +who is single-minded when I marry him." + +"Well, for perversion of English you are quite unequalled. Go and flirt a +bit for relief of mind with Mark Rivers." + +"I would as soon flirt with an undertaker. Why not with Dr. McGregor?" + +"It would be comparable, Leila, to a flirtation between a June rose and a +frost-bitten cabbage. Now, go away. These people's fates are on the lap +of the gods." + +"Of the god of war, I fear," said Leila. + +"Yes, more or less." He sent her away mysteriously relieved, she knew not +why. "A little humour," he reflected, "is as the Indians say, _big +medicine_." + +Whether the good doctor's advisory prescription would have served +as useful a purpose in the case of Ann Penhallow, he doubted. That +heart-sick little lady was driven swiftly homeward, the sleigh-runners +creaking on the frozen snow: "Walk the horses," she said to Billy, as +they entered the long avenue, "and quit talking." + +While with the doctor and when angrily leaving him, she was the easy +victim of a storm of emotions. As she felt the healthy sting of the dry +cold, she began the process of re-adjustment we are wise to practise +after a time of passion when by degrees facts and motives begin to +reassume more just proportions. He had said, the war would last long. +That she had not believed. Could she and James live for years afraid to +speak of what was going on? The fact that her much-loved Maryland did not +rise as one man and join the Confederacy had disturbed her with her first +doubt as to the final result of the great conflict. She thought it over +with lessening anger at the terrible thing McGregor had said, "You two +are drifting apart." This sentence kept saying itself over and over. + +"Stop, Billy." She was back again in the world of everyday. "Get in, Mr. +Rivers. We are both late for our Dante." As she spoke, an oppressed pine +below which he stood under a big umbrella was of a mind to bear its load +no longer and let fall a bushel or so of snow on the clergyman's cover. +His look of bewilderment and his upward glance as if for some human +explanation routed from Ann's mind everything except amusement over this +calamity. + +"You must not mind if I laugh." She took for granted the leave to +laugh, as he said, "I don't see where the fun comes in. It is most +disagreeable." The eloquent eyes expressed calamity. It was really +felt as if it had been a personal attack. + +"It was a punishment for your utterly abominable politics." For the first +time for months she was her unfettered self. His mind was still on his +calamity. "I really staggered under it." + +"Shake it off and get in to the sleigh. My husband ought to have all the +big pines cut down." Rivers's mind had many levels. Sometimes they were +on spiritual heights, or as now--almost childlike. + +"To stay indoors would be on the whole more reasonable," he said, "or to +have these trees along the avenue shaken." + +"I'd like the job," ventured Billy. + +"Keep quiet," said Mrs. Ann. + +"It is most uncomfortable as it melts," said Rivers. + +Ann thought of John Penhallow's early adventure in the snow, and seeing +how strangely real was Mark Rivers's discomfort, remarked to herself that +he was like a cat for dislike of being wet, and was thankful for her +privilege of laughing inwardly. + +Billy, who was, as Leila said, an unexpectable person, contributed to Ann +Penhallow's sense of there being still some available fun in a world +where men were feebly imitating the vast slaughters of nature. He +considered the crushed umbrella, the felt hat awry, and the disconsolate +figure. "Parson do look crosser than a wet hen." + +Then too Rivers's laugh set free her mirth, and Ann Penhallow laughed as +she had not done for many a day. "That is about my condition," said +Rivers. "I shall go home and get into dry clothes. Billy, you're a poet." + +"Don't like nobody to call me names," grunted Billy. + +"I wish James had heard that," cried Ann, while Rivers gathered up the +remains of his umbrella. + +As Billy drove away, Mrs. Penhallow called back, "You will come to dinner +to-day?" + +"Thank you, but not to-day." + +As Ann came down the stairs to the hall, Penhallow was in the man's +attitude, with his back to the fire. Leila with a hand on the mantel and +a foot on the fender was talking to her uncle, an open letter in her +hand. Ann heard him say, "That was in October"--and then--"Why this must +be a month old!" + +"It must have been delayed. He wrote a note after the fight at Belmont, +and that was in October. He did write once since then, but it was hardly +worth sending. As a letter writer, John is rather a failure, but this is +longer." She laughed gaily as she spread open the letter. + +"He has got a new hero, uncle--General Grant. John is strong on +heroes--he began with you." + +"Stuff and nonsense," said the Squire. "Read it." + +Leila hesitated. + +"Oh, let's hear it," cried her aunt. + +"Go on, dear," said the Squire. + +Leila still hesitated. Usually Ann Penhallow carried away John's rare +letters to be read when alone. Now she said, with unnatural deliberation. +"Read it; one may as well hear his news; we can't always just ignore what +goes on." + +Leila a little puzzled glanced at her aunt. The Squire pleased and +astonished said, "Go on, my dear." + +Turning to the candles on the hall table, Leila read the letter:--"Why +how long it has been! It is dated November 20th." + +"DEAR LEILA: We have been moving from place to place, and although I know +or guess why, it is best left out of letters. At Belmont General Grant +had a narrow escape from capture. He was the last man on board the boat. +He is a slightly built, grave, tired-looking man, middle-aged, carelessly +dressed and eternally smoking. I was in the thick of the row--a sort of +aide, as there was no engineer work. He was as cool as a cucumber--" + +"Why are cucumbers cool?" asked Leila, looking up. "Oh, bother! Go on!" +said Penhallow. + +"We shall move soon. Good-bye. + +"JOHN PENHALLOW." + +Ann made no comment. The Squire said, "It might have been longer. Come, +there's dinner, and I am hungry." + +Ann looked at him. He was gay, and laughed at her account of Rivers's +disaster. + +"I have some good news for you, Ann. I shall keep it until after dinner. +Then we can talk it over at leisure. It concerns all of us, even John." + +"I don't see how I am to wait," said Leila. + +"You will have to." + +Ann made an effort to meet the tone of gaiety in her husband's talk, and +when the wine was set before him, he said, "Now, Ann, a glass--and Leila, +'To our good news and good luck--and to John.'" + +They followed him into the library, and being in sacrificial mood, Ann +filled a pipe, lighted a match, and said, "I want you to smoke, James." + +"Not yet, dear. Sit down." + +"No, I want to stand." She stood beside the fire, a little lady, with an +arm around the waist of her niece. The Squire seated was enjoying the +suspense of his eager audience. + +"You know, dear Ann, that for two years or more the mills have been +without large orders. We have been in the most embarrassing situation. +Our debts"--he was about to say, 'in the South'--"unpaid. I had to ask +you to help us." + +This was news to Leila. "Why mention that, James?" said her aunt. + +"Well, we long ago lessened our force. To shut down entirely was ruin, +but when we met to-day we were to decide whether it was honest to borrow +more money and stagger on, or as I thought, honourable to close the mills +and realize for our creditors all we could." + +Ann sat down with some feeling of remorse. Why had she not known all +this? Was it her fault? He had borne it for the most part without her +knowledge--alone. "My God! It is true," she reflected, "we have drifted +apart." He had hopefully waited, not wanting to trouble a woman already +so obviously sorrow-laden. He seemed to echo her thought. + +"You see, dear," and the strong face grew tender, "I did not mean to +disturb you until it became inevitable. I am glad I waited." + +Ann, about to speak, was checked by his lifted hand. "Now, dear, all my +troubles are over. Mr. Stanton, the new Secretary of War, has signed a +contract with our firm for field artillery. It is a fortune. Our bid was +low. A year's work--shot, shell--and so on. Congratulate me, Ann." + +"My God!" he cried, "what is the matter?" + +Ann Penhallow turned quickly, a hand on the table staying herself. "And +you--you are to make cannon--you--and I--and with my money!" she laughed +hysterical laughter--"to kill my people the North has robbed and driven +into war and insulted for years--I--I--" her voice broke--she stood +speechless, pale and more pale. + +Penhallow was appalled. He ran to catch her as she swayed. + +"Don't touch me," she cried. "I feared for--you--the army--but never +this--this!" Despite her resistance, he laid her on the lounge. + +"Leila," she said, "I want to go upstairs to bed." The face became white; +she had fainted. + +"Is she dead?" he said hoarsely, looking down at her pale face. + +"No--no. Carry her upstairs, uncle." He picked up the slight form and +presently laid her on her bed. "Leave her to me, Uncle Jim. I have seen +girls in hysterics. Send up a maid--the doctor! No, I will come down when +she is undressed. See, her colour is better." + +He went downstairs, reluctant to leave her. In the library he sat down +and waited. An hour passed by, and at last Leila reappeared. She kissed +him with more than her usual tenderness, saying, "She is quiet now. I +will lie down on her lounge to-night. Don't worry, Uncle Jim." + +This advice so often given was felt by him to be out of his power to +follow. He knew very well that this he would have now to consider was not +only a mere business affair. It ceased to be that when he heard with the +shock of bewilderment his wife's outburst of angry protest. He loved her +as few men love after many years of married life, and his affection was +still singularly young. His desire to content her had made him unwisely +avoid talk about differences of opinion. In fact his normal attitude was +dictated by such gentle solicitude as is not uncommon in very virile men, +who have long memory for the careless or casual sharp word. To the end of +his days he never suspected that to have been less the lover and more the +clear-sighted outspoken friend would have been better for her and for +him. He sat into the night smoking pipe after pipe, grappling with a +situation which would have presented no difficulties to a coarser nature. +At last he went upstairs, listened a moment at Ann's chamber door, and +having smoked too much spent a thought-tormented night, out of which he +won one conclusion--the need to discuss his trouble with some friend. At +six he rose and dressed, asked the astonished cook for an egg and coffee, +went to the stables, and ordered a groom to saddle horses and follow him. + +A wild gallop over perilously slippery roads brought him to McGregor's +door, a quarter of a mile from the mills. The doctor was at breakfast, +and rose up astonished. "What's wrong now, Penhallow?" he said. + +"Oh, everything--everything." + +"Then sit down and let us talk. What is it?" + +The Squire took himself in hand and quietly related his story of the +contract and his wife's reception of what had been to him so agreeable +until she had spoken. + +"Can you bear--I said it yesterday to Mrs. Penhallow--a frank opinion?" + +"Yes, from you--anything." + +"Have no alarm about her health, my friend. It is only the hysteria of a +woman a little spoiled by too tender indulgence." + +The Squire did not like it, but said, "Oh, perhaps! But now--the +rest--the rest--what am I to do?" The doctor sat still a while in +perplexed thought. "Take your time," said Penhallow. "I have sent the +horses to the stable at the mills, where my partners are to meet me +early to-day." + +The doctor said, "Mrs. Penhallow will be more or less herself to-day. I +will see her early. There are several ways of dealing with this matter. +You can take out of the business her share of the stock." + +"That would be simple. My partners would take it now and gladly." + +"What else you do depends on her condition of mind and the extent to +which you are willing to give way before the persistency of a woman who +feels and does not or can not reason." + +"Then I am not now to do anything but tell her that I will take her stock +out of the business." + +"That may relieve her. So far I can go with you. But, my dear Penhallow, +she may be utterly unreasonable about your manufacture of cannon, and +what then you may do I cannot say. How long will it be before you begin +to turn out cannon?" + +"Oh, two months or more. Many changes will be needed, but we have +meanwhile an order for rails from the Baltimore and Ohio." + +"Then we can wait. Now I am off for Grey Pine. See me about noon. Don't +go back home now. That's all." + +While the Squire walked away to the mills, McGregor was uneasily moving +his ponderous bulk to and fro in the room. + +"It's his damn tender, soft-hearted ways that will win in the end. My old +Indian guide used to say, 'Much stick, good squaw.' Ann Penhallow has +never in her whole life had any stick. Damn these sugar plum husbands! +I'd like to know what Miss Leila Grey thinks of this performance. Now, +there's a woman!" + +When after a night of deep sleep Ann woke to find Leila standing by her +bed, she rose on an elbow saying, "What time is it? Why are you here?" + +"It is eight, aunt. You were ill last night; I stayed on your lounge." + +Now her aunt sat up. "I was ill, you say--something happened." The thing +pieced itself together--ragged bits of memories storm-scattered by +emotion were reassembled, vague at first, then quickly more clear. She +broke into unnaturally rapid speech, reddening darkly, with ominous +dilatation of the pupils of her large blue eyes. "And so James Penhallow +is to be made rich by making cannon to kill my people--oh, I remember!" +It seemed absurdly childlike to Leila, who heard her with amazement. "And +with my money--it is easy to stay at home and murder--and be paid for it. +Let him go and--fight. That's bad enough--I--" + +"God of Heaven, Aunt Ann!" the girl broke in, "don't dare to say that to +Uncle Jim. Are you crazy--to say such things." + +"I don't know what I am. Oh, those cannon! I hear them. He shall not do +it--do you hear me? Now send me up a cup of tea--and don't come in again. +I want James--tell him--tell him." + +"He went away to the mills at six o'clock." + +"I know. He is afraid to talk to me--I want to see him--send for him at +once. I said at once--do you hear! Now go." + +As Leila turned to leave, she heard a knock at the door, said "Come in," +and to her relief saw enter large and smiling the trusted doctor. As he +neared the bed, Ann fell back speechless and rigid. + +"Ah, Leila! That makes it all plain. There is no danger. Close the +blinds; I want the room darkened. So! Come into the back room--leave the +door ajar." He selected a trustworthy chair and sat down with deliberate +care. "Now listen to me, my dear. This is pure hysteria. It may last for +days or weeks--it will get well. It is the natural result of birth, +education, worry, etc.--and a lot of darned et ceteras. When you let +loose a mob of emotions, you get into trouble--they smash things, and +this is what has become of one of God's sweetest, purest souls." + +"It is most dreadful, Doctor; but what shall we do with Uncle Jim. If she +has a mere cold in the head, he is troubled." + +"Yes--yes." The doctor took counsel with himself. "I will send up old +Mrs. Lamb to help you--she is wise in the ways of sick women. Take your +rides--and don't fret over this suicide of reason." He was pleased with +his phrase. "Let her see Penhallow if she asks for him, but not if you +can help it. It is all as plain as day. She has been living of late a +life of unwholesome suppression. She has been alarmed by Penhallow's +looks, hurt by her brothers' quarrels, and heart-sick about the war and +John. Then your uncle springs on her this contract business and there is +an explosion." + +After giving careful orders, he went away. To Penhallow he said, "When +you are at home keep out of her room. If you have to see her, tell her +nothing has been done or will be for months. The time will come when you +will have to discuss matters." + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +Leila Grey never forgot the month which followed. Penhallow was +mercifully spared the sight of the drama of hysteria, and when not at +the mills went about the house and farm like a lost dog; or, if Leila +was busy, took refuge with Rivers. Even the war maps claimed no present +interest until a letter came from John after the capture of Port +Donaldson. At evening they found the place on the map. + +"Well, now let's hear it. Ann is better, McGregor says," He was as +readily elated as depressed. "Does she ask for me?" + +"No," said Leila, "at first she did, but not now." + +"Read the letter, my dear." + +"DEAR LEILA: I wrote to Aunt Ann and Uncle Jim a fortnight ago--" + +"Never came," said Penhallow. + +"I am called an engineer, but there is no engineering required, so I am +any General's nigger. I have been frozen and thawed over and over. No +camp fires allowed, and our frozen 15,000 besieged 21,000 men. General +S.T. Smith picked me up as an aide, and on the 15th personally led a +charge on the Rebel lines, walking quietly in front of our men to keep +them from firing. It did not prevent the Rebs from abusing our +neutrality. It was not very agreeable, but we stormed their lines and I +got off with a bit out of my left shoulder--nothing of moment. Now we +have them. If this war goes on, Grant will be the man who will end it. I +am too cold to write more. Love to all. + +"General Smith desires to be remembered to Uncle Jim, and told me he was +more than satisfied with + +"Yours, + +"JOHN PENHALLOW." + +"Isn't that delightful, Uncle Jim? But every night I think of it--this +facing of death. I see battles and storming parties. Don't you see things +before you fall asleep? I can see whatever I want to see--or don't want +to." + +"Never saw anything of the kind--I just go to sleep." + +"I thought everybody could see things as I do." + +"See John too, Leila? Wish I could." + +"Yes," she said, "sometimes." In fact, she could see at will the man who +was so near and so dear and a friend to-day--and in that very lonely time +when the house was still and the mind going off guard, the something +indefinitely more. + +The Squire, who had been studying the map, was now standing before the +fire looking up where hung over the mantel his sword and the heavy army +pistols. He turned away as he said, "Life is pretty hard, Leila. I ought +to be here--here making guns. I want to be where my class-mates are in +the field. I can't see my way, Leila. When I see a duty clearly, I can do +it. Now here I have to decide what is my duty. There is no devil like +indecision. What would you do?" + +"It is a question as to what you will do, not I--and--oh, dear Uncle Jim, +it is, you know, what we call in that horrid algebra the X of the +equation." + +"I must see your Aunt Ann. Is she"--and he hesitated--"is she +herself?"--he would not say, quite, sane. + +"She is not at all times." + +"How far must I consider her, or be guided by the effect my decision will +have on her? There are my partners to consider. The money does not +influence me--it is Ann--Ann." Then she knew that he would make any +sacrifice necessary to set Ann Penhallow at ease. "I think," she said as +she rose, "that we had better go to bed." + +"I suppose so," he said. "Wait a moment. Your aunt told me that I had +better go where there was war--she could not have guessed that I have +lived for months with that temptation. I shall end by accepting a +command. Now since her reproach I shall feel that war offers the bribe of +ease and relief from care." + +"I know, the call of duty--you will have to go. But, oh, my God! it is +very terrible." + +"The fact is, this sudden good fortune for a time so set me at ease that +I lost sight of my honest craving for action. Now I ought to thank Ann +for making me see what I ought to do--must do. But how--how? It will +clear up somehow. Goodnight." + +It was the end of March before McGregor told Penhallow that Mrs. +Penhallow insisted on seeing him. "Now, Squire," he said, "you will be +shocked at her appearance, but she is really well in body, and this thing +has got to be set at rest. She talks of it incessantly." + +Penhallow entered the dimly lighted room and passed his old nurse, Mrs. +Lamb, as she whispered, "Don't stay long, sir." He was shocked as he won +clearer vision in the dim light. + +"Oh, James!" she said, "they wouldn't let me see you. Open the shutters." +He obeyed, and kneeling kissed the wasted face he loved so well. The +commonplaces of life came to his aid as he kissed her again, and she +said, "Dear me, James, you haven't shaved to-day." + +"No, I am going to stop at the barber's--but I miss Josiah." + +She smiled. "Yes, poor Josiah." + +Then he took courage, fearfully timid as men are when they confront the +illness of women. "I want to say to you, Ann, that having your power of +attorney I have withdrawn your fifty thousand dollars you had lent to the +mills. My partners were glad to take it." He said nothing of their +surprise at the offer. + +"Thank you," she returned feebly. "And you are going on with the +business?" her voice rising as she spoke. + +"We will talk of that later, Ann. I was told not to let you talk long. +I shall endeavour to invest your money so as to give you a reasonable +return--it will take time." + +He did not succeed in diverting her attention. She put out a thin hand +and caught his sleeve. "Do you think me unreasonable, James?" + +"Yes," he said, and it needed courage. + +"I was sure you would say so." The great blue eyes, larger for the wasted +setting of nature's wonderful jewels, looked up at him in dumb appeal. +"Won't you think a little of how I feel--and--and shall feel?" + +"Think a little--a little?" he returned; "I have done nothing else but +think." + +"You don't answer me, James." There was the old quiet, persistent way +he had known in many happy days, reinforced by hysteric incapacity to +comprehend the maze of difficulties in which he was caught. + +"It is a pity I did not die," she said, "that would have saved you all +this trouble." + +He felt the cruelty of her words as he broke away and left the room. +McGregor had waited, and hearing his story said, "It will pass. You must +not mind it--she is hardly sane." + +James Penhallow mounted and rode to the village, was duly shaved, and +went on to the post-office. Mrs. Crocker rotund and rosy came out and +handed him as he sat in the saddle a sheaf of letters. "Yes, Mrs. +Penhallow is better, thank you." As he rode away the reins on Dixy's +neck, he read his letters and stuffed them in his pocket until he came +to one, over which he lingered long. It ran thus: + +"MY DEAR SIR: Will you not reconsider the offer of the colonelcy of a +regiment? It will not require your presence until July. There is no need +to reply at once. There is no one else so entirely fit for such a charge, +and the Attorney-General, your friend Meredith, unites with me in my +appeal to you. The State and the country need you. + +"Yours truly, + +"ANDREW CURTIN." + +He reached but one conclusion as he turned the tempting offer over in +his mind, and acting on it wrote the Governor from his office that his +wife was at present too ill for him to consider the offer of a command. + +As day by day he sat with Ann, to his relief she ceased to dwell on the +matter which had so disturbed her, and rapidly regaining health, flesh +and strength, began to ask about the house and the village people. It was +a happy day when in May he carried her down to a hammock on the porch. A +week later she spoke again, "What conclusion have you reached?" she said. + +"About the mills?" + +"Yes." + +"Ask me in a week, Ann. Do you want to read John's letters? There are +several--one about a battle at Pittsburgh Landing in Tennessee." + +"I want to hear nothing of the war. Is he well?" + +"Yes, thank God." The news of McClellan's army was anything but +satisfactory, and more and more the soldier longed to be in the field. + +Early in June, Penhallow on his way to meet his partners paused at +McGregor's house to ask his opinion of his wife. "How do I find her? +Better every day--more herself. But what of you?" + +"Of me? I can stand it no longer, Doctor. I cannot see this war +in Virginia go on to the end without taking part in it. I must--do +anything--anything--make any sacrifice." + +"But your wife--the mills--" + +"I have but one answer--my country! I told you I had refused Governor +Curtin's offer--what to do about our contract I do not yet know. They +are reorganizing the artillery service." + +"And you would like that best?" + +"Yes. What amuses you?" + +The doctor smiled often, but as Mrs. Crocker said, when he did laugh it +was as good as a Fourth of July celebration and the house shook. As the +Squire watched him, the smile broadened out in circles from the mouth +like the ripples cast by a stone on still water; then the eyes grew +merrily busy and the big frame shook with laughter. + +"Well, now, Squire! To give up making guns and go in for using +them--well--well!" + +"Don't chaff me, McGregor; I mean to be in it, cost what it may. I am to +meet my partners--good-bye." + +The doctor wondered what Ann Penhallow would do or say. It was past +guessing but he saw clearly that Penhallow was glad of any excuse to get +into the field. + +"Glad to see you, Ainseley," said Penhallow. "Good morning, Sibley. You +will find things moving. Many casting moulds will be ready by this day +week." + +"Last night," said Sibley, the richer member of the firm, "I had a +telegram from Austin, the iron-man. He asks what we would take to +transfer our contract. I replied that we did not deal that way with +Government contracts. To-day I got this other--read it." + +"On what terms will you take me in? My ore, as you know, is not hematite +and is better than yours." + +Penhallow sat still reading the telegram again and again. Here was an +unlooked-for way out of his troubles. At last he looked up, and to their +surprise said, "My capital in the business is one hundred and fifty +thousand dollars, and you--the firm--pay me a rental of ten thousand." + +"Not last year," said Ainseley; "we could not, as you know." + +"Yes. Our partnership ends this July 1st. Wire Austin that I will sell +him my share and go out. You may ask him what bonus you please--I mean, +I will sell to you at one hundred and fifty thousand dollars--the rental +will go on, of course." + +"My heavens!" cried Sibley, "what do you mean? It is throwing away a +fortune, man--a fortune." + +Penhallow laughed. "And yet I mean to do it. The work is ready to go on. +You will have ordnance officers here--you won't miss me." + +They argued with him in vain. Waldron not altogether dissatisfied sat +still, wondering how much bonus Austin would stand, while Ainseley and +Sibley troubled for their friend and not well pleased, fought his +decision. "Are you fully resolved on this, Penhallow?" said Sibley. + +"I am. I cannot take out the small amount of money John Penhallow owns. +It must remain, at least for a time, and will be a convenience to you. +My wife's money is already out. It was only a loan." + +"But why should not you sell out to Austin," said Sibley, "if you mean +to leave us, and get out of him a profit--and why after all this act of +supreme folly? Pardon me, it is that--really that" + +Penhallow smiled. "I go out of this business because I simply cannot stay +out of the army. I could not be a soldier and accept continuous profits +from a Government contract. Imagine what would be said! For the same +reason I cannot sell to Austin at an advance. That is clear--is it not?" + +"Yes," said Ainseley, "and I am sorry. Think it over." + +"I have done my thinking. It will take the lawyers and you at least two +months to settle it and make out the papers. After July 1st I shall not +come to the mills. I mean to leave no occasion for unpleasant comment +when I re-enter the service. Of course, you will advertise your new +partnership and make plain my position. I am sorry to leave you, but +most glad to leave you prosperous. I will put it all on paper, with a +condition that at the close of the war--I give it three years--I shall be +free to replace Austin--that is, if the Rebs don't kill me." + +As he mounted at evening to ride home, he was aware of Leila. "Halloa, +Uncle Jim! As Mr. Rivers was reading Dante to Aunt Ann, I begged off, and +so here I am--thought I would catch you. I haven't been on a horse for a +week. The mare knows it and enjoyed the holiday. She kicked Pole's bull +terrier into the middle of next week." + +"A notable feat. I wish some one would kick me into the middle of +August." + +"What's wrong, Uncle Jim? Aunt Ann is every day better; John is well; you +don't look unhappy. Oh, I know when anything really is the matter." + +"No, I am happier than I have been for many a day. You know what Rivers +says, 'In the Inn of Decision there is rest,'--some oriental nonsense. +Well, I am a guest in the Inn of Decision, but I've got to pay the bill." + +"Please not to talk riddles, uncle. I have gone through so much this +spring--what with aunt and this terrible war--and where John is we don't +know. I heard from Aunt Margaret. She says that we escape the endless +reminders of war--the extras called at night, heard in church, great +battle on the Potomac, lists of killed and wounded. It must be awful. You +buy a paper--and find there was no battle." + +"Yes, we escape that at least. I have made arrangements to close my +partnership on July 1st." + +"Oh, Uncle Jim!" + +"The President, I hear, will call for three hundred thousand men--I can +stand it no longer--I am eating my heart out. I refused a regiment some +time ago; now I shall ask for one. I wrote at once to the Governor." + +She leaned over, laid a hand on his arm and said, "Is not one dear life +enough?" + +"My child, John had to go. I could, of course, find some excuse for not +going. I set myself free to-day. But now I am to settle with Ann. Except +for that I would be supremely contented. You would not keep me here if +you had the power, nor would you bring home John if you could, dear." + +"No," she said faintly. Some quickly dismissed suspicion rose to +consciousness as he stole a glance at her face. "I understand," she +added, "it is a question of honour--you must go." + +"It is a question of duty, dear; but what Ann will say I do not know--but +I shall go." + +She turned. "Uncle Jim, if you did not go and the war went on to--God +alone knows what end--she would be sick with shame. I know. You see I am +a woman and I know. She will suffer, but she will not break down again +and she will not try to hold you back. But this house without you and +John will be rather lonely. How did you get out of the mills, uncle?" + +He answered her at length as they rode homeward with more to think of +than was pleasant. At the avenue gate she said earnestly, "Don't wait +too long before telling Aunt Ann." + +"Upon my word, I am sorry," returned the Squire, "for the unfortunate +man who may become your husband. If you undertake to offer advice at +your tender years, what will you do when you are older?" + +"My husband-that-is-to-be sends you his compliments," laughed Leila, +"and says--I don't know what he says, but it is exactly the right thing, +Captain Penhallow. But really, don't wait, uncle." + +"You are quite right, my dear." Nevertheless he waited. Decisiveness +in affairs and in moments of peril he had, but where Ann was concerned +he became easily unsure, and as McGregor said, "wabbled awful." This +was to Leila. "What gets the matter with men? The finer they are, the +braver--the more can a woman bother their judgment. He wires for a +regimental command--gets it; and, by George, throws away a fortune to +get the privilege of firing a cannon at Mrs. Ann's beloved Rebels. He +mustn't make guns it seems--he tries not to believe her hysterics at +all affected by his tossing away this big contract." + +"Now, Doctor, you are in one of your cynical moods. I hate you to talk +this way about the finest gentleman I ever knew, or ever shall know. You +delight to tease me." + +"Yes--you are so real. No one could get hysterics out of you. Now why do +you suppose James Penhallow wants to plunge into this chaotic war?" + +"Or your son, Tom? Why do you get up of a winter night to ride miles to +see some poor woman who will never pay you a penny?" + +"Pure habit." + +"Nonsense. You go--and Uncle Jim goes--because to go is duty." + +"Then I think duty is a woman--that accounts for it, Leila. I retire +beaten." + +"You are very bad to-day--but make Uncle Jim talk it all out to Aunt +Ann." + +"He will, and soon. He has been routed by a dozen excuses. I told him at +last that the mill business has leaked out and the village is saying +things. I told him it must not come to her except through him, and that +he could not now use her health as an excuse for delay. It is strange a +man should be so timid." + +And still Penhallow lingered, finding more or less of reason in the +delays created by the lawyers. Meanwhile he had accepted the command of +the 129th Pennsylvania infantry which was being drilled at Harrisburg, so +that he was told there was no occasion for haste in assuming charge. But +at last he felt that he must no longer delay. + +The sun was setting on an afternoon in July when Penhallow, seeing as she +sat on the porch how the roses of the spring of health were blooming on +his wife's cheeks, said, "I want to talk to you alone, Ann. Can you walk +to the river?" + +"Yes, I was there yesterday." + +The cat-birds, most delightful of the love-poets of summer, were singing +in the hedges, and as they walked through the garden Penhallow said, "The +rose crop is promising, Ann." + +"Yes." She was silent until they sat on the bank above the little river. +Then she said, "You are keeping something from me, James. No news can +trouble me as much as--as to be sure that I am kept in the dark about +your affairs." + +"I meant to be frank, Ann, but I have felt so alarmed about your +health--" + +"You need not be--I can bear anything but not to know--" + +"That is why I brought you here, my dear. You are aware that I took out +of the business the money you loaned to us." + +"Yes--yes--I know." + +"I have given up my partnership and withdrawn my capital. The business +will go on without me." + +"Was this because--I?--but no matter. Go on, please." + +He was incapable of concealing the truth from her, however much he +might have disguised it from others. "You had your share in causing me +to give up, but for a year since this war has gone on from one disaster +to another, I have known that as a soldier I must be in it." + +She was perfectly calm. "I have long known it would come, James. To have +you and John and my brother Henry--all in it, is a hard fate." + +"My dear, Charles writes me that Henry has left the army and gone to +Europe on business for the Confederates." + +"Indeed." Some feeling of annoyance troubled her. "Then he at least is in +no danger." + +"None, my dear." + +"When do you go?" + +"I am to command the 129th Infantry, and I shall leave about August 1st." + +"So soon!" She sat still, thinking over what Grey Pine would be without +him. He explained as she sat that all details of his affairs would be put +for her clearly on paper. He ended by saying, "Ask me any questions you +want answered." + +"Then, James, there will be no income from the mills--from--from that +contract?" + +"None, except my rental. With that you may do as you please. There +will be also, of course, at your disposal the income from my re-invested +capital." + +"Thank you, James." She was by far the less moved of the two. + +"Have I greatly troubled you?" he asked. He was distressed for her. + +"No, James. I knew it would come." As the shadows darkened on the forest +floor and gathered overhead, she rose to her feet. "Whatever happens, +James--whoever wins--I am the loser. I want you to be sorry for me." + +"And, my dear Ann, whichever way this contest ends, I too lose." + +She returned with tender sadness, "Yes, I did not think of that. Give +me your arm, James--I am--tired." + +He wondered that she had said nothing of the immense sacrifice few men +would have made; nor did she seem to have realized what urgency of added +motives she had contributed to bring about his decision. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +Through the great heat of July, 1862, the war went on its inconclusive +way. In Westways, as elsewhere, the call of the people's President for +three hundred thousand men was felt the more thoughtfully because now it +was, of course, known that Penhallow was Colonel of the 129th Infantry; +that he had made a great sacrifice of money was also known, but not +understood, and Ann Penhallow's half-forgotten politics were again +discussed when the village evening parliament met in front of the +post-office. + +Mrs. Crocker, off duty, stood framed in the door, cooling her round +face with a palmetto fan and listening with interest to the talk or +taking part in the discussion in so positive a way as was felt to be +indiscreetly feminine, but respected on account of her official +representation of a husband too deaf to fulfil his duties. + +The Doctor got out of his gig. "Any letters from my boy?" + +"Yes, two. Wanted to send them by Billy, but he's war-wild and wouldn't +go." The Doctor looked over his letters. + +"All right, I hope," said Mrs. Crocker. + +Pole in his shirt sleeves listening said, "Of course, he is all +right--doctors don't fight none." + +"Send your son, Pole, before you talk nonsense," said McGregor. "My boy +got a ball in his leg at Malvern Hill." + +"My son's going along with the Squire," returned Pole, "leaves me short +of help, and my wife's about crazy over it." + +"What about Mrs. Penhallow?" said Mrs. Crocker. "I guess she's the kind +that don't show what she feels." + +"Oh, money's a great comforter," returned the butcher. "What I'm to do, I +don't know." + +"Well, I'm going too," said Joe Grace, "and father says I'm right." + +"Oh, here's the parson," said Pole, as Rivers approached. "He's like the +rest of them--all for war." + +"Well, Pole," said Rivers, "how are you and Mrs. Crocker? I think you are +getting thin this hot weather." + +"Am I? No such good luck. We are talking war, Mr. Rivers. I do hear that +what with the mill-boys and country fellows there's some thirty going +into the Colonel's regiment." + +"So I hear. On Sunday I mean to talk to them after service. You might say +so." + +"I will. If I had a boy, he should go," said Mrs. Crocker. + +"It's easy talking when you haven't none," said Pole. "We are gettin' +licked, and some day Lee will be over the border. It's just useless to +spend money and cripple men." + +There was a moment of silence, when Mrs. Crocker spoke. "Pole, you +aren't ever sure of your legs. You were all for Buchanan, and then all +for Lincoln. Now you're uneasy on the top rail of the fence and the rail +ain't round." The parliament broke into laughter, and with more talk +dissolved after some critical wisdom about the war. + + * * * * * + +It was July 30th, after ten at night, the day before the final Sunday of +the month. The Colonel of the 129th stood with Leila before a big war +map. "This fight at Malvern Hill"--he put a pin on the place--"was a +mistake on the part of Lee, and yet he is a master of the game. He was +terribly beaten--an aggressive general would have attacked at once." + +"Would he have won, uncle?" + +"I think so--but after a defeat these armies are as dangerous as a +cornered cat." + +"But, dear Uncle Jim, what is the matter with us?--We have men, money and +courage." + +"Well, this is how I see it. Neither side has a broad-minded General in +command of the whole field of war. Every day sees bits of fights, +skirmishes, useless loss of life. There is on neither side any connected +scheme of war. God knows how it will end. I do not yet see the man. If +Robert Lee were in absolute command of all the effective force of the +South, we would have trouble." + +"But if he is so good a soldier, why did he make what you call a frontal +attack on entrenched troops at Malvern?" + +"My dear, when two men spar and neither can quite end the fight, one +gets angry or over-confident and loses his head, then he does something +wild--and pays for it." + +"I see. You leave on Monday?" + +"Yes--early." + +"Mr. Rivers means to talk after service to the men who are enlisting." + +"So he told me. I begged him to be moderate." + +"He asked me for a text, uncle." + +"Well!" + +"I gave him the one about Caesar and God." + +"What put that into your head--it does not seem suitable?" + +"Oh, do you think so? Some one once mentioned it to me. I could preach on +it myself, but texts grow wonderfully in his hands. They glow--oh, they +get halos about them. He ought to be in a great city." + +"Oh, my dear, Mark Rivers has his limitations like all of us. He would +die. Even here he has to be watched. McGregor told him last year that he +was suffering from the contagion of other people's wickedness with +occasional acute fits of over-conscientiousness. Rivers said it was +incomprehensible nonsense; he was almost angry." + +"And yet it is true, Uncle Jim." + +"I'm glad I haven't the disease. I told McGregor as much. By George! he +said my variety of the disorder was about other folk's stupidity. Then, +when I said that I didn't understand him, he laughed. He makes me furious +when he only laughs and won't answer--and won't explain." + +"Why, uncle! I love to see him laugh. He laughs all over--he shakes. I +told him it was a mirthquake. That set him off again. Was Tom McGregor +badly hurt?" + +"No, not badly." + +"Will aunt go to church to-morrow?" + +"No." + +"I thought she would not. I should love to see you in uniform." + +"Not here, my dear, but I will send you a daguerreotype." + + * * * * * + +When on this Sunday long remembered in Westways, the tall figure of Mark +Rivers rose to open the service, he saw the little church crowded, the +aisles filled, and in the front pews Penhallow, his niece, and behind +them the young men who were to join his regiment. Grace had asked his own +people to be present, and here and there were the mothers and sisters of +the recruits, and a few men on crutches or wasted by the fevers of the +Virginia marshes. Mark Rivers read the morning service as few men know +how to read it. He rarely needed the prayer-book--he knew it all. He gave +to it the freshness of a new message of love and helpfulness. More than +ever on this Sunday Leila felt a sense of spiritual soaring, of +personally sharing the praises of the angel choir when, looking upwards, +he said: "Therefore with angels and archangels and all the company of +heaven we laud and magnify Thy glorious name." She recalled that John had +said, "When Mark Rivers says 'angels and archangels' it is like the clash +of silver cymbals." + +He gave out at the close his favourite hymn, "Lead, Kindly Light." It was +well and sweetly sung by the girl-choir. As the music closed he rose--a +figure of command, his spare frame looking larger for his robes. For a +silent moment his eloquent eyes wandered over the crowd, gathering the +attentive gaze of young and old, then he said: "I want to talk on this +unusual occasion for a little while, to you who are answering the call of +a man who is like a father calling his sons to a task of danger. My text +is: 'Render, therefore, unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's and unto +God the things that are God's.' The wonder of the great texts is that +they have many applications as time runs on. You know the familiar story. +Payment of the tax meant obedience to the Government, to law, to order. I +would that I had the power to make you see with me the scene. It is to me +so very distinct. The Pharisees desire to tempt him, a Jew, into a +statement treasonable to the Roman rule they had accepted. Was it right +for the Jew to pay the tax which sustained this Government? He had, as +you may remember, already paid it for Peter and himself. He asks for the +penny bearing Caesar's head and answers them in the words of the text, +'Render unto Caesar, therefore, the things which are Caesar's.' He +returns the penny. I wonder where that little coin is to-day? It has +gone, but the lesson it read remains forever; nor even today is the +Pharisee gone with his invidious temptations. _You_ are to-day obeying a +greater than Caesar. _You_ are meeting the material obligations of a day +of discouragement--and for some a day of doubt. + +"The nobler applications which lie within the meaning of the latter part +of the text He answers more fully than was asked: 'Render unto God the +things which are God's.' What are these things which are at need to be +rendered to Him? What larger tax? Ease--comfort--home--the strong bodies +which make work safe and pleasant. He asks of you the exercise of unusual +qualities--the courage which looks death in the face and will not take +the bribe of safety, of life, at the cost of dishonour. Ah! not in battle +is my fear for you. In the long idleness of camps will come your hours of +temptation. Think then of those at home who believe in you. It is a great +thing to have an outside conscience--wife, mother, sister. Those are +hours when it is hard to render unto God what he gave. + +"We are now, as I said, at a time of discouragement. There are cowards +who would yield--who would compromise--men who want peace at any cost. +You answer them nobly. Here, in this sacred cause, if He asks it, we +render life or the easy competencies of youth in its day of vigour." + +The man paused. The strange power of the eyes spoke to them in this +moment of silence. "Oh! I said the cause was sacred--an unbroken land. +_He_ gave you that, just for wide-world uses. Keep it! Guard it!--with +all that Union of the States meant and still means to-day. _You_ are not +to blame for this necessity--war. The man who bends unpaid over the +master's cotton-field is the innocent cause of all this bloodshed. If +there were no slavery, there would have been no war. But let there be +no hatred in the brave hearts you carry. God did not slay Saul, the +earnest--I might say--the honest persecutor. He made him blind for a +time. The awful charity of God is nowhere else so wonderful. These +gallant people you are going to meet will some day see that God was +opening their eyes to better days and nobler ways. They too are honest +in the belief that God is on their side. Therefore, let there be no +bitterness. + +"Some of you are what we call religious. Do not be ashamed of it. +The hardest fighters the world has known were men who went to battle +with arms invisible to man. A word more and I have done. I have the +hope--indeed the certainty--that I shall be sent to the field on errands +of mercy and helpfulness. We may meet again. And now, take with you the +earnest will to render unto God what things He gave for His highest uses. +Now let us offer the prayer for the volunteers our great Bishop desires +the Church to use. Let us pray." + +In unusual silence the congregation moved away, a silence shared by Leila +and her uncle. At last she said, "Uncle Jim, I wish Aunt Ann could have +heard that sermon--it could not have hurt her." + +"Perhaps not." + +"I wonder why she has so great a respect for him, so real a friendship. +He thinks slavery the sin of sins. He has very little charity about +it--oh, none--and Aunt Ann is as sure it is a divinely appointed +relation." + +"They fought it out, my dear, in his early days at Westways, and when +they both found that they were clad in the armour of changeless beliefs +no arguments could penetrate, they gave up and took of two fine natures +what was left for life's uses and became friends. At least, that is how +McGregor put it. He sometimes states things well." + +"I see," said Leila thoughtfully, and set herself to thinking whether if +she had radical differences of opinion with some one, she could settle +into a condition of armed neutrality. Then she wondered if war made +changes in the character of a man. + +Presently she asked, "Why, Uncle Jim, are you suddenly in such haste to +go?" + +"There is need of haste. I could not tell Ann; I can tell you. We were +never worse off since the war began. The Governor asks me to meet him +in Harrisburg. What he fears is that in September Lee will cross the +Potomac, with the hope of Maryland rising. Our Governor will call out +fifty thousand militia. He wants me to take a command; I shall take it, +but Lee's veterans would brush our militia away like summer flies. If he +finds the Army of the Potomac before him, there may be a different story. +I hope, please God, to be with it. There you have all I know, but it is +for you alone. My regiment will go to the front before the end of the +month." + +"You will write to me, uncle." + +"Yes, when I can. Your aunt asks me to write often, but not to write +about the war, as if--well, no matter. But I can write to you. Good +night--and be brave, dear--and Ann! You will watch over her?" + +"Yes, surely." + + * * * * * + +Ann Penhallow having sorrowfully made up her mind that her husband's +honour required his return to the army saw to it with her usual +efficiency that everything he might need was carefully provided. At +bed-time of that Sunday she said quietly, "Good night and good-bye, +James. I do not want to be called to-morrow to say good-bye. You will be +off by six. Leila will give you your breakfast. Write often." She was to +appearance cheerful and even gay, as she paused on the stairs laughing. +"These men," she cried, "I wonder how they do without women orderlies. +At the last moment I found you had left your razors--good-night!" + +The Colonel's eyes followed her slight form a little puzzled and not +entirely pleased at this easy dismissal of sentiment, when he knew what +he himself would have done if she had flown the least signal of distress. +He turned to Leila. "I am very much relieved, my dear, to see that your +aunt is taking my departure quietly. I was afraid of another breakdown, +and I could not have stayed a day longer." + +Leila who had watched this parting with some anxiety said, "I was a +little uneasy myself, but really Aunt Ann was great." She could have +made the well-loved Colonel miserable by translating for him into the +tongue of man the language of the actress on the stairs. "I wonder," +she reflected, "if all men are that blind, or only the heroic or +unimaginative." + + * * * * * + +Colonel Penhallow was detained by consultations with the Governor and by +regimental work until near the close of August, when his command was +hurried forward to join McClellan's army. He followed it a day later. He +wrote long notes to his wife almost daily and then in September after the +battle of Antietam more freely to Leila:-- + +"DEAR LEILA: You will be surprised to hear from me as at Washington on +this September 19th. I overtook my command at noon, in Philadelphia, +where the regiment was being well fed in the big building known as the +Cooper Shop. I was pleased with the look of the men, who have been long +drilled in camp. After the meal I went outside and mounted Dixy, who was +as rebellious as if he knew he was on the side to which his name did +not belong. A soldier was vainly trying to mount my mare. He lost his +temper and struck her. I saw a black man interfering, and rode forward +seeing there was some trouble. By George! it was Josiah. I shook hands +with him and said, 'Where did you come from? He said, 'Saw your name, +sir, in the paper and just quit my work. I'm goin' along with you--I'm +your servant. I've been thinkin' this long while I'd go back to Westways, +but I've been doin' well here, and I just kep' a puttin' it off. I'm +goin' with you.' I said, 'All right, get on that horse.' He patted the +uneasy mare and in a moment was in the saddle and I a well pleased man. +Tell your aunt I am well cared for. + +"We were hurried forward, and I had the pleasure of seeing my men behave +well when we stormed South Mountain--a very gallant affair. Joe Grace was +hurt, but not badly, and was left behind. As to the killed, none are from +Westways. At Antietam we were with the reserve, which I thought should +have been used and was not. It was an attack on an interior line as seems +always to be our luck. McClellan will follow Lee, of course. My regiment +is to be with the Sixth Corps, but I was ordered by the Secretary of War +to report to him in Washington. It is disgusting! But orders are orders. +The Lieutenant-Colonel will have my place, and I hope to get back soon. +Josiah was caught in the thick of the fight at Fox Gap. He was scared a +sort of green. He will get over it--I know the signs. It was pure +nervousness. His explanation was very perfect, 'I just laid down flat +because I was afraid of gittin' this servant of yours killed.' We grinned +mutual approval of the excuse. + +"Yours ever, + +"JAMES PENHALLOW." + +"P.S. You will have found this letter very unsatisfactory, but the fact +is that only people of ample leisure make good correspondents. But now +to sum up: Yesterday I saw Stanton, had a glimpse of Swallow, saw Mr. +Lincoln, and had an adventure so out of the common that it was like +one of the stories of adventure in which Jack used to delight. Now I +cannot--should not tell it--but some day--yes. Send this P.S., bit of +good news, on its way. Read it first." + +"Well, that is exasperating? Surely men are most unsatisfactory letter +writers. No woman with an interesting subject could be so uninteresting. +John is as bad or worse." + +She found enclosed a postscript slip for Mr. Grace. + +"DEAR SIR: That boy of yours is not badly hurt. He behaved with +intelligent courage when for a moment a part of our charging line +hesitated. I was proud of him; I have made him a Corporal. + +"Yours truly, + +"JAMES PENHALLOW." + +The order to report to the former counsel of his firm, Secretary Stanton, +brought an unhappy Colonel to the War Department. He sent in his card, +and was asked to follow an orderly. As he was about to enter the private +office of the War Minister, to his amazement Swallow came out. With a +curt good morning, Penhallow went by him. The great Secretary rose to +greet him, saying, "You are very welcome, Penhallow--never more welcome." + +"You look worn out, Stanton," said the Colonel. + +"No, not yet; but, my God! Penhallow, my life is one to kill the +toughest. What with army mishaps, inefficiency, contractors backed by +Congressmen--all the scum that war brings to the top. Do you know why +I sent for you?" + +"No. It was an order--I ask no questions. I am at your service." + +"You were disappointed, of course." + +"Yes, I was." + +"Well, there were two reasons. One is frankly this. Your firm has a +contract for field artillery--and now you are in the service." + +"I see! It is not now my firm. I gave up my partnership." + +"So I saw, but who of these hungry contractors will believe that you gave +up--a fortune--to enter the army! The facts are either not well known or +have been misstated." + +"Very likely. I gave up what you speak of as a fortune as you gave up a +great income at the bar, and for the same reason I withdrew all my +capital. Even the rental of my mills will go to the Sanitary Commission. +I could not leave a doubt or the least cause for suspicion." + +"I was sure of you, but this has been a well-nursed scandal, due to an +influential lot of disappointed contractors who would have controlled the +giving of that contract had I not come into office. I shall kill it dead. +Trust that to me." + +"Thank you, Stanton, I could have stood it." + +"Yes, but you do not know, my dear Penhallow, what Washington is at +present. Well, let it go. It is now my business. Do you know this Mr. +Swallow?" + +"Know him? Yes--a usurious scamp of a lawyer, who to our relief has left +Westways. Do not trust him. I presume that I owe this talk about me to +him." + +"Well, yes, to him and his associates." + +"What does he want now?" + +"What he will not get. Let him go. I said I had two reasons for ordering +you here. One I have stated. I want some one I can entirely trust, not +merely for honesty and loyalty, but also because of business competence. +All manner of work for the Government is going on here and elsewhere. I +want some one to report on it from time to time. It will keep you here +this winter. You do not like it?" + +"No, but it was an order." + +"Yes, I am sorry to take you for a time out of active service, but +trust me this war will last long. This winter I want you for a variety +of inspection work here or elsewhere. It will be mere business, dull, +unexciting, with unending watchfulness, and advisory technical help +and advice. I want not only personal character--I can get that, but +not easily the combination of technical training and business capacity." +He unrolled a bundle of papers. "There for example, Colonel, are plans +for a new form of ambulance and pontoon wagons ready for approval. I +want a report on both." He went on to speak of the ambulances with +amazing knowledge of the details of their build. Penhallow watched +this earnest, overtasked man, and began to comprehend the vastness of +his daily toil, the weight of his mighty load of care. As he talked, +cards were brought in, messages sent or received, telegrams--the talk +was dropped--resumed--and the Colonel simply listened. At last the +Secretary said, "That will do for to-day. You have room No. 27, and such +clerks and orderlies as you may need. You will find on your table these +specifications--and more--others. And now, how is your beautiful Grey +Pine and its mistress and Leila? You will assure them of my undiminished +affection. And John--where is he?" + +"With General Grant, but where just now I cannot say." + +As he spoke, the door opened and an officer announced--"The President." +The ungainly length of Lincoln appeared. A quiet smile lingered on the +large-featured face, with some humorous appreciation of the War +Secretary's evident annoyance at this abrupt visit. Mr. Stanton's +greeting as he rose was as the Colonel thought coldly civil. + +"My friend, Colonel Penhallow, sir." + +"Glad to see you," said Lincoln, and then with a certain simplicity +explained, "You see, Colonel, sometimes I run away out of the back of +the White House--just to get free of the guards. Don't look so bothered, +Stanton. I'm too fine a failure for any one to want to kill me. Any +news?" + +"None," said the secretary, as he stood not too well pleased; "Colonel +Penhallow is to be in my office on inspection duty." + +"Indeed! Glad to see you." The huge hand closed on Penhallow's with +innocent use of its power. "Name sounds familiar. Yes--there was a cadet +of your name last year. Your son, I suppose?" + +"No, my nephew--in the engineers with General Grant." + +"Tell him I asked for him--handsome fellow. Anything I can do for him?" + +"Nothing, sir." + +"Anything I can do for you?" + +"Nothing, sir." + +"Don't let Stanton kill you. He ought to have a brevet, Stanton. He is +the only man in Washington don't want anything." Even the weary face of +the Secretary smiled under his heavy beard. "Just stepped in to divide +growls with you. Come with me, Colonel, or Stanton will have a brigade of +officers to escort me. Wait for me at the outer door--I'll join you." + +Penhallow pleased and amused, went out taking with him the sense of +puzzle felt by so many over this unusual personage. At the main entrance +the Colonel came on Swallow. + +"A word with you," he said very quietly. "You have been lying about me to +the Secretary and elsewhere. Be careful. I am sometimes short of temper. +You have hurt yourself, not me, and you will get no contracts here." + +"Well, we will see about that," said Swallow, and was about to say more +when the President appeared. + +"Come, Colonel," he said. Swallow fell back and Penhallow walked away as +men touched their hats. For a block or more Lincoln did not speak, and +respecting his silence the soldier was as silent. Then, with his amazing +frankness, Lincoln spoke. + +"Does the Emancipation Proclamation please you?" + +"As a war measure, yes." + +"And not otherwise?" + +"It is none of my business to criticize my Commander-in-Chief." + +"Well, I won't make it an order, but I wish McClellan was of your way of +thinking." Again there was silence. Penhallow was astonished at this +outspoken statement, being aware as few men were of the fact that the +General in question had been disinclined to announce the emancipation +message to the army until he found that his corps commanders were not +cordially with him in opinion. + +As they stopped at the gate of the railing around the White House, +Lincoln said, "When you don't want anything, come and see me--or if you +do." Then, becoming grave, he asked, "What effect will my proclamation of +emancipation have in the South? It takes effect in January, you know." It +was like Lincoln. He asked this question of all manner of people. "I want +to know," he added, as Penhallow hesitated. + +"I am not in a position, sir, to have any opinion about how the Rebels +will be affected by it." + +"Oh, Confederates! Colonel--not Rebels. Calling names only hurts, and +don't ever help. Better to be amiable about labels." + +"It was a slip of the tongue, Mr. President. I usually say Confederates." + +"Quite right--tongue very slippery organ. Reckon my small truant +holiday's over. Everybody generally is letting me know what effect that +emancipation-thunder will have." A strangely tender smile grew upon the +large features. "You see, Colonel, you and I are the only ignorant people +in Washington. Good-bye." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +Saluting the Commander-in-Chief, Penhallow turned away in absent mood +thinking of the burdened man who had passed from sight into the White +House. As he crossed Lafayette Square, he suddenly remembered that the +President's request for his company had caused him to forget to look over +the papers in his office of which the Secretary had spoken. It was +desirable to revisit the War Department. As he walked around the statue +of Andrew Jackson, he came suddenly face to face with his wife's brother, +Henry Grey. For a moment he was in doubt. The man was in United States +uniform, with an army cloak over his shoulders--but it was Grey. +Something like consternation possessed the Federal officer. The +Confederate faced him smiling, as Penhallow said, "My God! Grey, you +here! a spy in our uniform! Many people know you--detection and arrest +would mean--" + +"Don't talk so loud, James. You are excited, and there is really no +reason." + +Penhallow said quietly, "I have good reason to be excited. You will walk +on in front of me to Willard's Hotel. I will go with you to my rooms, +where we can talk freely. Now, sir." + +Grey stood still. "And suppose I decline to obey my rather positive +brother-in-law." + +"You are not a fool. If you were to try to escape me, and you are +thinking of it, I would set on you at once any half dozen of the soldiers +within call." + +"In that case my revolver would settle my earthly accounts--and +pleasantly relieve you." + +"Don't talk. Go on ahead of me." He would not walk beside him. + +"As you please." No more words passed. They moved up Pennsylvania Avenue, +now at mid-day crowded with officers, soldiers, and clerks going to +lunch. Grey was courteously saluting the officers he passed. This +particularly enraged the man who was following him and was hopelessly +trying to see how with regard to his own honour he could save this +easy-going and well-loved brother of Ann Penhallow. If the Confederate +had made his escape, he would have been relieved, but he gave him no +least chance, nor was Grey at all meaning to take any risks. He knew or +believed that his captor could not give him up to justice. He had never +much liked the steady, self-controlled business man, the master of Grey +Pine. Himself a light-hearted, thoughtless character, he quite failed to +comprehend the agony of indecision which was harassing the federal +officer. In fact, then and later in their talk, he found something +amusing in the personal embarrassment Penhallow's recognition had brought +upon him. + +As they approached the hotel, the Confederate had become certain that +he was in no kind of danger. The trapper less at ease than the trapped +was after his habit becoming cool, competent and intensely watchful. +The one man was more and more his careless, rather egotistic self; the +other was of a sudden the rare self of an hour of peril--in a word, +dangerous. As they reached the second floor, Penhallow said, "This way." +Josiah in the dimly lighted corridor was putting the last shine on a +pair of riding-boots. As he rose, his master said, "Stay here--I am not +at home--to anybody--to any one." + +He led the way into his sitting-room; Grey following said, "Excuse me," +as he locked the door. + +"You are quite safe," remarked his host, rather annoyed. + +"Oh, that I take for granted." + +James Penhallow said, "Sit down. There are cigars." + +"A match please. Cigars are rare luxuries with us." + +As the Confederate waited for the sulphur of the match to pass away, +Penhallow took note of the slight, delicate figure, the blue eyes like +Ann's, the well-bred face. Filling his own pipe he sat down with his back +to the window, facing his brother-in-law. + +"You are very comfortable here, James. How is my sister, and your beauty, +Leila?" + +"Well--very well. But let us talk a little. You are a spy in our +uniform." + +"That is obvious enough. I am one of many in your Departments and outside +of them. What do you propose? I am sorry we met." + +"My duty is to turn you over to the Provost-marshal." + +"Of course, but alas! my dear James, there is my sister--you won't do +it--no one would under the circumstances. What the deuce made you speak +to me? You put us both in an awkward position. You became responsible for +a duty you can't fulfil. I am really most sorry for you. It was a bit of +bad luck." + +Penhallow rose to get a match and moved about the room uneasily as Henry +Grey went on talking lightly of the situation which involved for him +possibilities of death as a spy, and for Penhallow a dilemma in which +Grey saw his own safety. + +"Rather disagreeable all round, James. But I trust you won't let it worry +you. I always think a man must be worried when he lets his pipe go out. +There is no need to worry, and after all"--he added smiling--"you created +a situation which might have been avoided. No one would have known--in a +day or two we would have been talking to General Lee. An excellent cigar, +James." + +While his brother-in-law chatted lightly, apparently unconcerned, the +Union officer was considering this way or that out of the toils woven of +duty, affection and honour; but as he kept on seeking a mode of escape, +he was also hearing and watching the man before him with attention which +missed no word. He was barely conscious that the younger man appeared +enough at ease to dare to use language which the Federal officer felt to +be meant to annoy. A single word used by Grey stopped the Colonel's +mental mechanism as if a forceful brake had been applied. The man before +him had said carelessly, "_We_--_we_ would have been talking to General +Lee." The word "we" repeated itself in his mind like an echo. He too +lightly despised Grey's capacity as a spy, but he had said "we." There +were, it seemed, others; how many?--what had they done? This terribly +simplified the game. To arrest Grey would or might be useless. Who were +his companions and where were they? Once missing this confident +Confederate they might escape. To question Grey would be in vain. To give +him any hint that he had been imprudent would be to lose an advantage. He +was so intent on the question of how to carry out a decisive purpose that +he missed for the moment Grey's easy-minded talk, and then was suddenly +aware that Grey was really amusing himself with a cat-and-mouse game. +But now he too was at ease and became quietly civil as he filled another +pipe, and with an air of despair which altogether deceived Grey said, "I +see that I can do nothing, Henry. There is no reason to protract an +unpleasant matter." + +"I supposed you would reach this very obvious conclusion." Then unable to +resist a chance to annoy a man who had given him a needless half hour not +free from unpleasant possibilities, Grey rose and remarked, smiling, "I +hope when we occupy this town to meet you under more agreeable +circumstances." + +"Sir," said Penhallow, "the painful situation in which I am placed does +not give you the freedom to insult me." + +The Confederate was quite unaware that the Colonel was becoming more and +more a man to fear, "I beg pardon, James," he said, "I was only +anticipating history." As he spoke, he stood securing a neglected button +of his neat uniform. This act strangely exasperated the Colonel. "I will +see you out," he said. "The buttons of the Massachusetts Third might +attract attention." + +"Oh, my cloak covers it," and he threw it carelessly over his shoulders. + +Penhallow said, "I have confessed defeat--you may thank Ann Penhallow." + +"Yes--an unfortunate situation, James. May I have another cigar? Thanks." + +"Sorry I have no whisky, Grey." + +"And I--How it pours! What a downfall!" + +The Colonel was becoming more and more outwardly polite. + +"Good-bye, Henry." + +"_Au revoir_," said the younger man. + +Penhallow went with his brother-in-law down the long corridor, neither +man speaking again. As they passed Josiah, Penhallow said, "I shall want +my horse at five, and shall want you with me." At the head of the stairs +he dismissed his visitor without a further word. Then he turned back +quickly to Josiah and said in a low voice, "Follow that man--don't lose +him. Take your time. It is important--a matter of life and death to +me--to know where he lives. Quick now--I trust you." + +"Yes, sir." He was gone. + +Grey feeling entirely safe walked away in the heavy rain with a mind +at ease and a little sorry as a soldier for the hapless situation with +which Penhallow had had to struggle. When we have known men only in the +every-day business of life or in ordinary social relations, we may quite +fail to credit them with qualities which are never called into activity +except by unusual circumstances. Grey, an able engineer, regarded +Penhallow as a rather slow thinker, a good man of business, and now as a +commonplace, well-mannered officer. He smiled as he thought how his +sister had made her husband in this present predicament what algebraists +call a "negligible quantity." He would have been less easy had he known +that the man he left felt keenly a sense of imperilled honour and of +insult which his relation to Grey forbade him to avenge. He had become a +man alert, observant, and quick to see his way and to act. + +Josiah, with all his hunting instincts aroused, loitered idly after Grey +in the rain, one of the scores of lazy, unnoticeable negroes. He was gone +all the afternoon, and at eight o'clock found Penhallow in his room. "Did +you find where he lives?" asked the Colonel. + +"That man, he lives at 229 Sixteenth Street. Two more live there. They +was in and out all day--and he went to shops and carried things away--" + +"What kind of shops?" + +"Where they sell paper and pens--and 'pothecaries." + +"Sit down--you look tired." It was plain that they were soon about to +move and were buying what was needed in the South--quinine, of course. +But what had been their errand? He said, "Get some supper and come back +soon." + +Then he sat down to think. An engineer of competence lately back from +Europe! His errand--their errand--must be of moment. He took a small +revolver out of a drawer, put in shells, placed it in his breast pocket, +and secured a box of matches. About nine, in a summer thunder-shower of +wind and rain, he followed Josiah and walked to No. 229 Sixteenth Street. +As he stood he asked, + +"How did those men get in, Josiah?" + +"All had keys. Want to get in, Colonel?" + +"Yes, I want to get in. Are there any others in the house--servants--any +one?" + +"No, sir," Josiah said. "I went round to an alley at the back of the +house. There are lights on the second storey. You can get in easy at the +back, sir." + +Seeing a policeman on the opposite pavement, Penhallow at once changed +his plan of entrance, and crossing the street said to the policeman, "Is +this your beat?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Very good! You see I am in uniform. Here is my card. I am on duty at the +War Department. Here is my general pass from the Provost-marshal General. +Come to the gas lamp and read it. Here are ten dollars. I have to get +into No. 229 on Government business. If I do not come out in thirty +minutes, give the alarm, call others and go in. Who lives there?" + +"It is a gambling house--or was--not now." + +"Very good. This is my servant, Josiah. If I get out safely, come to +Willard's to-morrow at nine--use my card--ask for me--and you will not be +sorry to have helped me." + +"You want to get in!" + +"Yes." + +"No use to ring, sir," said Josiah. "There ain't any servants and the +gentlemen, they ate outside. Lord, how it rains!" + +The policeman hesitated. Another ten dollar note changed owners. "Well, +it isn't police duty--and you're not a burglar--" + +The Colonel laughed. "If I were, I'd have been in that house without your +aid." + +"Well, yes, sir. Burglars don't usually take the police into their +confidence. There are no lights except in the second storey. If your +man's not afraid and it's an honest Government job, let him go through +that side alley, get over the fence--I'll help him--and either through a +window or by the cellar he can get in and open the front door for you." + +Josiah laughed low laughter as he crossed the street with the officer and +was lost to view. The Colonel waited at the door. In a few minutes the +man returning said, "Want me with you? He got in easily." + +"No, but take the time when I enter and keep near." They waited. + +"Nine-thirty now, sir." + +"Give me the full time." + +Penhallow went up the steps and knocked at the door. It was opened and he +went in. "Shut the door quietly, Josiah--open if the policeman knocks. +Now, be quiet, and if you hear a shot, or a big row call the police." + +The house below-stairs was in darkness. He took off his shoes and went +into a room on the first floor. Striking a match, he saw only ordinary +furniture. The room back of it revealed to his failing match a roulette +table. He went out into the hall and up the stairs with the utmost +caution to avoid noise. On the second floor the door of the front room +was ajar. They must be careless and confident, he reflected as he +entered. A lighted candle on a pine table dimly illuminated a room in +some confusion. On the floor were two small bags half full of clothes +which he swiftly searched, without revealing anything of moment. A third, +smaller bag lay open on the table. It contained a number of small rolls +of very thin paper, and on the table there were spread out two others. +As he looked, he knew they were admirably drawn sketches of the forts and +the lines of connecting works which defended the city. Making sure no +more papers were to be found, he thrust all of them within his waistcoat, +buttoned it securely, felt for his revolver, and listened. + +In the closed back room there was much mirth and the clink of glasses. +He drew near the door and felt certain that Grey was relating with comic +additions his interview of the morning. Without hesitation he threw open +the door as three men sprang to their feet and Grey covered him with a +revolver. He said quietly, "Sorry to disturb you, gentlemen. Put down +that toy, Grey." + +"No, by Heaven!--not till--" + +"My dear Grey, between me and that pistol stands a woman--as she stood +for your safety this morning. Men who talk, don't shoot. You are all +three in deadly peril--you had better hear me. I could have covered you +all with my revolver. Put down that thing!" + +"Put it down," said the older of the three. Grey laid the weapon on the +table. + +"This is not war," said Penhallow, "and you are three to one. Sit down." +He set the example. "It is clear that you are all Confederate officers +and spies. Let us talk a little. I came on Mr. Grey to-day by accident. +It was my duty to have him arrested; but he is my wife's brother. If a +pistol is heard or I am not out of this, safe, in a few minutes, the +police now on guard will enter--and you are doomed men. I am presumably +on Government business. Now, gentlemen, will you leave at once or in an +hour or less?" + +"I for one accept," said the man who had been silent. + +"And I," said the elder of the party. + +"On your honour?" + +"Yes." + +Grey laughed lightly, "Oh, of course. Our work is done. Speed the parting +guest!" + +"I wish," said the Colonel, rising, "to leave no misapprehension on your +minds--or on that of Mr. Grey. Those admirable sketches left carelessly +on the table are in my pocket. Were they not, you would all three be lost +men. Did you think, Grey, that to save your life or my own I would permit +you to escape with your work? Had I not these papers, your chance of +death would not weigh with me a moment." + +Grey started up. "Don't be foolish, Grey," said the older man. "We have +played and lost. There has been much carelessness--and we have suffered +for it. I accept defeat, Colonel." + +Penhallow looked at the watch in his hand. "You have ten minutes +grace--no, rather less. May I ask of you one thing? You are every hour +in danger, but I too am aware that if this interview be talked about in +Richmond or you are caught, my name may be so used as to make trouble +for me, for how could I explain that to save my wife's brother I connived +at the escape of Confederate officers acting as spies? I ask no pledge, +gentlemen. I merely leave my honour as a soldier in your hands. +Good-night, and don't delay." + +Grey was silent. The older man said, "I permit myself to hope we may meet +some time under more pleasant circumstances--for me, I mean,"--he added, +laughing. "Good-night." + +Penhallow withdrew quickly and found Josiah on guard. He said, "It is all +right--but for sport it beats possum-hunting. Open the door." The rain +was still falling in torrents. "All right," he said to the policeman, +"come and see me to-morrow early." + +"What was the matter, sir? I've got to make my report." + +Then Penhallow saw the possibility of trouble and as quickly that to +bribe further might only make mischief. "Do not come to the hotel, but at +eleven sharp call on me at the War Department on Seventeenth Street. You +have my card. By that time I shall have talked the matter over with the +Secretary. I am not at liberty to talk of it now--and you had better not. +It is a Government affair. You go off duty, when?" + +"At six. You said eleven, sir?" + +"Yes, good-night. Go home, Josiah." + +The Colonel was so wet that the added contributions of water were of no +moment. The soldier in uniform may not carry an umbrella--for reasons +unknown to me. + +Before breakfast next morning Josiah brought him a letter, left at the +hotel too late in the night for delivery. He read it with some amusement +and with an uncertain amount of satisfaction: + +"MY DEAR J: When by evil luck I encountered you, I was sure of three +things. First, that I was safe; then, that we had secured what we wanted; +and last, that our way home was assured. If in my satisfaction I played +the bluff game rather lightly--well, in a way to annoy you--I beg now to +apologize. That I should so stupidly have given away a game already won +is sufficiently humiliating, and the dog on top may readily forgive. You +spoilt a gallant venture, but, by Jove, you did it well! I can't imagine +how you found me! Accept my congratulations. + +"Yours sincerely, + +"G." + +"Confound him! What I suffered don't count. He's just the man he always +was--brave, of course, quixotically chivalrous, a light weight. Ann used +to say he was a grown-up boy and small for his age. Well, he has had his +spanking. Confound him!" He went on thinking of this gay, clever, +inconsiderate, not unlovable man. "If by mishap he were captured while +trying to escape, what then? He would be fool enough to make the venture +in our uniform. There would be swift justice; and only the final appeal +to Caesar. He was with good reason ill at ease. I might indeed have to +ask the President for something." + +He reconsidered his own relation to the adventure as he sat at breakfast, +and saw in it some remainder of danger. At ten o'clock he was with the +Secretary. + +"I want," he said, "to talk to you as my old friend. You are my official +superior and may order me to the North Pole, but now may I re-assume the +other position for a minute and make a confidential statement?" + +"Certainly, Penhallow. I am always free to advise you." + +"I want to say something and to be asked no questions. Am I clear?" + +"Certainly." + +"Thank you. I had an extraordinary adventure yesterday. I am not at +liberty to do more than say that it put me in possession of these plans." +He spread on the table well-drawn sketches of the forts around +Washington. + +Stanton's grim, bearded face grew stern. "You have my word, Penhallow. If +I had not too easily given it we would have been placed in a disagreeable +position. I am debarred from asking you how you came into possession of +these papers. The spies who made them would have been in my power early +this morning--and not even the President's weakness would have saved +their necks." + +Penhallow was silent, but was anxiously watching the angry Secretary, +who swept the papers aside with an impatient gesture, feeling that he +had been so dealt with as to be left without even the relief he too +often found in outbursts of violent language. Penhallow's quiet attitude +reminded him that he could not now take advantage of his official +position to say what was on his mind. + +"Colonel," he said, "I want a report on some better method of getting +remounts for the cavalry." + +"I will consider it, sir." + +"What about that contract for ambulances?" + +"I shall have my report ready to-morrow." + +"That is all." It is to be feared that the next visitor suffered what +Penhallow escaped. + +With no other orders the Colonel left, rewarded the punctual policeman +and went home to write to his wife, infinitely disgusted with the life +before him and behind him, and desiring no more adventures. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +The winter of 1862-63 went by with Sherman's defeat at Vicksburg and +Rosecrans's inconclusive battle of Stone River. The unpopular +Conscription Act in February, 1863, and last of all the discreditable +defeat of Hooker in May at Chancellorsville, disheartened the most +hopeful. + +Meanwhile, Penhallow wrote to his wife with no word of the war, and +poured out his annoyance to Leila with less restraint. + +"DEAR LEILA: I get brief notes from John, who is with the one General +(Grant) who has any luck. The list of discredited commanders good and bad +increases. I am weary beyond measure of the kind of life I lead. I learn +to-day, May 18th, of the progress of the investment of Vicksburg, and of +John as busy at last with his proper work of bridges, corduroy roads and +the siege approaches. + +"The drift homeward of our crippled men, you tell of, is indeed sad. I am +glad that Grace's boy is well; and so Rivers has gone to the army again. +Pole's lad, with the lost arm, must have some work at the mills. Say I +ask it. Good-bye. + +"Yours, JAMES PENHALLOW." + +On the 16th of June the Secretary said to Penhallow, "You know that Lee +has crossed the Potomac. General Hunt has asked to have you put in charge +of the reserve artillery of the Potomac army. I shall relieve you here +and give the order, but I want you for a week longer to clear up +matters." + +Penhallow worked hard up to the time set by Stanton, and meanwhile made +his arrangements to leave for the field. "Now that you are going away," +said Stanton, "I wish to express my warm thanks for admirable service. I +may say to you that Hooker has been removed and Meade put in command." + +"That is good news, indeed, sir. Now the Potomac army will be handled by +a soldier." + +The Secretary had risen to say his parting words, and Penhallow as he +held his hand saw how reluctant he was to let him go. They had long been +friends, and now the Colonel observing his worn face felt for him the +utmost anxiety. A stern, grave man, passionately devoted to his country, +he was the impatient slave of duty. Sometimes hasty, unjust, or even +ungenerous, he was indifferent to the enemies he too needlessly created, +and was hated by many and not loved even by those who respected his +devotion and competence. He spared neither his subordinates nor, least of +all, Edwin Stanton, and spendthrift of vital force and energy went his +way, one of the great war ministers like Carnot and Pitt. Now, as they +stood about to part, he showed feeling with which few would have given +him credit, and for which Penhallow was unprepared. + +"Well," he said, "you are going. I shall miss your help in a life +sometimes lonely, and overcrowded with work. You have been far more +useful here than you could have been in the field. Living and working as +you have done, you have made enemies. The more enemies an honest +gentleman collects the richer he is. You are glad to go--well, don't +think this town a mere great gambling place. It is a focal point--all +that is bad in war seems to be represented here--spies, cheating +contractors, political generals, generals as meek as missionaries. You +have seen the worst of it--the worst. But my dear Penhallow, there is one +comfort, Richmond is just as foul with thieving contractors, +extravagance, intrigue, and spies who report to us with almost the +regularity of the post; and, as with us, there is also honour, honesty, +religion, belief in their cause." The Secretary had spoken at unusual +length and in an unusual mood. When once, before the war, he had spent +a few happy days at Grey Pine, Mrs. Crocker characterized him as "a +yes-and-no kind of man." Now as he walked with his friend to the door, he +said, "Does Mrs. Penhallow know of your change of duty? I am aware of her +feeling about this unhappy strife." + +"No. There will be a battle--time enough--soon enough to write +afterwards, if there should be any earthly afterwards." + +"You are quite right," said the Secretary. "Good-bye. I envy you your +active share in this game." + +Penhallow, as for the last time he went down the outer steps, looked +back at the old brick war-office on Seventeenth Street. He felt the +satisfaction of disagreeable duty well done. Then he recalled with some +sense of it as being rather ridiculous his adventure with Henry Grey. In +a far distant day he would tell Ann. As he halted at the foot of the +steps, he thought of his only interview with Lincoln. The tall figure +with the sombre face left in his memory that haunting sense of the +unusual of which others had spoken and which was apt to disappear upon +more familiar acquaintance. + +On the morning of June 28 in this year 1863, Leila riding from the +mills paused a minute to take note of the hillside burial-ground, +dotted here and there with pitiful little linen flags, sole memorials +of son or father--the victims of war. "One never can get away from it," +she murmured, and rode on into Westways. Sitting in the saddle she waited +patiently at the door of the post-office. Mrs. Crocker was distributing +letters and newspapers. An old Quaker farmer was reading aloud on the +pavement the latest news. + +"There ain't no list of killed and wounded," he said. Forgetful of the +creed of his sect, his son was with the army. He read, "The Rebels have +got York--that's sure--and Carlisle too. They are near Harrisburg." + +"Oh, but we have burned the bridge over the Susquehanna," said some one. + +Another and younger man with his arm in a sling asked, "Are they only +cavalry?" + +"No, General Ewell is in command. There are infantry." + +"Where is Lee?" + +"I don't make that out." They went away one by one, sharing the +uneasiness felt in the great cities. + +Leila called out, "Any letters, Mrs. Crocker? This is bad news." + +"Here's one for you--it came in a letter to me. I was to give it to you +alone." + +Leila tore it open and read it. "Any bad news, Leila?" + +"Yes, Uncle James is with the army. I should not have told you. +General Meade is in command. Aunt Ann is not to know. There will be +a battle--after that he will write--after it. Please not to mention +where Uncle Jim is. When is your nephew to be buried--at the mills?" + +"At eleven to-morrow." + +"I shall be there. Aunt Ann will send flowers. Poor boy! he has lingered +long." + +"And he did so want to go back to the army. You see, he was that weak he +cried. He was in the colour-guard and asked to have the flag hung on the +wall. Any news of our John? I dreamed about him last night, only he had +long curly locks--like he used to have." + +"No, not a word." + +"Has Mr. Rivers got back?" + +"No, he is still with the army. You know, aunt sends him with money for +the Sanitary." + +"Yes, the Sanitary Commission--we all know." + +Leila turned homeward seeing the curly locks. "Oh, to be a man now!" she +murmured. She was bearing the woman's burden. + +Mrs. Crocker called after her, "You forgot the papers." + +"Burn them," said Leila. "I have heard enough--and more than enough, and +Aunt Ann never reads them." + +Penhallow had found time to visit his home twice in the winter, but found +there little to please him. His wife was obviously feeling the varied +strain of war, and Leila showed plainly that she too was suffering. He +returned to his work unhappy, a discontented and resolutely dutiful man, +hard driven by a relentless superior. Now, at last, the relief of action +had come. + +No one who has not lived through those years of war can imagine the +variety of suffering which darkened countless homes throughout the +land. At Grey Pine, Ann Penhallow living in a neighbourhood which was +hostile to her own political creed was deeply distressed by the fact +that on both sides were men dear to her. It must have been a too common +addition to the misery of war and was not in some cases without +passionate resentment. There were Northern men in the service of the +Confederacy, and of the Southern graduates from West Point nearly fifty +per cent, had remained loyal to the flag, as they elected to understand +loyalty. The student of human motives may well be puzzled, for example, +to explain why two of the most eminent soldiers of the war, both being +men of the highest character and both Virginians should have decided to +take different sides. + +Some such reflection occupied Leila Grey's mind as she rode away. Many +of the officers now in one of the two armies had dined or stayed a few +pleasant days at Grey Pine. For one of them, Robert Lee, Penhallow had +a warm regard. She remembered too General Scott, a Virginian, and her +aunt's Southern friend Drayton, the man whom a poet has since described +when with Farragut as "courtly, gallant and wise." "Ah, me!" she +murmured, "duty must be at times a costly luxury.--A costly necessity," +she concluded, was better--that left no privilege of choice. She smiled, +dismissing the mental problem, and rode on full of anxiety for those she +loved and her unfortunate country. Our most profound emotions are for the +greater souls dumb and have no language if it be not that of prayer, or +the tearful overflow which means so much and is so mysteriously helpful. +She found both forms of expression when she knelt that night. + +In the afternoon the refreshing upland coolness of evening followed on +the humid heat of a hot June day. Towards sunset Ann Penhallow, to her +niece's surprise, drew on her shawl and said she would like to walk +down to the little river. Any proposal to break the routine of a life +unwholesome in its monotony was agreeable to Leila. No talk of the war +was possible. When Ann Penhallow now more and more rarely and with effort +went on her too frequently needed errands of relief or consolation, the +village people understood her silence about the war, and accepting her +bounty somewhat resented an attitude of mind which forbade the pleasant +old familiarity of approach. + +The life was unhealthy for Leila, and McGregor watched its influence with +affection and some professional apprehension. Glad of any change, Leila +walked with her aunt through the garden among the roses in which now her +aunt took no interest. They heard the catbirds carolling in the hedges, +and Ann thought of the day a year ago when she listened to them with +James Penhallow at her side. They reached in silence an open space above +the broad quiet backwater. Beyond a low beach the river flowed by, wide +and smooth, a swift stream. From the western side the sunset light fell +in widening shafts of scarlet across the water. + +"Let us sit here," said the elder woman. "I am too weak to walk +further"--for her a strange confession. As they sat down on the mossy +carpet, Leila caught the passive hand of her aunt. + +"I suppose you still swim here, every morning, Leila? I used to like +it--I have now no heart for anything." + +Leila could only say, "Why not, aunt?" + +"How can you ask me! I think--I dream of nothing but this unnatural war." + +"Is that wise, aunt? or as Dr. McGregor would say, 'wholesome'?" + +"It is not; but I cannot help it--it darkens my whole life. Billy was up +at the house this morning talking in his wild way. I did not even try to +understand, but"--and she hesitated--"I suppose I had better know." + +This was strange to Leila, who too hesitated, and then concluding to be +frank returned, "It might have been better, aunt, if you had known all +along what was going on--" + +"What would have been the use?" said her aunt in a tone of languid +indifference. "It can end in but one way." + +A sensation of anger rose dominant in the mind of the girl. It was hard +to bear. She broke out into words of passionate resentment--the first +revolt. "You think only of your dear South--of your friends--your +brother--" + +"Leila!" + +She was past self-control or other control. "Well, then, be glad Lee is +in Pennsylvania--General Ewell has taken York and Hagerstown--there will +be a great battle. May God help the right--my country!" + +"General Lee," cried Ann; "Lee in Pennsylvania! Then that will +end the war. I am glad James is safe in Washington." Leila already +self-reproachful, was silent. + +To tell her he was with the army of the North would be cruel and was what +James Penhallow had forbidden. + +"He is in Washington?" asked Ann anxiously. + +"When last I heard, he was in Washington, aunt, and as you know, John is +before Vicksburg with General Grant." + +"They will never take it--never." + +"Perhaps not, Aunt Ann," said Leila, penitent. The younger woman was +disinclined to talk and sat quiet, one of the millions who were wondering +what the next few days would bring. + +The light to westward was slowly fading as she remained with hands +clasped about her knees and put aside the useless longing to know what +none could know. Her anger was gone as she caught with a side glance +the frail look of Ann Penhallow. She felt too the soothing benediction +of the day's most sacred hour. + +Of a sudden Ann Penhallow bounded to her feet. A thunderous roar +broke on the evening stillness. The smooth backwater shivered and the +cat-tails and reeds swayed, as the sound struck echoes from the hills and +died away. Leila caught and stayed the swaying figure. "It is only the +first of the great new siege guns they are trying on the lower meadows. +Sit down, dear, for a moment. Do be careful--you are getting"--she +hesitated--"hysterical. There will be another presently. Do sit down, +dear aunt. Don't be nervous." She was alarmed by her aunt's silent +statuesque position. She could have applied no wiser remedy than her +warning advice. No woman likes to be told she is nervous or hysterical +and now it acted with the certainty of a charm. + +"I am not nervous--it was so sudden. I was startled." She turned away +with a quick movement of annoyance, releasing herself from Leila's arm. +"Let's go home. Oh, my God!" she cried, as once again the cannon-roar +shook the leaves on the upward slope before them. "It is the voice of +war. Can I never get away from it--never--never?" + +"You will not be troubled again to-day," said the girl, "and the smaller +guns on the further meadow we hardly notice at the house." + +Ann's steps quickened. She had been scared at her own realization of +her want of self-government and was once more in command of her emotions. +"Do not talk to me, Leila. I was quite upset--I am all right now." + +The great guns were sent away next day on their errands of destruction. +Then the two lonely women waited as the whole country waited for news +which whatever it might be would carry grief to countless homes. + +On the second day of July, 1863, under a heavy cloud of dust which hung +high in air over the approach of the Baltimore Pike to Gettysburg, the +long column of the reserve artillery of the Potomac army rumbled along +the road, and more and more clearly the weary men heard the sound of +cannon. About ten in the morning the advance guard was checked and the +line came to a halt. James Penhallow, who since dawn had been urging on +his command, rode in haste along the side of the cumbered road to where a +hurrying brigade of infantry crossing his way explained why his guns were +thus brought to a standstill. He saw that he must wait for the foot +soldiers to go by. The cannoneers dismounted from the horses or dropped +off the caissons, and glad of a rest lit their pipes and lay down or +wandered about in search of water. + +The Colonel, pleased to be on time, was in gay good-humour as he talked +to the men or listened to the musketry fire far to the left. He said to a +group of men, "We are all as grey as the Rebs, boys, but it is good +Pennsylvania dust." As he spoke a roar of laughter was heard from the +neighbourhood of the village cemetery on his right. He rode near it and +saw the men gathered before an old notice board. He read: "Any person +found using fire arms in this vicinity will be prosecuted according to +law." Penhallow shook with laughter. "Guess we'll have to be right +careful, Colonel," said a sergeant. + +"You will, indeed." + +"It's an awful warning, boys," said a private. "Shouldn't wonder if Bob +Lee set it up to scare us." + +"I'd like to take it home." They chaffed the passing infantry, and were +answered in kind. Penhallow impatient saw that the road would soon be +clear. As he issued quick orders and men mounted in haste, a young aide +rode up, saluted, and said, "I have orders, Colonel, from General Hunt +to guide you to where he desires your guns to be parked." + +"One moment," said Penhallow; "the road is a tangle of wagons:" and to +a captain, "Ride on and side-track those wagons; be quick too." Then he +said to the aide, "We have a few minutes--how are things going? I heard +of General Reynold's death, and little more." + +"Yes, we were outnumbered yesterday and--well licked. Why they did not +rush us, the Lord knows!" + +"Give me some idea of our position." + +"Well, sir, here to our right is Cemetery Hill, strongly held; to your +left the line turns east and then south in a loop to wooded hills--one +Culp's, they call it. That is our right. There is a row on there as you +can hear. Before us as we stand our position runs south along a low ridge +and ends on two pretty high-wooded hills they call Round Tops. That's +our left. From our front the ground slopes down some forty feet or so, +and about a mile away the Rebs hold the town seminary and a long low rise +facing us." + +"Thank you, that seems pretty clear. There is firing over beyond the +cemetery?" + +"Yes, the skirmishers get cross now and then. The road seems clear, sir." + +Orders rang out and the guns rattled up the pike like some monstrous +articulated insect, all encumbering wagons being swept aside to make way +for the privileged guns. + +"You are to park here, sir, on the open between this and the Taneytown +road. There is a brook--a creek." + +"Thanks, that is clear." + +The ground thus chosen lay some hundred yards behind the low crest held +midway of our line by the Second Corps, whence the ground fell away in a +gentle slope. The space back of our line was in what to a layman's eye +would have seemed the wildest confusion of wagons, ambulances, ammunition +mules, cattle, and wandering men. It was slowly assuming some order as +the Provost Guard, dusty, despotic and cross, ranged the wagons, drove +back stragglers, and left wide lanes for the artillery to move at need to +the front. + +The colonel spent some hours in getting his guns placed and in seeing +that no least detail was lacking. With orders about instant readiness, +with a word of praise here, of sharp criticism there, he turned away a +well-contented man and walked up the slope in search of the headquarters. +As he approached the front, he saw the bushy ridge in which, or back of +which, the men lay at rest. Behind them were surgeons selecting partially +protected places for immediate aid, stretcher-bearers, ambulances and all +the mechanism of help for the wounded. Officers were making sure that men +had at hand one hundred rounds of ammunition. + +Some three hundred yards behind the mid-centre of the Second Corps, on +the Taneytown road, Penhallow was directed to a small, rather shabby +one-storey farm-house. "By George," he murmured, "here is one general who +means to be near the front." He was met at the door by the tall handsome +figure of General Hancock, a blue-eyed man with a slight moustache over a +square expressively firm jaw. + +"Glad to see you, Penhallow. Meade was anxious--I knew you would be on +time. Come in." + +Penhallow saw before him a mean little room, on one side a wide bed with +a gaudy coverlet, on a pine table in the centre a bucket of water, a tin +cup, and a candle-stick. Five rickety rush-covered chairs completed the +furnishings. + +Meade rose from study of the map an engineer officer was explaining. He +was unknown to Penhallow, who observed him with interest--a tall spare +man with grey-sprinkled dark hair a large Roman nose and spectacles over +wide blue eyes; a gentleman of the best, modest, unassuming, and now +carelessly clad. + +"Colonel Penhallow," said Hancock. + +"Glad to see you." He turned to receive with evident pleasure a report of +the morning's fight on the right wing, glanced without obvious interest +at the captured flag of the Stonewall Brigade, and greeted the colonel +warmly. "I can only offer you water," he said. "Sit down. You may like to +look over this map." + +While the Commander wrote orders and despatched aide after aide, +Penhallow bent over the map. "You see," said Hancock, "we have unusual +luck for us in a short interior line. I judge from the moving guidons +that Lee is extending his front--it may be six miles long." + +"And ours?" + +"Well, from wing to wing across the loop to right, not half of that." + +"I see," said Penhallow, and accepting a drink of tepid water he went out +to find and report to the chief of artillery, General Hunt. + +He met him with General John Gibbon and two aides a few yards from the +door, and making his brief report learned as he moved away that there +was some trouble on the left wing. Meade coming out with Hancock, they +mounted and rode away in haste, too late to correct General Sickles' +unfortunate decision to improve General Meade's battle-line. It was +not Penhallow's business, nor did he then fully understand that costly +blunder. Returning to his guns, he sent, as Hunt had ordered, two of +his reserve batteries up to the back of the line of the Second Corps, +and finding General Gibbon temporarily in command walked with him to +what is now called the "Crest" and stood among Cushing's guns. Alertly +interested, Penhallow saw to the left, half hidden by bushes and a +clump of trees, a long line of infantry lying at ease, their muskets in +glittering stacks behind them. To the right the ground was more open. A +broken stone fence lay in front of the Second Corps. It was patched with +fence rails and added stone, and where the clump of trees projected in +advance of the line made a right angle and extended thence in front of +the batteries on the Crest about thirty yards. Then it met a like right +angle of stone fencing and followed the line far to the right. Behind +these rude walls lay the Pennsylvania and New York men, three small +regiments. Further back on a little higher ground was the silent array of +cannon, thus able at need to fire over the heads of the guarding +infantry, now idly lying at rest in the baking heat of a July morning. +The men about the cannon lounged at ease on the ground in the forty foot +interspaces between the batteries, some eighteen pieces in all. + +Suddenly an aide rode up, and saying, "See you again, Penhallow," Gibbon +rode away in haste. Penhallow, who was carefully gathering in all that +could then be seen from the locality, moved over to where a young battery +captain was leaning against a cannon wheel wiping the sweat from his face +or gazing over the vale below him, apparently lost in thought. "Captain +Cushing, I believe," said the colonel. "I am Colonel Penhallow, in +command of the reserve artillery." + +"Indeed!" said the young officer. "These are some of your guns--" + +"Not mine--I was out of it long ago. They still carry the brand of my old +iron-mills." + +"We shall see, sir, that they do honour to your name." + +"I am sure of that," returned the colonel, looking at the face of the +officer, who as he spoke patted the gun beside him in an affectionate +way. + +"It seems very peaceful," he said. + +"Yes, yes," returned Penhallow, "very." + +They looked for a moment of silence down the vale before them, where a +mile away the ground rose to a low ridge, beyond which in woody shelters +lay the hostile lines. + +"What road is that?" asked Penhallow. "It leaves our right and crosses to +enter Lee's right." + +"The Emmitsburg Pike, sir." + +The Colonel's glass searched the space before him. "I see some fine +farm-houses--deserted, of course, and wheat fields no man will reap this +year." He spoke thoughtfully, and as Woodruff of the nearer battery +joined them, the roar of cannon broke the stillness. + +"Far on our left," said Woodruff. At the sound, the men sprang to their +feet and took their stations. Smoke rose and clouded their view of the +distant field where on our left a fury of battle raged, while the rattle +of infantry volleys became continuous. No more words were spoken. Through +the long afternoon the unseen fight went on in front of the Round Tops. +As it came nearer and the grey lines were visible, the guns on the Crest +opened a lively fire and kept up their destructive business until the +approach of the enemy ceased to extend towards our centre and fell away +in death or disorderly flight. About sunset this varied noise subsided +and the remote sound of cheering was heard. + +"We must have won," said General Webb, the brigade commander. "It was a +flanking movement. How little any one man knows of a battle!" + +"By George! I am glad of a let up," said the young Captain. "I am vilely +dirty." He wiped the grime and sweat from his face and threw himself on +the ground as Generals Hunt and Gibbon rode up. + +"No great damage here, I see, Webb. They got awfully licked, but it was +near to something else." + +Questioned by Penhallow, they heard the news of our needless loss and +final triumphant repulse of the enemy. Hunt said emphatic things about +political generals and their ways. "He lost a leg," said Gibbon, "and I +think to have lost his life would have been, fortunate. They are at it +still on the right, but the Twelfth Corps has gone back to Culp's Hill +and Ewell will get his share of pounding--if it be his corps." + +"Then we may get some sleep," said Penhallow, as he moved away. "I have +had very little for two nights." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +It was near to seven when he went down to his parked guns, seeing as he +went that the ways were kept clear, and finding ready hot coffee and +broiled chicken. + +"Where did you get this, Josiah?" he asked. + +"Kind of came in, sir--know'd he was wanted--laid two eggs." The colonel +laughed and asked no further questions. + +"Pull off my boots. Horses all right?" + +"Yes, sir." + +Without-undressing he fell on his camp-bed and, towards dusk thinking +with grim humour of his wife and the Penhallow guns, fell asleep. About +four in the morning the mad clamour of battle awakened him. He got up and +went out of the tent. The night air was hot and oppressive. Far to our +right there was the rattle of musketry and the occasional upward flare of +cannon flashes against low-lying clouds. From the farthest side of the +Taneytown road at the rear he heard the rattle of ambulances arriving +from the field of fight to leave the wounded in tent hospitals. They came +slowly, marked by their flickering lanterns, and were away again more +swiftly. He gave some vague thought to the wounded and to the surgeons, +for whom the night was as the day. At sunrise he went up past the already +busy headquarters and came to the bush-hidden lines, where six thousand +men of the Second Corps along a half mile of the irregular far-stretched +Crest were up and busy. Fires were lighted, coffee boiled and biscuits +munched. An air of confidence and gaiety among the men pleased him as he +paused to give a sergeant a pipe light and divided his tobacco among a +thankful group of ragged soldiers. All was quiet. An outpost skirmish on +the right, as a man said, "was petering out." He paused here and there to +talk to the men, and was interested to hear them discussing with +intelligence the advantage of our short line. Now and then the guns far +to left or right quarrelled, but at eleven in the morning this third of +July all was quiet except the murmurous noise of thousands of men who +talked or lay at rest in the bushes or contrived a refuge from the sun +under shelter of a canvas hung on ramrods. + +Generals Gibbon and Webb, coming near, promised him a late breakfast, +and he went with them to the little peach orchard near the headquarters +on the Taneytown road. They sat down on mess-chests or cracker-boxes, +and to Penhallow's amusement Josiah appeared with John, the servant +of Gibbon, for Josiah was, as he said, on easy terms with every black +servant in the line. Presently Hancock rode up with Meade. Generals +Newton and Pleasanton also appeared, and with their aides joined them. +These men were officially Penhallow's superiors, and although Hancock +and Gibbon were his friends, he made no effort to take part in the +discussion in regard to what the passing day would bring. He had his +own opinion, but no one asked for it and he smoked in an undisturbed +private council of war. + +At last, as he rose, Newton said, "You knew John Reynolds well, +Penhallow. A moment before he fell, his aide had begged him to fall +back to a less dangerous position." + +"He was my friend--a soldier of the best." + +"The Pennsylvanians are in force to-day--you and I and--" + +"Oh, colonels don't count," laughed Penhallow; "but there are Meade, +Hancock, Gregg, Humphreys, Hays, Gibbon, Geary, Crawford--" + +Hancock said, "We Pennsylvanians hold the lowest and weakest point of our +line--all Pennsylvanians on their own soil." + +"Yes, but they will not attack here," said Newton. + +"Oh, do you think so?" said Hancock. "Wait a little." + +The headquarters' ambulance drove up with further supplies. The chickens +were of mature age, but every one was hungry. Cigars and pipes were +lighted, and Newton chaffed Gibbon as the arrogant young brigadier in +command for the time of Hancock's Corps. The talk soon fell again upon +the probabilities of the day. Penhallow listened. Meade grave and silent +sat on a cracker-box and ate in an absent way, or scribbled orders, and +at last directed that the picked body of men, the provost's guards, +should join their regimental commands. About a quarter to noon the +generals one by one rode away. + +Having no especial duty, Penhallow walked to where on the Crest the +eighteen guns were drawn up. The sky was clear as yet, a windless, hot +day. Gibbon joined him. + +"What next?" said Gibbon, as Penhallow clambered up and stood a tall +figure on the limber of one of Cushing's guns, his field glass searching +the valley and the enemy's position. "Isn't it like a big chess-board?" + +"Yes--their skirmishers look like grey posts, and our own blue. They seem +uneasy." + +"Aren't they just like pawns in the game!" remarked Captain Haskell of +the Staff. + +Penhallow, intent, hardly heard them, but said presently, "There are +guidons moving fast to their right." + +"Oh, artillery taking position. We shall hear from them," returned +Gibbon. "Hancock thinks that being beaten on both flanks, Lee will attack +our centre, and this is the lowest point." + +"Well," said Haskell, "it would be madness--can Lee remember Malvern +Hill?" + +"I wonder what Grant is doing?" remarked Gibbon. At that time, seated +under an oak, watched at a distance by John Penhallow and a group of +officers, he was dictating to unlucky Pemberton the terms of Vicksburg's +surrender. + +Penhallow got down from his perch and wandered among the other guns, +talking to the men who were lying on the sod, or interested in the +battery horses behind the shelter of trees quietly munching the thin +grasses. He returned to Cushing's guns, and being in the mental attitude +of intense attention to things he would not usually have noticed, he was +struck with the young captain's manly build, and then with his delicacy +of feature, something girl-like and gentle in his ways. + +Penhallow remarked that the guns so hot already from the sun would be too +easily overheated when they were put to use. "Ah," returned Cushing, "but +will they be asked to talk today?" The innocent looking smile and the +quick flash of wide-opened eyes told of his wish to send messages across +the vale. + +"Yes, I think so," said the colonel; "I think so,"--and again observant +he saw the slight figure straighten and a quite other look of tender +sadness come upon his face. + +"How quiet they are--how very quiet!" Then he laughed merrily. "See that +dog on the Emmitsburg road. He doesn't know which side he's on." + +Penhallow looked at his watch. "It is one o'clock." Then his glass was +up. "Ah!" he exclaimed, as he closed it, "now we shall catch it. I +thought as much." + +A mile away, far on Lee's right, on the low ridge in front of his +position, a flash of light was seen. As the round ring of smoke shot +out from the cannon, the colonel remembered the little Leila's delight +when he blew smoke rings as they sat on the porch. Instantly a second +gun spoke. The two shells flew over our line and lit far to the rear, +while at once along Lee's position a hundred and fifty guns rang out and +were instantly answered by our own artillery from Round Top to Cemetery +Hill. General Hunt beside him replying to the quick questions he put, +said, "We could not place over seventy-five guns--not room enough." + +"Is that all? They are distributing their favours along our whole front." + +At once a vast shroud of smoke rose and hid both lines, while out of it +flew countless shell and roundshot. At first most of the Confederate +missiles flew high and fell far behind our Crest. The two officers were +coolly critical as they stood between the batteries. + +"He must think our men are back of the guns like his own. The wall and +bushes hide them." + +"The fuses are too long," said Hunt quietly. "That's better and worse," +he added, as a shell exploded near by and one of Woodruff's guns went out +of action and the ground was strewn with the dead and wounded. "We shall +want some of your guns." + +Penhallow went in haste to the rear. What he saw was terrible. The iron +hail of shells fell fast around him on the wide open space or even as far +away as the hospital tents. On or near the Taneytown road terror-stricken +wagon-drivers were flying, ammunition mules were torn to pieces or lying +mangled; a shell exploded in a wagon,--driver, horses and a load of bread +were gone. Horses lay about, dead or horribly torn; one horse hitched to +a tree went on cropping grass. Penhallow missed nothing. He was in the +mood peril always brought. Men said he was a slow, sure thinker, and +missed seeing things which did not interest him. Now he was gay, tuned to +the highest pitch of automatic watchfulness, as this far-sent storm of +bursting shells went over and past the troops it was meant to destroy. +Hurrying through it he saw the wide slope clear rapidly of what was left +of active life. He laughed as a round shot knocked a knapsack off a man's +back. The man unhurt did not stay to look for it. Once the colonel +dropped as a shell lit near him. It did not explode. He ejaculated, +"Pshaw," and went on. He came near the Taneytown road to find that his +artillery had suffered. A score of harnessed horses lay dead or horribly +mangled. His quick orders sent up to the front a dozen guns. Some were +horsed, some were pulled with ropes by the cheering, eager cannoneers. +Their way was up the deserted slope, "well cleared by the enemy," thought +Penhallow with a smile. Once he looked back and saw the far flight of a +shell end in or near an ambulance of the wounded beyond the Taneytown +road. + +During his absence gun after gun had been disabled and a caisson +exploded; the gun crews lay dead or wounded. What more horribly disturbed +Penhallow was the hideous screams of the battery horses. "Ah! the pity of +it. They had no cause to die for--no duty--no choice." As he assisted in +replacing the wreckage of the guns, he still heard the cries of the +animals who so dumb in peace found in torture voices of anguish unheard +before--unnatural, strange. The appalling tempest of shells screamed on +and on, while the most of them fell beyond the Crest. Penhallow looked up +to note their flight. They darted overhead shrill-voiced or hissing. +There was a white puff of smoke, a red flash, and an explosion. + +General Gibbon, coming back from the long line of his corps, said, "My +men have suffered very little, but the headquarters behind them are in +ruin. Meade has moved back." As he spoke the shells began to fall on the +Crest. + +"They seem to be more attentive to us," said the battery Captain +Woodruff. "Thought we'd catch it!" + +"Horrible!--Those horses, Gibbon," said Penhallow. + +At last there seemed to be more concentrated firing on the Crest. Many +shells fell near the imperfect wall-shelter of the crouching men, while +others exploded among the lines to left or right in the bushes. + +"They are doing better now, confound them!" said the young general +coolly. "Our men at the wall seem disturbed. + +"Come with me," he said to Penhallow and Haskell of the Staff, who had +just joined them. + +They went down in front of the guns to where behind the low wall lay the +two thin lines of the Pennsylvania regiments. He spoke to the Colonel of +the 71st, who with other officers was afoot encouraging the men. + +"Keep cool, boys," said Gibbon. + +The men laughed. "Oh, we're all right, General, but we ain't cool." + +Gibbon laughed. "Let us go over the wall and try to see a little better," +said Penhallow. + +A hundred yards beyond the lines they sat down. The ceaseless rain of +shot and shell from both sides went over them, the canopy of smoke being +so high above that the interspace between the lines was now more or less +visible. Far beyond them our skirmish outposts were still motionless on +guard; and yet further farms and houses, some smoking in ruin, lay among +the green fields along the Emmitsburg Pike. + +"It is pretty safe here," said the Corps Commander, while far above them +the shells sang their war notes. + +Penhallow looked back. "They've got the range--there goes one of the +guns--oh! and another." + +"Let's go back," said Gibbon, rising, "we are too safe here." + +They laughed at his reason and followed him, Haskell remarking on the +lessening of the fire. As they moved about the forty-foot spaces between +the disabled batteries, the last cannon-ball rolled by them and bounded +down the slope harmless. At once there was movement,--quick orders, +officers busy, as fresh cannon replaced the wrecked pieces. Many of +the unhurt cannoneers lay down utterly exhausted. The dead were drawn +aside, while the wounded crawled away or were cared for by the +stretcher-bearers and surgeons. Meanwhile the dense, hot, smoke-pall +rose slowly and drifted away. The field-glasses were at once in use. + +"It is half-past two," said General Hunt; "what next? Oh! our skirmishers +are falling back." + +"They are going to attack," said Haskell, "and can they mean our whole +line--or where?" + +The cannoneers were called to their pieces, and silently expectant the +little group waited on the fateful hour, while the orderly quiet of +discipline was to be seen on the Crest. The field-glasses of the officers +were searching with intense interest the more and more visible vale. + +"Pretty plain now, Gibbon," said Hunt. + +"Yes, we are in for it." + +"They are forming," said Penhallow. A line appeared from the low swell of +ground in front of Lee's position--then a second and a third. Muskets and +bayonets flashed in the sun. + +"Can you make out their flags?" asked Gibbon, "or their numbers?" + +"Not the flags." He waited intent, watchful. No one spoke--minute after +minute went by. At last Penhallow answered. "A long line--a good half +mile--quite twelve thousand--oh, more--more. Now they are advancing _en +échelon_." + +To left, to right, along our lines was heard the thud, thud, of the +ramrods, and percussion-cap boxes were slid around the waist to be handy. +Penhallow and others drew their pistols. The cannon were now fully +replaced, the regimental flags unrolled, and on the front line, long +motionless, the trefoil guidons of the two divisions of the Second Corps +fluttered feebly. The long row of skirmishers firing fell back more and +more rapidly, and came at last into our lines. + +Penhallow said, turning to Gibbon, "They have--I think--they have no +supporting batteries--that is strange." Haskell and Gibbon had gone as he +spoke and the low crest was free at this point of all but the artillery +force. To left, the projecting clump of trees and the lines of the Second +Corps--all he could see--were ominously quiet. + +Gibbon came back to the crest. He said, "We may need backing if they +concentrate on us; here our line is too thin." And still the orderly grey +columns came on silently, without their usual charging-yell. + +"Ah!" exclaimed Penhallow without lowering his glass, as he gazed to our +left. The clamour of cannon broke out from little Round Top. + +"Rifles!" exclaimed Gibbon. "Good!" Their left made no reply, but seemed +to draw away from the fire. + +"I can see no more," said the Colonel, "but they stopped at the +Emmitsburg road." + +The acrid odour of musketry drifted across the field as he turned to +gaze at the left wing of the fast coming onset. Far to our right they +came under the fire of Cemetery Hill and of an advanced Massachusetts +regiment. He saw the blue flags of Virginia sway, fall, and rise no +more, while scattered and broken the Confederates fled or fell under +the fury of the death messages from above the long-buried dead of the +village graves. "Now then, Cushing!" cried Hunt, and the guns on the +Crest opened fire. + +It was plain that the long Confederate lines, frayed on each flank, had +crowded together making a vast wedge of attack. Then all along our miles +of troops a crackle of musketry broke out, the big guns bellowing. The +field was mostly lost to view in the dense smoke, under which the +charging-force halted and steadily returned the fire. + +"I can't see," cried Cushing near by. + +"Quite three hundred yards or more," said the colonel, "and you are hurt, +Cushing. Go to the rear." The blood was streaming down his leg. + +"Not I--it is nothing. Hang those fellows!" A New York battery gallantly +run in between disabled guns crowded Cushing's cannon. He cried, "Section +one to the front, by hand!" + +He was instantly obeyed. As he went with it to the front near to the +wall, followed by Penhallow, he said, "It is my last canister, colonel. I +can't see well." + +Dimly seen figures in the dense smoke were visible here and there some +two hundred yards away, with flutter of reeling battle-flags in the +smoke, while more and more swiftly the wedge of men came on, losing +terribly by the fire of the men at the wall along the lines. + +Cushing stood with the lanyard of the percussion trigger in his hand. +It seems inconceivable, but the two men smiled. Then he cried, "My +God!"--his figure swayed, he held his left hand over a ghastly wound +in his side, and as he reeled pulled the lanyard. He may have seen +the red flash, and then with a bullet through the open mouth fell dead +across the trail of his gun. + +For a moment Penhallow was the only officer of rank near the silent +battery. Where Cushing's two guns came too near the wall, the men moved +away to the sides leaving an unguarded space. Checked everywhere to +right and left, the assailants crowded on to the clump of trees and to +where the Pennsylvania line held the stone wall. Ignorant of the ruin +behind them, the grey mass came on with a rush through the smoke. The +men in blue, losing terribly, fell back from a part of the wall in +confusion--a mere mob--sweeping Webb, Penhallow and others with them, +swearing and furious. Two or three hundred feet back they stopped, a +confused mass. General Webb, Haskell and other officers rallied them. The +red flags gathered thicker, where the small units of many commands stood +fast under the shelter of a portion of the lost wall. Penhallow looked +back and saw the Massachusetts flags--our centre alone had given way. +The flanks of the broken regiments still held the wall and poured in a +murderous fire where the splendid courage of the onset halted, unwilling +to fly, unable to go on. + +Webb, furious, rallied his men, while Penhallow, Haskell and Gibbon +vainly urged an advance. A colour-sergeant ran forward and fell dead. A +corporal caught up the flag and dropped. A Confederate general leaped +over the deserted wall and laid a hand on Cushing's gun. He fell +instantly at the side of the dead captain, as with a sudden roar of fury +the broken Pennsylvanians rolled in a disordered mass of men and officers +against the disorganized valour which held the wall. + +The smoke held--still holds, the secret of how many met the Northern men +at the wall; how long they fought among Cushing's guns, on and over the +wall, no man who came out of it could tell. Penhallow emptied his +revolver and seizing a musket fought the brute battle with the men who +used fists, stones, gun-rammers--a howling mob of blue and grey. And so +the swaying flags fell down under trampling men and the lost wall was +won. The fight was over. Men fell in scores, asking quarter. The flanking +fires had been merciless, and the slope was populous with dead and +wounded men, while far away the smoke half hid the sullen retreat of the +survivors. The prearranged mechanism of war became active. Thousands of +prisoners were being ordered to the rear. Men stood still, gasping, +breathless or dazed. As Penhallow stood breathing hard, from the right +wing, among the long silent dead of Cemetery Hill, arose a wild hurrah. +It gathered volume, rolled down the long line of corps after corps, and +died away among the echoes of the Pennsylvania hills. He looked about him +trying to recover interest. Some one said that Hancock and Gibbon were +wounded. The rush of the _mêlée_ had carried him far down the track of +the charge, and having no instant duty he sat down, his clothes in +tatters. As he recovered strength, he was aware of General Meade on +horseback with an aide. The general, white and grave, said to Haskell, +"How has it gone here?" + +An officer cried, "They are beaten," showing two flags he held. + +Meade said sharply: "Damn the flags! Are the men gone?" + +"Yes, sir, the attack is over." + +He uncovered, said only, "Thank God!" gave some rapid orders and rode +away beside the death-swath, careful, as Penhallow saw, to keep his horse +off of the thirty scattered flags, many lying under or over the brave who +had fought and lost in this memorable charge. + +Penhallow could have known of the battle only what he had seen, but a few +words from an officer told him that nowhere except at this part of the +line of the Second Corps had the attack been at all fortunate. + +On the wide field of attack our ambulance corps was rescuing the hundreds +of wounded Confederates, many of them buried, helpless, beneath the +bodies of the motionless dead. Two soldiers stood near him derisively +flaunting flags. + +"Quit that," cried the Colonel, "drop them!" The men obeyed. + +"Death captured them--not we," said Penhallow, and saw that he was +speaking to a boyish Confederate lieutenant, who had just dragged himself +limping out of the ghastly heap of dead. + +Touching his forehead in salute, he said, "Thank you, sir. Where shall I +go?" + +"Up there," replied the colonel. "You will be cared for." + +The man limped away followed by Penhallow, who glanced at the torn +Confederate banners lying blood-stained about the wall and beyond it. He +read their labels--Manassas, Chancellorsville, Sharpsburg. One marked +Fredericksburg lay gripped in the hand of a dead sergeant. He crossed the +wall to look for the body of the captain of the battery; men were lifting +it. "My God!--Poor boy!" murmured the colonel, as he looked on the white +face of death. He asked who was the Rebel general who had fallen beside +Cushing. + +"General Armistead," said an officer--"mortally wounded, they say." + +Penhallow turned and went down the slope again. Far away, widely +scattered, he caught glimpses of this rash and gallant attack. He was +aware of that strange complex odour which rises from a battlefield. It +affected him as horrible and as unlike any other unpleasant smell. +Feeling better, he busied himself directing those who were aiding the +wounded. A general officer he did not know said to him, "Stop the +firing from that regiment." + +A number of still excited men of one of the flanking brigades on our +right were firing uselessly at the dimly seen and remote mass of the +enemy. Penhallow went quickly to the right, and as he drew near shouted, +"Stop those men--quit firing!" He raised his hand to call attention to +his order. The firing lessened, and seeing that he was understood he +turned away. At the moment he was not fifty feet from the flanking line, +and had moved far down the slope as one of the final shots rang out. +He felt something like a blow on his right temple, and as he staggered +was aware of the gush of blood down his face. "What fool did that?" he +exclaimed as he reeled and fell. He rose, fell, rose again, and managed +to tie a handkerchief around his head. He stumbled to the wall and lay +down, his head aching. He could go no further. "Queer, that," he +murmured; "they might have seen." He sat up; things around him were +doubled to his view. + +"Are you hit?" said Haskell, who was directing stretcher-bearers and +sending prisoners to the rear. + +"Not badly." He was giddy and in great pain. Then he was aware of the +anxious face of Josiah. + +"My God! you hurt, sir? Come to look for you--can you ride? I fetched +Dixy--mare's killed." + +"I am not badly hurt. Tighten this handkerchief and give me your +arm--I can't ride," + +He arose, and amazed at his weakness, dragged himself down the slope, +through the reforming lines, the thousands of prisoners, the reinforcing +cannon and the wreckage of the hillside. He fell on his couch, and more +at ease began to think, with some difficulty in controlling his thoughts. +At last he said, "I shall be up to-morrow," and lay still, seeing, as the +late afternoon went by, Grey Pine and Ann Penhallow. Then he was aware of +Captain Haskell and a surgeon, who dressed his wound and said, "It was +mere shock--there is no fracture. The ball cut the artery and tore the +scalp. You'll be all right in a day or two." + +Penhallow said, "Please to direct my servant to the Sanitary Commission. +I think my friend, the Rev. Mark Rivers, is with them." + +He slept none. It was early dawn when Rivers came in anxious and +troubled. For the first time in years of acquaintance he found Penhallow +depressed, and amazed because so small a wound made him weak and unable +to think clearly or to give orders. "And it was some stupid boy from our +line," he said. + +His incapacity made Rivers uneasy, and although Penhallow broke out to +his surprise in angry remonstrance, he convinced him at last that he must +return to Grey Pine on sick leave. He asked no question about the army. +Insisting that he was too well to give up his command, nevertheless he +talked much of headache and lack of bodily power. He was, as Rivers saw, +no longer the good-humoured, quiet gentleman, with no thought of self. In +a week he was stronger, but as his watchful friend realized, there was +something mysteriously wrong with his mental and moral mechanism. + +On the day after the battle Penhallow asked to have his wife telegraphed +that he was slightly wounded, and that she must not come to him. Rivers +wrote also a brief and guarded letter to Leila of their early return to +Grey Pine. + +In a vain effort to interest the colonel, he told him of the surrender of +Vicksburg.--He asked where it was and wasn't John there, but somewhat +later became more clear-minded and eager to go home. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +Rivers gathered no comfort from a consultation of surgeons, who talked of +the long-lasting effects of concussion of the brain. Made careful by the +sad change he had observed in Ann Penhallow when last seen, he sent his +telegram for Leila to the care of the post-mistress, and a day later a +brief letter. + +Understanding the mode of address, Mrs. Crocker walked at once to Grey +Pine, and found Leila in the garden. "Where is your aunt?" she asked. + +"Lying down in her room. I got your kind note about the fight last +evening. Is it true? Is the news confirmed?" + +"Yes. There was a terrible battle at Gettysburg. The Rebels were defeated +by General Meade and are retreating." + +"I did not tell Aunt Ann anything. I waited to hear, as I was sure I +would from Uncle James. Is there evil news?" + +"I don't know. Here is a telegram to my care for you from Mr. Rivers. It +must have been delayed--and then came this letter to Mrs. Penhallow from +him." + +"Then--then--there is bad news," she cried as she tore open the telegram +and stood still. + +"What is it?--you know how we all love him." + +"Uncle Jim is wounded--not seriously--and will be here shortly." + +"Oh, but I am sorry--and glad." + +"Yes--yes--I must tell aunt at once. She has not left her room for +two days, and I forbade the maids to talk of the victory until it was +sure--now she must know all. I must tell her at once." + +"Why not get Dr. McGregor?" + +"No--no," she returned with decision. "I shall know best how to +tell--it wants a woman." + +The ruddy, stout post-mistress looked at the tall young woman with sudden +appreciation of her self-command and mental growth. "Maybe you're about +right, but I thought--well, fact is, I've seen of late so many people +just tear open a letter--and go all to pieces." + +Leila smiled. "You don't know my aunt. Now I must go. Oh, this war--this +war! To-morrow will scatter joy and grief over all the land." + +"Yes, I've been near about mobbed to-day. Good-bye." + +The messenger of evil news went straight from the garden path, where the +roses were in unusual abundance. To her surprise she saw her aunt on the +back porch. As Leila hesitated, she said, "I saw Mrs. Crocker from my +window, Leila. She gave you something--a letter--or a telegram. What is +it? I suppose after what I have heard of the Confederates at York and +Carlisle, they may be in Harrisburg by this time and the railroad to the +west cut off. It may be well to know." She spoke rapidly as she came down +the steps to meet her niece. "It is as well James Penhallow is not in +it." + +The two women stood facing one another in one of those immeasurably brief +silences which are to timeless thought as are ages. Her husband safe, +General Lee victorious--some slight look of satisfaction could be seen in +her face--a faint smile, too easily read--and then-- + +"Well, dear, your news?" + +Anger, tenderness, love, pity--all dictated answers. "Aunt Ann, I have +bad news." + +"Of course, dear. It was to be expected. You won't believe me, but I am +sorry for you and for James." + +The face of the tall young woman flushed hot. She had meant to spare +her--to be tender. She said, "General Lee is retreating after losing a +great battle at Gettysburg." + +Her aunt said quickly, "But James Penhallow--he is in Washington?" + +"No, he was in the army--he is wounded--not seriously--and he is coming +home." + +"I might have known it." A great illumination came over her face not +understood by Leila. She was strangely glad for him that he had been in +the field and not in peaceful safety at Washington. With abrupt change of +expression, she added, "Wounded? Not seriously. That isn't like him to +come home for a slight wound. You or Mark Rivers are hiding something." + +"Not I, aunt; but any wound that kept him off duty would be better cared +for here. Lee's defeat leaves him free for a time--I mean at ease--" + +"Don't talk nonsense!" she cried. "What do I care for Lee--or +Meade--or battles! James Penhallow is all the world to me. +Victory!"--she flamed with mounting colour--"it is I am the victor! He +comes back with honour--I have no duties--no country--I have only my +love. Oh, my God! if he had died--if--if--I should have hated!--" She +spoke with harsh vehemence, and of a sudden stopped, and breathing fast +gasped in low-voiced broken tones, "Don't stare at me--I am not a +fool--I am--I am--only the fool of a great love. You don't know what it +means. My God! I have no child--James Penhallow is to me children, +husband--all--everything." She stood still, wide-eyed, staring down the +garden paths, a wonder of yearning tenderness in her face, with Rivers's +letter in her hand. + +"Read your letter, Aunt." + +"Yes--yes--I forgot it." She read it, and said, "It only confirms the +telegram." + +The storm of passionate emotion was over. Leila amazed and fearful of +results--twice seen before--watched her. "You have seen," she said in a +low voice, "the soul of a great love laid bare. May you too some day, my +child, love as I do! Have no fear for me--I see it in your looks. Come +in--I have to see to things--I have to give some orders--there will be +much to do." She was at once quiet, and composedly led the way into the +house, the astonished girl following her. + +In the hall Mrs. Penhallow said, "I fear, dear, I have left too much of +the management of the house to you--of late, I mean. What with the farms +and stables, I am not surprised that things have not been quite as James +would desire. I am going to relieve you a little. I suppose the stables +are all right." + +"They are," returned Leila, feeling hurt. Her aunt had not been in the +kitchen or given an order for nearly a month, and house, farm and +stables, had been by degrees allowed to slip into Leila's well-trained +and competent hands. Meanwhile Ann Penhallow had gradually failed in +health and lost interest in duties which had been to her, as Rivers said, +what social pleasures were to some women. She yielded by degrees and not +without resistance to mere physical weakness, and under the emotional +stress of war, and above all the absence of the man on whom she depended, +had lapsed to McGregor's dismay into a state of mind and body for which +he had no remedy. + +Every physician of large experience must have seen cases of self-created, +unresisted invalidism end with mysterious abruptness and the return of +mental, moral and physical competence, under the influence of some call +upon their sense of duty made by calamity, such as an acute illness in +the household, financial ruin, or the death of a husband. The return of a +wounded man and the need to care for him acted thus upon Ann Penhallow. + +Leila looked on in surprise. Her aunt's astounding indifference to the +results of defeat for her beloved South when she learned of her husband's +injury left the younger woman utterly bewildered. Nothing in her own +nature, as she thought it all over, enabled her to understand it, nor was +her aunt's rapid gain in health and cheerfulness during the next few days +more easy to explain. At first with effort, but very soon with increase +of ability, she gradually became more and more her old self. + +Ann Penhallow spent the remainder of the next day in one of those +household inspections which let no failure in neatness or order escape +attention. James Penhallow's library was to be cleaned and cared for in +a way to distress any man-minded man, while Leila looked on. Had her +aunt's recent look of ill-health represented nothing but the depressing +influence of a year of anxiety? And, if so, why under the distress of a +nearer and more material disaster should she grow so quickly active, +and apparently strong in place of becoming more feeble. She followed +her aunt about the house trying to be helpful, and a little amused at +her return to some of the ways which at times annoyed Penhallow into +positive revolt. As she thought of it, Ann was standing over a battered +army-chest, open and half full of well-worn cavalry uniforms. + +"Really, Leila," she said, "these old army clothes had better be disposed +of--and that shabby smoking-jacket--I have not seen it for years. Why do +men keep their useless, shabby clothes?" + +"I think Uncle Jim wouldn't like those old army uniforms given away, +aunt; and don't you remember how he looked like an old Van Dyke portrait +in that lovely brown velvet jacket?" + +Ann, standing with the much used garment in her hand, let it drop into +the chest, saying, "I really cannot see the use of keeping things as men +love to do--" + +"And women never!" cried Leila, closing the lid of the box, and remarking +that he would like to find things as he left them; and had Aunt Ann +noticed that there were moths about the bear skins. Now a moth has the +power of singularly exciting some women--the diversion proved effectual. + +And still as the week went by Ann seemed to be gaining in strength. + +At lunch, a telegram from Charles Grey, Baltimore, said, "Penhallow here, +doing well. Will return on the 14th, by afternoon train, with Rivers and +servant." + +"Read that, dear--I want you, Leila, to ride to the mills and tell Dr. +McGregor that I will send the carriage for him in time for him to meet +your uncle at the station. I had better not meet him--and there will be +Mark Rivers and Josiah and--but you will see to all that." + +"Certainly, aunt." + +"It will be the day after to-morrow. Be sure that the doctor makes no +mistake. There are two trains--he will be on the four o'clock express." +This was in the manner of her Aunt Ann of former days. "Shall I write it +down?" + +Leila cried, "No," and fled, laughing. + +The next day to Leila's surprise and pleasure her aunt came down to +breakfast and quietly took her place as mistress of the tea-urn. The +talent of common sense as applicable to the lesser social commerce of +life was one of Leila's gifts, and she made no comment on her aunt's +amazing resumption of her old habits. Ann herself felt some inclination +to explain her rapid recovery of health, and said as she took the +long-vacant seat at the breakfast table, "I think, Leila, the doctor's +last tonic has been of use to me--I feel quite like myself." Having thus +anticipated her too sharp-eyed niece's congratulations, Leila's +expression of pleasure came in accordant place. Whereupon they both +smiled across the table, having that delicate appreciation of the needs +of the situation which is rarely at the service of the blundering mind +of man. + +The moment of gentle hypocrisy passed, the mistress of Grey Pine took up +her memoranda for the day, and said with some attempt at being just her +usual self, "I shall walk to Westways after breakfast--Pole needs to be +talked to. The meats have been of his worst lately." Then with a glance +at the paper, "Your uncle's books must be dusted; I quite forgot it; I +will set Susan to work this morning." + +"But," said Leila, "he does hate that, Aunt Ann. The last time she +succeeded in setting together 'Don Juan' and 'St. Thomas à Kempis.'" + +Ann laughed, and said with some of her old sense of humour, "It might do +them both good--dust them yourself." + +"I will," said Leila, liking the task. + +"And when you ride this afternoon, see Mrs. Lamb. The cook tells me +that she hears of that scamp, her son, as in the army--a nice kind of +soldier." A half-dozen other errands were mentioned, and they parted, +Ann adding, "There is no mail to-day." + +They met again at lunch. "It is too bad, Leila, Billy was given the +letters and forgot them and went a-fishing. There was a letter for you +from Mark Rivers about your uncle. Does he think me a child? I read it." + +"You read it, Aunt!" exclaimed Leila astonished at this infraction of +their household law. + +"Of course I read it. I knew it must be about James." Leila made no +reply, but did not like it. + +"Here it is, my dear. I fear James is in a more serious state than I was +led to believe by their first letters. There is also a letter from John +to you." She did not ask to see it, and Leila took both missives and +presently went away to the stables. Even John, as was plain, was +forgotten in her aunt's anxiety in regard to her husband. + +Her many errands over, Leila riding slowly through the lonely wood-roads +read the letters: + +"My Dear Leila," wrote Rivers, "you had better let your aunt know that +the Colonel's wound must have so shocked the brain, though there is no +fracture, as to have left him in a mental state which gives me the utmost +anxiety. You will sadly realize my meaning when you see him. Be careful +how you tell your aunt. + +"Yours truly, + +"MARK RIVERS." + +Here indeed was trouble. Leila's eyes filled and tears fell on the paper. +She rode on deep in thought, and at last securing the message of calamity +in her belt opened John's letter. + +"I write you, dear Leila, from my tent near Vicksburg, this 5th of July. +The prisoners from Pemberton's army are passing as I write. Our men are +giving them bread and tobacco, and there is no least sign of enmity or +triumph. I am pretty well worn out, as the few engineers have been worked +hard and the constant nearness of death in the trenches within five to +one hundred feet of the Rebel lines was a situation to make a man +think--not of course while in immediate danger, but afterwards. I had +some narrow escapes--we all had. But, dear Leila, it has been a splendid +thing to see how this man Grant, with the expressionless face, struck +swiftly one army after another and returned to secure his prey. + +"I cannot even now get a leave of absence, and I am beyond words anxious +to hear about dear Uncle Jim. Just a line from him makes me think he was +to be with General Meade and in that great battle we won. A telegram to +the Engineers' Camp, Vicksburg, will relieve me. + +"It is unlikely, if we go South, that I shall see you for many a day. All +leaves are, I find, denied. War--intense war like this--seems to me to +change men in wonderful ways. It makes some men bad or reckless or +drunkards or hard and cruel; it makes others thoughtful, dutiful and +religious. This is more often the case among the men than you may think +it would be. Certainly it does age a fellow fast. I seem to have passed +many years since I sat with you at West Point and you made me feel how +young I was and how little I had seen of life. It was true, but now I +have seen life at its worst and its best. I have had too the education +of battle, the lessons read by thousands of deaths and all the many +temptations of camp life. I believe, and I can say it to you, I am the +better for it all, and think less and less of the man who was fool enough +to do what with more humility he will surely do once more, if it please +God that he come out of this terrible war alive. + +"When you see me again, you will at least respect my years, for one lives +fast here, and the months seem years and the family Bible a vain record, +as I remember that the statement of births comes after the Apocrypha +which leaves room for doubt."-- + +Leila smiled. "How like him," she murmured. + +"I said months. There are (there were once last week) minutes when one +felt an insolent contempt of death, although the bullets were singing by +like our brave hornets. Is that courage? I used as a boy to wonder how I +would feel in danger. Don't tell, but on going under fire I shiver, and +then am at once in quiet possession of all my capacities, whatever they +be worth. A man drops by my side--and I am surprised; then another--and I +am sure I won't be hit. But I _was_ three weeks ago in my leg! It made me +furious, and I still limp a bit. It was only a nip--a spent bullet. I +wanted to get at that anonymous rascal who did it. + +"Do wire me, and write fully. + +"Yours, +JOHN. + +"P.S. I wonder where Tom McGregor is, and Pole's boy and Joe Grace, and +those Greys who went diverse ways. As you never talk of yourself when you +write those brief letters on notepaper the size of a postage stamp, you +might at least tell me all about these good people in Westways." + +She telegraphed him, "Uncle Jim slightly wounded, is coming home. Will +write. Leila Grey." + +About four in the afternoon of this July 14th Ann Penhallow kissed her +husband as he came up the porch steps. He was leaning heavily on Mark +Rivers's arm. He said, "It is quite a long time, Ann. How long is it?" +Then he shook off Rivers, saying, "I am quite well," and going by his +wife went through the open door, moving like one dazed. He stood still a +moment looking about him, turned back and speaking to his wife said, "I +understand now. At first it seemed strange to me and as if I had never +been here before. Ever feel that way, Ann?" + +"Oh, often, James." No signal of her anguish showed on the gallantly +carried face of the little woman. + +"Quiet, isn't it? When was it I was hit? It was--wasn't it in May? Rivers +says it was July--I do not like contradiction." His appreciation of time +and recognition of locality were alike disordered, as Rivers had observed +with distress and a too constant desire to set him right. With better +appreciation of his condition, Ann accepted his statement. + +"Yes--yes, of course, dear--it is just so." + +"I knew you would understand me. I should like to go to bed--I want +Josiah--no one else." + +"Yes, dear," and this above all else made clear to the unhappy little +lady how far was the sturdy soldier who had left her from the broken man +in undress uniform who clung to the rail, as he went slowly up the +stairway with his servant. In the hall he had seen Leila, but gave her no +word, not even his habitual smile of recognition. + +Ann stared after them a moment, motioned Rivers away with uplifted hand, +and hastening into the library sat down and wept like a child. She had +been unprepared for the change in his appearance and ways. More closely +observant, Leila saw that the lines of decisiveness were gone, the +humorous circles about the mouth and eyes, as it were, flattened out, and +that the whole face, with the lips a little languidly parted, had become +expressionless. It was many days before she could see the altered visage +without emotion, or talk of him to her aunt with any of the amazing +hopefulness with which the older woman dwelt on her husband's intervals +of resemblance to his former self. + +He would not ride or enter the stables, but his life was otherwise a +childlike resumption of his ordinary habits, except that when annoyed by +Ann's too obvious anxiety or excess of carefulness, he became irritable +at times and even violent in language. He so plainly preferred Leila's +company in his short walks as to make the wife jealous and vexed that she +was not wanted during every minute of his altered life. He read no books +as of old, but would have Leila read to him the war news until he fell +asleep, when she quietly slipped away. + +Mark Rivers resumed his duties for a time, unwilling to abandon these +dear friends for whom McGregor, puzzled and perplexed, had no word of +consolation, except the assurance that his condition did not grow worse. + +At times Penhallow was dimly aware of his state; at others he resented +any effort to control him and was so angry when the doctor proposed a +consultation that the idea was too easily given up, for always in this +as in everything his wife agreed with him and indulged him as women +indulge a sick child. The village grieved for the Colonel who rode no +more through Westways with a gay word of greeting for all he met. The +iron-mills were busy. The great guns tested on the meadows now and then +shook the panes in the western windows of Grey Pine. They no longer +disturbed Ann Penhallow. The war went its thunderous way unheeded by her. +Unendingly hopeful, the oppression of disaster seemed only to confirm and +strengthen her finest qualities. Like the pine-tree winning vigour from +its rock-clasped roots, she gathered such hardening strength of soul and +body from his condition as the more happy years had never put at her +command. + +"No letters to-day, Miss Leila," said the post-mistress standing beside +the younger woman's horse. "Just only them papers with their lists of +killed and wounded." + +"I must always be Leila, not Miss Leila," said the horsewoman. + +"Well--well--I like that better. How's the Colonel?" + +"Much the same--certainly no worse. It is wonderful how my aunt stands +it." + +"Don't you notice, Leila, how she has kind of softened? Me and Joe was +talking of it yesterday. She always was good, but folks did use to say +she was sort of hard and--positive. Now, she's kind of gentled--noticed +that?" + +"Yes, I have noticed it; but I must go. Give me the papers. You love a +talk." + +"There's no news of John?" + +"None of late. He is with General Grant--but where we do not know." + +"It's right pleasant to have Josiah back. Lord! but he's strong on war +stories--ought to hear him. He was always good at stories." + +"Yes, I suppose so. Good-bye." + +James Penhallow sat on the back porch in the after luncheon hour to get +with the freshness of October what sunshine the westerning sun was +sifting through the red and gold of the maples beyond the garden walls. +He was in the undress uniform of the artillery, and still wore the +trefoil of the Second Corps. An effort by Ann to remove his soiled army +garb and substitute his lay dress caused an outbreak of anger which left +him speechless and feeble, and her in an agony of regretful penitence. +Josiah, wiser than she, ventured to tell her what had happened once +before when his badge of the glorious Second Corps had been missing. +"After all, what does it matter?" she said to herself, and made no effort +to repair the ragged bullet tear South Mountain left in his jacket, and +in which he had at his worst times such childlike pride as in another and +well-known general had once amused him. + +He was just now in one of his best conditions and was clearly enjoying +the pipe he used but rarely. Ann at his feet on the porch-step read aloud +to him with indifference to all but the man she now and then looked up to +with the loving tenderness his brief betterment fed with illusory hope. + +"What's that, Ann?" he exclaimed; "Grant at Chattanooga! That's John's +ideal General. Didn't he write about him at--where was it? Oh! Belmont." + +"Yes, after Belmont, James." + +"When does Mark Rivers go back?" + +"To-morrow. He is always so out of spirits here that I am really relieved +when he returns to the Sanitary Commission." He made no reply, and she +continued her reading. + +"Isn't that Leila with Rivers, Ann?" + +"Yes. He likes to walk with her." + +"So would any man." A faint smile--very rare of late--showed in her +pleased upward look at the face--the changed face--she loved. + +The pair of whom they spoke were lost to view in the forest. + +"And you are glad to go?" said Leila to Rivers. + +"Yes, I am. I can hardly say glad, but now that your uncle is, so to +speak, lost to me and your aunt absorbed in her one task and the duties +she has taken up again, our pleasant Dante lessons are set aside, and +what is there left of the old intellectual life which is gone--gone?" + +"But," said Leila gaily, "you have the church and my humble society. Why, +you are really learning to walk, as you did not until of late." + +Making no reply to her personal remark, he was silent for a moment, and +then said with slow articulation and to her surprise, for he rarely spoke +of himself, "Nine years ago I came here, a man broken in mind and body. +This life and these dear friends have made me as strong as I can ever +hope to be. But the rest--the rest. I know what power God has given me +to bring souls to him. I can influence men--the lowly and--well, others, +as few can. I cannot live in cities--I dare not risk the failure in +health; and yet, I want--I want a larger field. I found it when your +aunt's liberality sent me to the army. There in my poor way I can serve +my country--and that is much to me." He was silent. + +"But," she said, "is there not work enough here? and the war cannot last +much longer. Don't think you must ever leave us." + +"I shall--I must. There are limitations I cannot talk of even--above all +to you. Your aunt knows this--and your uncle did--long ago." + +"What limitations?" she asked rashly. + +"You are the last person, Leila Grey, to whom I could speak of them. I +have said too much, but"--and he paused--"I am tired--I will leave you to +finish your walk." The great beautiful eyes turned on him for a moment. +"Oh, my God!" he exclaimed, and reproaching his brief human weakness left +her abruptly, walking slowly away through the drifting red and gold of +leaves rocking in air as they sauntered to earth, and was at last lost to +view in the woodland. + +Leila stood still, puzzled and sorrowful, as she watched the tall +stooping form. "How old he looks," she murmured. "What did he mean? I +must ask Aunt Ann." But she never did, feeling that what he had said was +something like a cautiously hinted confession. In the early morning he +was gone again to the field of war. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +Through the winter of 1863-4 at Grey Pine things remained unaltered, and +McGregor concluded that there was no hope for happier change. Rare +letters came from John Penhallow to his aunt, who sent no replies, and to +Leila, who wrote impersonal letters, as did John. Once he wrote that his +uncle might like to know, that after that pontoon business in the night +at Chattanooga and General Farrar Smith's brilliant action, he, John +Penhallow, was to be addressed as _Captain_. As the war went on, he was +across the Rapidan with Grant in May. + +At Grey Pine after breakfast the windows and both doors of the hall were +open to let the western breezes enter. They lingered in the garden to +stir the mothers of unborn flowers and swept through the hall, bearing as +they passed some gentle intimation of the ending of a cold spring. + +The mail had been given to the colonel, as he insisted it should be. With +some appearance of interest he said, "From Mark, for you, Ann." + +"None for me, Uncle?" asked Leila, as she went around the table. "Let me +help you. How many there are." She captured her own share, and for a +moment stood curious as she sorted the mail. "Army trash, Uncle! What a +lot of paper is needed to carry on war! Here is one--I have seen him +before--he is marked 'Respectfully referred.'" + +The colonel released a smile, which stirred Ann like a pleasant memory, +and fed one of the little hopes she was ever on the watch to find. "What +is your letter, Ann?" he asked. + +Looking up she replied, "It is only to acknowledge receipt of my draft. +He is in Washington. I gather that he does not mean to come back until +the war is over." "Over!" she thought; "Lee is not Pemberton, as Grant +will learn." It was of more moment to her that Penhallow was easier to +interest, and ate as he used to do. + +"Is your letter from John, Leila?" he said. "I don't like concealments." + +"But, I didn't conceal anything!" + +"Don't contradict me!" + +"No, sir." + +Ann's face grew watchful, fearing one of the outbreaks which left him +weak and querulous. + +"Well," said the colonel, "read us John's letter. There is as much fuss +about it as if it were a love-letter." + +There is no way as yet discovered to victoriously suppress a blush, but +time--a little fraction of time--is helpful, and there are ways of hiding +what cannot be conquered. The letter fell on the floor, and being +recovered was opened and read with a certain something in the voice which +caused Ann critically to use her eyes. + +"DEAR LEILA: I am just now with the Second Corps, but where you will know +in a week; now I must not say.--" + +"What's the date?" asked Penhallow. + +"There is none." + +"Look at the envelope." + +"I tore it up, sir." + +"Never throw away an envelope until you have read the letter." Ann looked +pleased--that was James Penhallow, his old self. Leila read on. + +"I am glad to be under canvas, and you know my faith in General Grant. + +"Tell Aunt Ann I have had three servants in two weeks. These newly freed +blacks are like mere children and quite useless, or else--well--one was +brutal to my horse. I sometimes wish Josiah was twins and I had one of +him.--" + +"What's that?" asked Penhallow. "Twins--I don't understand." + +"He wishes he had a servant like Josiah, Uncle." + +"Well, let him go to John," said the Colonel, with something of his old +positive manner. + +"But you would miss him, James." + +"I will not," he returned, and then--"What else is there?" + +"Oh--nothing--except that he will write again soon, and that he met Mr. +Rivers in Washington. That is all--a very unsatisfactory letter." + +For a day or two the colonel said no more of Josiah, and then asked if +he had gone, and was so obviously annoyed that Ann gave way as usual +and talked of her husband's wish to Josiah. The old life of Westways +and Grey Pine was over, and Josiah was allowed by Ann to do so little +for Penhallow that the black was not ill-pleased to leave home again for +the army life and to be with the man whom as a lad he had trusted and +who had helped him in a day of peril. + +No one thought of any need for a pass. He was amply supplied with money +and bade them good-bye. He put what he required in a knapsack, and +leaving Westways for the second time and with a lighter heart, set off +afoot to catch the train at Westways Crossing. The old slave was thus +put upon a way which was to lead to renewed and unpleasant acquaintance +with one of the minor characters of my story. + +Tired of unaccustomed idleness Josiah grinned as he went across country +thinking of the directions he had received from Leila of how he was to +find John Penhallow. + +"You know he is captain of engineers, Josiah. Now how are you going to +find him? An army is as big as a great city, and in motion, too." + +"Well, missy," said Josiah, "the way I'll find him is the way dog Caesar +finds you in the woods." He would hear no more and left her. + +Josiah knew many people in Washington, black and white, and after some +disappointments went with a lot of remounts for cavalry to join the +army in the Wilderness, where he served variously with the army teams. +On an afternoon late in May, 1864, he strode on, passing by the long +lines of marching men who filled the roadways on their way to the +crossing of the North Anna River. He had been chaffed, misdirected, +laughed at or civilly treated, as he questioned men about the engineers. +He took it all with good-humour. About three, he came near to a house +on the wayside, where a halt had been ordered to give the men a brief +rest. The soldiers dust-grey and thirsty scattered over the clearing or +lay in the shadow of the scrub oaks. Some thronged about a well or a +wayside spring, or draining their canteens caught a brief joy from the +lighted pipe so dear to the soldier. Josiah looked about him, and knew +the log-cabins some distance away from the better house to have been the +slave-quarters. Beyond them was a better built log-house. Apparently all +were deserted--men, cattle and horses, were gone. He lay down a little +way from the road and listened to the talk of the men seated in front of +him. He heard a private say, "A halt is as bad as a march, the dust is a +foot deep, and what between flies and mosquitoes, they're as bad as the +Rebs." + +"Ah!" said an old corporal, "just you wait a bit. These are only a +skirmish line. July and Chickahominy mosquitoes will get you when your +baccy's out." + +"It's out now." + +Josiah was eager to question some one and was aware of the value of +tobacco as a social solvent. He said, "I've got some baccy, corporal." + +The men in front of him turned. "For sale--how much?" + +"No," said Josiah. "My pouch is full. Help yourselves." + +This liberal contribution was warmly appreciated, and the private, who +was the son of a New York banker, interested in the black man, asked, +"What are you doing in this big circus?" It was the opening for which +Josiah waited. + +"Looking for an engineer-captain." + +The corporal said, "Well, like enough he'll be at the bridge of the North +Anna--but the engineers are here, there and anywhere. What is his name?" + +"Thank you, sir. My master is Captain Penhallow." + +"Well, good luck to you." + +"Take another pipe load," returned Josiah, grateful for the unusual +interest. + +"Thank you," said the private, "with pleasure. Tobacco is as scarce as +hen's teeth." + +"That's so. Who's that officer on the big horse? He's a rider whoever he +is." + +"That's the ring-master of this show," laughed the private. + +"Not General Grant!" + +"Yes." Josiah considered him with interest. + +There was of a sudden some disturbance about the larger of the more +remote cabins; a soldier ran out followed by a screaming young woman. +Her wild cries attracted attention to the man, who was at once caught +and held while he vainly protested. The men about Josiah sat up or got +on their feet. The young woman ran here and there among the groups of +soldiers like one distracted. At last, near the larger house at the +roadside she fell on her knees and rocked backwards and forwards sobbing. +Josiah at a distance saw only that a soldier had been caught trying to +escape notice as a young woman followed him out of the house. It was too +well understood by the angry men who crowded around the captive. + +The general said to his staff, "Wait here, gentlemen." He rode through +the crowd of soldiers, saying, "Keep back, my men; keep away--all of +you." Then he dismounted and walked to where the girl--she was hardly +more--still knelt wailing and beating the air with uplifted hands. "Stand +up, my good girl, and tell me what is wrong." + +The voice was low and of a certain gentleness, rarely rising even in +moments of peril. She stood up, "I can't--I can't--let me go--I want to +die!" + +The figure, still slight of build in those days, bent over her pitiful. +"I am General Grant. Look up at me. There shall be justice done, but I +must know." + +She looked up a moment at the kind grave face, then with bent head and +hands over her eyes she sobbed out what none but the general could hear. +His voice grew even more distinctly soft as touching her shoulder he +said, "Look at that man. Oh, bring him near--nearer. Now, be sure, is +that the man? Look again! I must be certain." + +With a quick motion she pushed his hand from her shoulder as she stood, +and pointing to the brute held by two soldiers cried, "That's him--oh, my +God! Take him away--kill him. Le' me go. Don't you keep me." She looked +about like some hopelessly trapped, wild-eyed animal. + +"You may go, of course," said the low-voiced man. "I will set a guard +over your house." + +"Don't want no Yankee guard--le' me go--I've got nothin' to guard--I want +to die." She darted away and through the parting groups of men who were +clear enough about what they knew had happened and what should be done. + +The dark grey eyes of the General followed her flight for a pitying +instant. Then he remounted, and said to the scared captive, "What have +you got to say?" + +"It's all a lie." + +The general's face grew stern. He turned and asked for an officer of the +Provost Guard. A captain rode up and saluted. "I have no time to lose in +trying this scoundrel. We can't take along the only witness." He +hesitated a moment. "Let your men tie him to a tree near the road. Let +two of the guard watch him until the rear has gone by. Put a paper on his +breast--make his crime clear, clear." He said a word or two more to the +officer, and then "put on it, '_Left to the justice of General Lee_.'" + +"Is that all, sir?" said the amazed officer. + +"No--put below, '_U.S. Grant_.' The girl will tell her story. When the +cavalry pass, leave him. Now, gentlemen, the men have had a rest, let us +ride on." + +Josiah a hundred feet away heard, "Fall in--fall in." The tired soldiers +rose reluctant and the long line tramped away. Josiah interested sat +still and saw them go by under the dust-laden air. The girl had gone past +her home and into the woods. The guards curiously watched by the marching +men passed near Josiah with their prisoner and busied themselves with +looking among the hazel, scrub oak and sassafras for a large enough tree +near to the road. As they went by, he saw the man. + +"My God!" he exclaimed, "it's Peter Lamb." He moved away and lay down +well hidden in the brush. It was a very simple mind which considered this +meeting with the only being the black man hated. The unusual never +appealed to him as it would have done to a more imaginative person. The +coming thus on his enemy was only what he had angrily predicted when he +had Peter in his power and had said to him that some day God would punish +him. It had come true. + +The men who had arrested Peter and were near enough to hear the brief +sentence, understood it, and being eagerly questioned soon spread among +the moving ranks the story of the crime and this unexampled punishment. +It was plain to Josiah, but what was to follow he did not know, as he +rose, lingered about, and following the Provost's party considered the +wonderful fact of his fulfilled prediction. The coincidence of being +himself present did not cause the surprise which what we call +coincidences awaken in minds which crave explanations of the uncommon. +It was just what was sure to happen somehow, some day, when God settled +Josiah's personal account with a wicked man. He had, however, an urgent +curiosity to see how it would end and a remainder of far-descended +savagery in the wish to let his one enemy know that he was a witness +of his punishment. Thinking thus, Josiah went through the wayside scrub +to see how the guard would dispose of their prisoner. + +The man who had sinned was presently tied to a tree facing the road. His +hands were securely tied behind it, and his feet as rudely dealt with. +He said no word as they pinned the label on his breast. Then the two +guards sat down between Peter and the roadway. Men of the passing +brigades asked them questions. They replied briefly and smoked with +entire unconcern as to their prisoner, or speculated in regard to what +the Rebs would say or do to him. The mosquitoes tormented him, and once +he shuddered when one of the guards guessed that perhaps the girl would +come back and see him tied up. The story of Grant's unusual punishment +was told over and over to men as the regiments went by. Now and then +soldiers left the ranks to read the sentence of what must mean death. +Some as they read were as silent as the doomed wretch; others laughed or +cursed him for dishonouring the army in which this one crime was almost +unknown. A sergeant tore the corps mark from his coat, and still he said +no word. The long-drawn array went on and on; the evening shadows +lengthened; miles of wagon trains rumbled by; whips cracked over mules; +the cavalry guard bringing up the rear was lost in the dust left by +tramping thousands; the setting sun shone through it ruddy; and last came +the squadron net of the Provost-marshal gathering in the stragglers. +Tired men were helped by a grip on the stirrup leather. The lazy +loiterers were urged forward with language unquotable, the mildest being +"darned coffee-coolers." At last, all had gone. + +Josiah rose from his hiding place and listened as the clank of steel and +the sound of hurried horsemen died away. No other noises broke the +twilight stillness. He walked back to the roadside, and stood before the +pinioned and now lonely man. "You're caught at last, Peter Lamb." + +"Oh, Lord!" cried the captive. "It's Josiah. For God's sake, let me +loose." + +"Reckon I won't," said Josiah. + +"I'm in agony--my arms--I shall die--and I am innocent. I did not do +anything. Won't you help me?" + +"No--the Rebs will come and hang you." + +The man's cunning awoke. He said the one thing, made the one plea which, +as he spoke, troubled Josiah's decision. "Is the Squire alive?" + +"Why shouldn't he be alive?" asked Josiah, surprised. + +"Oh, I saw in a paper that he was wounded at Gettysburg. Now, Josiah, if +he was here--if he was to know you left me to die." + +Josiah was uncertain what he would have done. His simple-minded view of +things was disturbed, and his tendency to be forgiving kindly assisted to +give potency to the appeal. He said, "I won't set you free, but I'll do +this much," and he tore the paper from Peter's breast, saying, "You'll +get off with some lie when the Rebs come." Then he turned and walked +away, tearing up the death warrant and hearing the wild pleas of the +painfully bound man. + +The night had come, but save for the faintly heard complaint of some +far-distant dog, there was nothing to break the quiet of the deserted +land which lay between the two armies. Having torn to pieces and +carefully scattered the bits of paper, Josiah, who while doing one thing +could not think of another, began to reflect on what he had done. He had +been too long in servitude not to respect authority. If any one knew--but +no one could know. He himself had said that what had come upon Lamb was a +judgment--the act of one who had said, "I will repay." It troubled a mind +whose machinery was of childlike incapacity to deal with problems +involving the moral aspects of conduct. Perhaps this had been a chance to +give Lamb an opportunity to repent by setting him free; but there had +already been interference with the judgment of God. More personally +material events relieved the black from responsibility. His quick ear +caught the sound of troopers, the sharp notes of steel clinking; he had +no mind to be picked up by the enemy's horse, and dismissing all other +considerations he took to the woods and walked rapidly away. Late in the +evening he crossed the North Anna with a train of wagons, as driver of an +unruly mule team, one of which had rewarded his driver in kind for brutal +use of the whip and perverted English. The man groaning in the wagon +informed Josiah concerning mules and their ways. After a day or two he +was pleased to get back on his legs, for when bullets were not flying the +army life was full of interest. A man who could cook well, shave an +officer or shoe a horse, never lacked the friends of an hour; and too, +his unfailing good-humour was always helpful. An officer of the line +would have been easy to find, but the engineers were continually in +motion and hard to locate. He got no news of John Penhallow until the +29th of May, when he came on General Wilson's cavalry division left on +the north side of the Pamunkey River to cover the crossing of the trains. +These troopers were rather particular about straggling negroes, and +Josiah sharply questioned told the simple truth as he moved toward the +bridge, answering the questions of a young officer. A horse tied to a +sapling at the roadside for reasons unknown kicked the passing cavalry +man's horse. The officer moved on swearing a very original mixture of +the over-ripe English of armies. Swearing was a highly cultivated +accomplishment in the cavalry; no infantry profanity approached it in +originality. The officer occupied with his uneasy horse dropped Josiah +as he rode on. A small, dark-skinned negro, rather neatly dressed, spoke +to Josiah in the dialect of the Southern slave, which I shall not try to +put on paper. He spoke reflectively and as if from long consideration of +the subject, entering at once into the intimacies of a relation with the +man of his own colour. + +"That horse is the meanest I ever saw--I know him." + +"He's near thoroughbred," said Josiah, "and been badly handled, I +reckon. It's no good cussin' horses or mules--a good horseman don't ever +do it--horses know." + +"Well, the officer that rides that horse now is about the only man can +ride him. That horse pretty nearly killed one of my general's staff. He +sold him mighty sudden." + +"Who's your General?" queries Josiah. + +"Why, General Grant--I'm his headquarter man--they call me +Bill--everybody knows me." + +He rose at once in Josiah's estimation. "Who owns that horse?" asked +Josiah. "I'd like well to handle his beast." + +"He's an engineer-officer, name of Penhallow. He's down yonder somewhere +about that pontoon bridge. I'm left here to hunt up a headquarter wagon." + +"Penhallow!" exclaimed Josiah, delighted. "Why, I'm down here to be his +servant." + +"Well, let's go to the bridge. You'll get a chance to cross after the +wagons get over. I've just found mine." They moved to one side and sat +down. "That's Wilson's cavalry on guard. Worst dust I ever saw. Infantry +dust's bad, but cavalry dust don't ever settle. The Ninth Corps's gone +over. There come the wagons." With cracking of whip and imprecations the +wagons went over the swaying pontoons. Bill left him, and Josiah waited +to cross behind the wagons. + +On the bridge midway, a young officer in the dark dress and black-striped +pantaloons of the engineers moved beside the teams anxiously observing +some loosened flooring. A wagon wheel gave way, and the wagon lurching +over struck the officer, who fell into the muddy water of the Pamunkey. +Always amused at an officer's mishap, cavalry men and drivers laughed. +The young man struck out for the farther shore, and came on to a shelving +slope of slimy mud, and was vainly struggling to get a footing when an +officer ran down the bank and gave him a needed hand. Thus aided, +Penhallow gained firm ground. With a look of disgust at his condition, as +he faced the laughing troopers he said, with his somewhat formal way, "To +whom am I indebted?" + +"Roland Blake is my name. Isn't it Captain Penhallow of the engineers?" + +"Yes, well disguised with Rebel mud. What a mess! But, by George! not +worse than you when I first saw you." + +"Where was it?" asked Blake. + +"I can give a good guess. You were quite as lovely as Mr. Penhallow." It +was a third officer who spoke. "By the bye," he added, "as Blake doesn't +present me, I am Philip Francis." + +"I can't even offer to shake hands," returned Penhallow, laughing, as he +scraped the flakes of mud from his face. "I saw you both at the Bloody +Angle. I think I could describe you." + +"Don't," said Francis. + +"Some people are modest," said Blake. "I think you will soon dry to dust +in this sun. I have offered myself that consolation before. It's the only +certainty in this land of the unexpected." + +"The wagons are over; here comes the guard," said Francis. "It's our +beastly business now. Call up the men, Roland." + +"Provost duty, I suppose," said Penhallow. "I prefer my mud." + +"Yes," growled Francis, "human scavengers--army police. I'm out of it +this week, thank Heaven." + +The last wagon came creaking over the bridge, the long line of cavalry +trotted after them, the Provost Guard mounted to fall in at the rear and +gather in the stragglers. + +"Sorry I can't give you a mount," said Blake, as he turned to recross the +bridge. + +"Thank you, I have a horse on the other side." As he spoke a breeze +stirred the dead atmosphere and shook down from the trees their gathered +load of dust. + +Francis said, "It's half of Virginia!" + +Blake murmured, "Dust to dust--a queer reminder." + +"Oh, shut up!" cried Francis. + +The young engineer laughed and said to himself, "If Aunt Ann could see +me. It's like being tarred and feathered. See you soon again, I hope, Mr. +Blake. I am deep in your debt." They passed out of sight. No one remained +but the bridge-guard. + +The engineer sat down and devoted his entire energies to the difficult +task of pulling off boots full of mud and water. Meanwhile as the +provost-officers rode back over the pontoons Francis said, "I remember +that man, Penhallow, at the Bloody Angle. He was the only man I saw who +wasn't fight-crazy, he insisted on my going to the rear. You know I was +bleeding like a stuck pig. It was between the two attacks. I said, 'Oh, +go to H---!' He said, 'There is no need to go far.' I am sure he did not +remember me. A rather cool hand--West Point, of course." + +"What struck me," said Blake, "was that he did not swear." + +"Then," said Francis, "he is the only man in the army who would have +failed to damn those grinning troopers." + +"Except Grant," said Blake. + +"So they say.--It's hard to believe, but I suppose the Staff knows. +Wonder if Lee swears. Two army commanders who don't swear? It's +incredible!" + +As Penhallow, left alone, tugged at a reluctant boot, he heard, "Good +Lord! Master John, that's my business." + +He looked up to seize Josiah by the hand, exclaiming, "How did you get +here?--I am glad to see you. Pull off this boot. How are they all?" + +"The Colonel he sent me." + +"Indeed! How is he? I've not heard for a month." + +"He's bad, Master John, bad--kind of forgets things--and swears." + +"That's strange for him." + +"The doctors they can't seem to make it out. He hasn't put a leg over a +horse, not since he was wounded." Evidently this was for Josiah the most +serious evidence of change from former health. + +"How is Aunt Ann?" + +Tugging at the boots Josiah answered, "She's just a wonder--and Miss +Leila, she's just as pretty as a pansy." + +Penhallow smiled; it left a large choice to the imagination. +"Pansy--pansy--why is she like a pansy, Josiah?" + +"Well, Master John, it's because she's so many kinds of pretty. You see +I used to raise pansies. That boot's a tough one." + +"Have you any letters for me?" + +"No, sir. They said I wasn't as sure as the army-post. Got a note +from Dr. McGregor in my sack. Hadn't I better get your horse over the +bridge--I liked his looks, and I asked a man named Bill who owned that +horse. He said you did, and that's how I found you. He said that horse +was a bad one. He said he was called 'Hoodoo.' That's unlucky!" + +"Yes, he's mine, Josiah. You would like to change his name?" + +"Yes, sir, I would. This boot's the worst!" + +Penhallow laughed. "That horse, Josiah, has every virtue a horse ought to +have and every vice he ought not to have. He'll be as good as Aunt Ann +one day, and as mean and bad as Peter Lamb the next day. Halloa there, +guard! let my man cross over." + +Hoodoo came quietly, and as Penhallow walked his horse, Josiah related +the village news, and then more and more plainly the captain gathered +some clear idea of his uncle's condition and of the influence the younger +woman was exerting on a household over which hung the feeling of +inexorable doom. As he read McGregor's letter he knew too well that were +he with them he could be of no practical use. + +The next few days John Penhallow was kept busy, and on June 2nd having to +report with some sketch-maps he found the headquarters at Bethesda +Church. The pews had been taken out and set under trees. The staff was +scattered about at ease. General Grant, to John's amusement, was petting +a stray kitten with one hand and writing despatches with the other. At +last he began to talk with members of the Christian Commission about +their work. Among them John was aware of Mark Rivers. A few minutes later +he had his chance and took the clergyman away to the tents of the +engineers for a long and disheartening talk of home. They met no more for +many days, and soon he was too busy to think of asking the leave of +absence he so much desired. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + + +The effort to crush Lee's army by a frontal attack led to the disastrous +defeat of Cold Harbor, and Grant who was never personally routed resolved +to throw his army south of the James River. It involved a concealed night +march, while his lines were in many places but thirty to one hundred feet +from the watchful Confederates. The utmost secrecy was used in regard to +the bold movement intended, but preparations for it demanded frequent +reconnaissances and map-sketching on the part of the engineers. A night +of map-making after a long day in the saddle left John Penhallow on June +6th a weary man lying on his camp-bed too tired to sleep. He heard Blake +ask, "Are you at home, Penhallow?" Few men would have been as welcome as +the serious-minded New England captain who had met Penhallow from time to +time since the engineer's mud-bath in the Pamunkey River. + +"Glad to get you by yourself," said Blake. "You look used up. Do keep +quiet!" + +"I will, but sit down and take a pipe. Coffee, Josiah!" he called out. +"I am quite too popular by reason of Josiah's amazing ability to forage. +If the Headquarters are within reach, he and Bill--that's the general's +man--hunt together. The results are surprising! But I learned long ago +from my uncle, Colonel Penhallow, that in the army it is well to ask +no unnecessary questions. My man is very intelligent, and as I keep him +in tobacco and greenbacks, I sometimes fancy that Headquarters does not +always get the best out of the raids of these two contrabands." + +"I have profited by it, Penhallow. I have personal memories of that +young roast pig, I think your man called it a shoat. Your corps must +have caught it hard these last days. I suppose we are in for something +unusual. You are the only man I know who doesn't grumble. Francis says +it's as natural to the beast called an army as barking is to a dog." + +"Of course, the habit is stupid, Blake. I mean the constant growl about +the unavoidable discomforts of war; but this last week has got me near +the growling point. I have had two ague chills and quinine enough to ring +chimes in my head. I haven't had a decent wash for a week, and really war +is a disgustingly dirty business. You don't realize that in history, in +fiction, or in pictures. It's filthy! Oh, you may laugh!" + +"Who could help laughing?" + +"I can to-day. To-morrow I shall grin at it all, but just now I am half +dead. What with laying corduroys and bridging creeks, to be burnt up next +day, and Chickahominy flies--oh, Lord! If there is nothing else on hand +in the way of copies of maps, some general like Barnard has an insane +curiosity to reconnoitre. Then the Rebs wake up--and amuse themselves." + +Blake laughed. "You are getting pretty near to that growl." + +"Am I? I have more than impossible demands to bother me. What with some +despondent letters--I told you about my uncle's wound and the results, I +should have a fierce attack of home-sickness if I had leisure to think at +all." + +Blake had found in Penhallow much that he liked and qualities which were +responsive to his own high ideal of the man and the soldier. He looked +him over as the young engineer lay on his camp-bed. "Get anything but +home-sick, Penhallow! I get faint fits of it. The quinine of 'Get up, +captain, and put out those pickets' dismisses it, or bullets. Lord, but +we have had them in over-doses of late. Francis has been hit twice but +not seriously. He says that Lee is an irregular practitioner. It is +strange that some men are hit in every skirmish; it would bleed the +courage out of me." + +"Would it? I have had two flesh wounds. They made me furiously angry. You +were speaking of Lee--my uncle greatly admired him. I should like to know +more about him. I had a little chance when we were trying to arrange a +truce to care for the wounded. You remember it failed, but I had a few +minute's talk with a Rebel captain. He liked it when I told him how much +we admired his general. That led him to talk, and among other things he +told me that Lee had no sense of humour and I gathered was a man rather +difficult of approach." + +"He might apply to Grant for the rest of his qualities," said Blake. "He +would get it; but what made you ask about sense of the humorous? I have +too little, Francis too much." + +"Oh," laughed Penhallow, "from saint to sinner it is a good +medicine--even for home-sickness." + +"And the desperate malady of love," returned Blake. "I shall not venture +to diagnose your need. How is that?" + +"I?--nonsense," laughed the engineer. "But seriously, Blake, about +home-sickness; one of my best men has it badly--not the mild malady +you and I may have." + +"You are quite right. It accounts for some desertions--not to the enemy, +of course. I talked lately of this condition to a Dr. McGregor--" + +"McGregor!" returned Penhallow, sitting up. "Where is he? I'd like to see +him--an old comrade." + +"He is with our brigade." + +"Tell him to look me up. The engineers are easily found just now. He was +an old schoolmate." + +"I'll tell him. By the way, Penhallow, when asking for my mail to-day, I +persuaded the post-master to give me your letters. Don't mind me--you +will want to read them--quite a batch of them." + +"Oh, they can wait. Don't go. Ah! here's Josiah with coffee." + +"How it does set a fellow up, Penhallow. Another cup, please. I had to +wait a long time for our letters and yours. Really that place was more +tragic than a battlefield." + +"Why so? I send Josiah for my mail." + +"Oh, there were three cold-blooded men-machines returning letters. I +watched them marking the letters--'not found'--'missing'--and so on." + +"Killed, I suppose--or prisoners." + +"Yes, awful, indeed--most sorrowful! Imagine it! Others were forwarding +letters--heaps of them--from men who may be dead. You know how apt men +are to write letters before a battle." + +"I wait till it is over," said Penhallow. + +"That post-office gave me a fit of craving for home and peace." + +"Home-sickness! What, you, Blake!" + +"Oh, that worst kind; home-sickness for a home when you have no home. I +wonder if in that other world we shall be home-sick for this." + +"That depends. Ah! here comes a reminder that we are in this world just +now--and just as we have begun one of our real talks." + +An orderly appeared with a note. Penhallow read it. He was on his feet at +once. "Saddle Hoodoo, Josiah. I must go. Come soon again, Blake. We have +had a good talk--or a bit of one." + +At four in the morning of June 14th, when John Penhallow with a group of +older engineers looked across the twenty-one hundred feet of the James +River they were to bridge, he realized the courage and capacity of the +soldier who had so completely deceived his wary antagonist. Before eleven +that night a hundred pontoons stayed by barges bridged the wide stream +from shore to shore. Already the Second Corps under Hancock had been +hastily ferried over the river. The work on the bridge had been hard, and +the young Captain had had neither food nor rest. Late at night, the work +being over, he recrossed the bridge, and after a hasty meal lay down on +the bluff above the James with others of his Corps and slept the uneasy +sleep of an overtired man. At dawn he was awakened by the multiple noises +of an army moving on the low-lying meadows below the bluff. Refreshed and +free from any demand on his time, he breakfasted at ease, and lighting +his pipe was at once deeply interested in what he saw. As he looked about +him, he was aware of General Grant standing alone on the higher ground. +He saw the general throw away his cigar and with hands clasped behind him +remain watching in rapt silence the scene below him. "I wonder," thought +Penhallow, "of what he is thinking." The face was grave, the man +motionless. The engineer turned to look at the matchless spectacle +below him. The sound of bands rose in gay music from the approaches to +the river, where vast masses of infantry lay waiting their turn to cross. +The guns of batteries gleamed in the sun, endless wagon-trains and +ambulances moved or were at rest. Here and there the wind of morning +fluttered the flags and guidons with flashes of colour. The hum of a +great army, the multitudinous murmurs of men talking, the crack of whips, +the sharp rattle of wagons and of moving artillery, made a strange +orchestra. Over all rose the warning shrieks of the gun-boat signals. Far +or near on the fertile meadows the ripened corn and grain showed in green +squares between the masses of men and stirred in the morning breeze or +lay trampled in ruin by the rude feet of war. It was an hour and a scene +to excite the dullest mind, and Penhallow intensely interested sat +fascinated by a spectacle at once splendid and fateful. The snake-like +procession of infantry wagons and batteries moved across the bridge and +was lost to view in the forest. Penhallow turned again to look at his +general, who remained statuesque and motionless. Then, suddenly the +master of this might of men and guns looked up, listened to Warren's +artillery far beyond the river, and with the same expressionless face +called for his horse and rode away followed by his staff. + +The battle-summer of 1864 went on with the wearisome siege of Petersburg +and the frequent efforts to cut the railways which enabled the +Confederates to draw supplies from states which as yet had hardly felt +the stress of war. + +Late in the year the army became a city of huts, and there was the +unexampled spectacle of this great host voting quietly in the election +which gave to Lincoln another evidence of the trust reposed in him. The +engineers had little to do in connection with the larger movements of the +army, and save for the siege work were at times idle critics of their +superiors. The closing month of 1864 brought weather which made the +wooden huts, usually shared by two officers, more comfortable than tents. +The construction of these long streets of sheltering quarters brought out +much ingenuity, and Penhallow profited by Josiah's clever devices and +watchful care. As the army was in winter-quarters, there was time enough +for pleasant visiting, and for the engineers more than enough of danger +in the trenches or when called on to accompany some general officer as an +aide during Grant's obstinate efforts to cut the railways on which Lee +relied. Francis, not gravely wounded, was at home repairing damages; but +now, with snow on the ground and ease of intercourse, Blake was a +frequent visitor in the engineer quarters. When Rivers also turned up, +the two young men found the talk unrivalled, for never had the tall +clergyman seemed more attractive or as happy. + +Of an afternoon late in November Penhallow was toasting himself by the +small fire-place and deep in thought. He had had a long day in the +intrenchments and one moment of that feeling of imminent nearness to +death which affects men in various ways. A shell neatly dropped in a +trench within a few feet of where he stood, rolled over, spitting red +flashes. The men cried, "Down, down, sir!" and fell flat. Something +like the fascination a snake exercises held him motionless; he never was +able to explain his folly. The fuse went out as he watched it--the shell +was a dead thing and harmless. The men as they rose eyed him curiously. + +"A near thing," he said, and with unusual care moved along a traverse, +his duty over for the day. He took with him a feeling of mental confusion +and of annoyed wonder. + +He found Josiah picking a chicken as he sat whistling in front of the +tent. "There's been a fight, sir, about three o'clock, on our left. Bill +says we beat." + +"Indeed!" It was too common news to interest him. He felt some singular +completeness of exhaustion, and was troubled because of there being no +explanation which satisfied him. Asking for whisky to Josiah's surprise, +he took it and lay down, as the servant said, "There's letters, sir, on +the table." + +"Very well. Close the tent and say I'm not well; I won't see any one." + +"Yes, sir. Nothing serious?" + +"No." He fell asleep as if drugged. + +Outside Josiah picked his lean chicken and whistled with such peculiar +sweetness as is possible only to the black man. Everything interested +him. Now and then he listened to the varied notes of the missiles far +away and attracting little attention unless men were so near that the +war-cries of shot and shell became of material moment. The day was cold, +and an early November snow lay on the ground and covered the long rows of +cabins. Far to the rear a band was practising. Josiah listened, and with +a negative head-shake of disapproving criticism returned to the feather +picking and sang as he picked: + +I wish I was in Dixie land, +In Dixie land, in Dixie land. + +He held up the plucked fowl and said, "Must have been on short rations." + +The early evening was quiet. Now and then a cloaked horseman went by +noiseless on the snow. Josiah looked up, laid down the chicken, and +listened to the irregular tramp of a body of men. Then, as the head of a +long column came near and passed before him between the rows of huts, he +stood up to watch them. "Prisoners," he said. Many were battle-grimed and +in tatters, without caps and ill-shod. Here and there among them a +captured officer marched on looking straight ahead. The larger part were +dejected and plodded on in silence, with heads down, while others stared +about them curious and from the cabins near by a few officers came out +and many soldiers gathered. As usual there were no comments, no sign of +triumph and only the silence of respect. + +Josiah asked a guard where they came from. "Oh, Hancock's fight at +Hatcher's Run--got about nine hundred." + +The crowd of observers increased in number as the end of the line drew +near. Josiah lost interest and sat down. "Got to singe that chicken," he +murmured, with the habit of open speech of the man who had lived long +alone. Suddenly he let the bird drop and exclaimed under his breath, +"Jehoshaphat!"--his only substitute for an oath--"it's him!" Among the +last of the line of captured men he saw one with head bent down looking +neither to the right nor the left--it was Peter Lamb! At this moment two +soldiers ran forward and shouted out something to the officer bringing up +the rear. He cried, "Halt! take out that man." There was a little +confusion, and Peter was roughly haled out of the mass. The officer +called a sergeant. "Guard this fellow well," and he bade the men who +had detected Lamb go with the guard. + +Soldiers crowded in on them. "What's the matter--who is he?" they asked. + +"Back, there!" cried the Lieutenant. + +"A deserter," said some one. "Damn him." + +Lamb was silent while between the two guards he was taken to the rear. +Josiah forgot his chicken and followed them at a distance. He saw Lamb +handcuffed and vainly protesting as he was thrust into the prison-hut of +the provostry. + +Josiah asked one of the men who had brought about the arrest, "Who is +that man?" + +"Oh, he was a good while ago in my regiment--in our company too, the 71st +Pennsylvania--a drunken beast--name of Stacy--Joe Stacy. We missed him +when we were near the North Anna--at roll-call." + +"What will they do with him?" + +"Shoot him, I hope. His hands were powder blacked. He was caught on the +skirmish line." + +"Thank you." Josiah walked away deep in thought. He soon settled to the +conclusion that the Rebs had found Peter and that perhaps he had had no +choice of what he would do and had had to enlist. What explanatory lie +Peter had told he could not guess. + +Josiah went slowly back to the tent. His chicken was gone. He laid this +loss on Peter, saying, "He always did bring me bad luck." Penhallow was +still asleep. Ought he to tell him of Peter Lamb. He decided not to do +so, or at least to wait. Inborn kindliness acted as it had done before, +and conscious of his own helplessness, he was at a loss. Near to dusk he +lighted a pipe and sat down outside of Penhallow's hut. Servants of +engineer officers spoke as they passed, or chaffed him. His readiness for +a verbal duel was wanting and he replied curtly. He was trying to make +out to his own satisfaction whether he could or ought to do anything but +hold his tongue and let this man die and so disappear. He knew that he +himself could do nothing, nor did he believe anything could be done to +help the man. He felt, however, that because he hated Peter, he was bound +by his simply held creed to want to do something. He did not want to do +anything, but then in confusing urgency there was the old mother, the +colonel's indulgent care of this drunken animal, and at last some +personal realization of the loneliness of this man so near to death. Then +he remembered that Mark Rivers was within reach. To get this clergyman to +see Peter would relieve him of the singular feeling of responsibility +he could not altogether set aside. He was the only person who could +identify Lamb. That, at least, he did not mean to do. He would find Mr. +Rivers and leave to him to act as he thought best. He heard Penhallow +calling, and went in to find him reading his letters. After providing +for his wants, he set out to find the clergyman. His pass carried him +where-ever he desired to go, and after ten at night he found Mark Rivers +with the Christian Commission. + +"What is it?" asked Rivers. "Is John ill?" + +"No, sir," and he told in a few sentences the miserable story, to the +clergyman's amazement. + +"I will go with you," he said. "I must get leave to see him, but you had +better not speak of Peter to any one." + +Josiah was already somewhat indisposed to tell to others the story of the +North Anna incident, and walked on in silence over the snow until at the +provost-marshal's quarters Rivers dismissed him. + +In a brief talk with the provost-marshal, Rivers learned that there had +been a hastily summoned court-martial, and in the presence of very clear +evidence a verdict approved by General Grant. The man would be shot at +seven the next morning. "A hopeless case, Mr. Rivers," said the Provost, +"any appeal for reprieve will be useless--utterly useless--there will be +no time given for appeal to Mr. Lincoln. We have had too much of this +lately." + +Rivers said nothing of his acquaintance with the condemned man. He too +had reached the conviction, now made more definite, that needless pain +for the old mother could be avoided by letting Peter die with the name he +had assumed. + +It was after twelve at night when the provost's pass admitted him to a +small wooden prison. One candle dimly lighted the hut, where a manacled +man crouched by a failing fire. The soldier on guard passed out as the +clergyman entered. When the door closed behind him, Rivers said, "Peter." + +"My God! Mr. Rivers. They say I'll be shot. You won't let them shoot +me--they can't do it--I don't want to die." + +"I came here because Josiah recognized you and brought me." + +"He must have told on me." + +"Told what? He did not tell anything. Now listen to me. You are certain +to be shot at seven to-morrow morning. I have asked for delay--none will +be given. I come only to entreat you to make your peace with God--to tell +you that you have but these few hours in which to repent. Let me pray +with you--for you. There is nothing else I can do for you; I have tried +and failed. Indeed I tried most earnestly." + +"You can help if you will! You were always against me. You can telegraph +Colonel Penhallow. He will answer--he won't let them shoot me." + +Rivers who stood over the crouched figure laid a hand on his shoulder. +"If he were here he could do nothing. And even if I did telegraph him, he +is in no condition to answer. He was wounded at Gettysburg and his mind +is clouded. It would only trouble him and your mother, and not help you. +Your mother would hear, and you should at least have the manliness to +accept in silence what you have earned." + +"But it's my life--my life--I can't die." Rivers was silent. "You won't +telegraph?" + +"No. It is useless." + +"But you might do something--you're cruel. I am innocent. God let me be +born of a drunken father--I had to drink too--I had to. The Squire +wouldn't give me work--no one helped me. I enlisted in a New York +regiment. I got drunk and ran away and enlisted in the 71st Pennsylvania. +I stole chickens, and near to the North Anna I was cruelly punished. Then +the Rebs caught me. I had to enlist. Oh, Lord! I am unfortunate. If I +only could have a little whisky." + +Mark Rivers for a moment barren of answer was sure that as usual Peter +was lying and without any of his old cunning. + +"Peter, this story does not help you. You are about to die, and no +one--can help you--I have tried in vain--nothing can save you. Why at a +time so solemn as this do you lie to me? Why did you desert? and for +stealing chickens? nonsense!" + +"Well, then, it was about a woman. Josiah knows--he saw it all. I didn't +desert--I was tied to a tree--he could clear me. They left me tied. I had +to enlist; I had to!" + +"A woman!" Rivers understood. "If he were to tell, it would only make +your case worse. Oh, Peter, let me pray for you." + +"Oh, pray if you want to. What's the good? If you won't telegraph the +Squire, get me whisky; and if you won't do that, go away. Talk about God +and praying when I'm to be murdered just because my father drank! I don't +want any praying--I don't believe in it--you just go away and get me +some whisky. The Squire might have saved me--I wanted to quit from drink +and he just told me to get out--and I did. I hate him and--you." + +Rivers stood up. "May God help and pity you," he said, and so left him. + +He slept none, and rising early, prayed fervently for this wrecked soul. +As he walked at six in the morning to the prison hut, he thought over the +man who long ago had so defeated him. He had seemed to him more feeble in +mind and less cunning in his statements than had been the case in former +days. He concluded that he was in the state of a man used to drinking +whisky and for a time deprived of it. When he met him moving under guard +from the prison, he felt sure that his conclusion had been correct. + +As Rivers came up, the officer in charge said, "If, sir, as a +clergyman you desire to walk beside this man, there is no objection." + +"Oh, let him come," said Peter, with a defiant air. Some one pitiful had +indulged the fated man with the liquor he craved. + +Rivers took his place beside Peter as the guards at his side fell back. +Soldiers off duty, many blacks and other camp-followers, gathered in +silence as the little procession moved over the snow, noiseless except +for the tramp of many feet and the rumble of the cart in which was an +empty coffin. + +"Can I do anything for you?" said Rivers, turning toward the flushed face +at his side. + +"No--you can't." The man smelled horribly of whisky; the charitable aid +must have been ample. + +"Is there any message you want me to carry?" + +"Message--who would I send messages to?" In fact, Rivers did not know. +He was appalled at a man going half drunk to death. He moved on, for a +little while at the end of his resources. + +"Even yet," he whispered, "there is time to repent and ask God to pardon +a wasted life." Peter made no reply and then they were in the open space +on one side of a hollow square. On three sides the regiment stood intent +as the group came near. "Even yet," murmured Rivers. + +Of a sudden Peter's face became white. He said, "I want to tell you one +thing--I want you to tell him. I shot the Squire at Gettysburg--I wish I +had killed him--I thought I had. There!--I always did get even." + +"Stand back, sir, please," said a captain. Rivers was dumb with the +horror of it and stepped aside. The last words he would have said choked +him in the attempt to speak. + +Six soldiers took their places before the man who stood with his hands +tied behind his back, his face white, the muscles twitching, while a +bandage was tied over his eyes. + +"He wants to speak to you, sir," said the captain. + +Rivers stepped to his side. "I did not tell my name. Tell my mother I was +shot--not how--not why." + +Rivers fell back. The captain let fall a handkerchief. Six rifles rang +out, and Peter Lamb had gone to his account. + +The regiment marched away. The music of the band rang clear through the +frosty air. The captain said, "Where is the surgeon?" Tom McGregor +appeared, and as he had to certify to the death bent down over the +quivering body. + +"My God! Mr. Rivers," he said in a low voice, looking up, "it is Peter +Lamb." + +"Hush, Tom," whispered Rivers, "no one knows him except Josiah." They +walked away together while Rivers told of Josiah's recognition of Lamb. +"Keep silent about his name, Tom," and then went on to speak of the man's +revengeful story about the Colonel, to Tom's horror. "I am sorry you +told me," said the young surgeon. + +"Yes, I was unwise--but--" + +"Oh, let us drop it, Mr. Rivers. How is John? I have been three times to +see him and he twice to see me, but always he was at the front, and as +for me we have six thousand beds and too few surgeons, so that I could +not often get away. Does he know of this man's fate?" + +"No--and he had better not." + +"I agree with you. Let us bury his name with him. So he shot our dear +Colonel--how strange, how horrible!" + +"He believed that he did shoot him, and as the ball came from the lines +of the 71st when the fight was practically at an end, it may be true. He +certainly meant to kill him." + +"What an entirely, hopelessly complete scoundrel!" said McGregor. + +"Except," said Rivers, "that he did not want his mother to know how he +died." + +"Human wickedness is very incomplete," said the surgeon. "I wonder +whether the devil is as perfectly wicked as we are taught to believe. You +think this fellow, my dear old schoolmaster, was not utterly bad. Now +about wanting his mother not to know--I for my part--" + +"Don't, Tom. Leave him this rag of charity to cover a multitude of sins. +Now, I must leave you. See John soon--he is wasted by unending and +dangerous work--with malaria too, and what not; see him soon. He is a +splendid replica of the Colonel with a far better mind. I wish he were at +home." + +"And I that another fellow were at home. Good-bye." + +McGregor called at John's tent, but learned that at six he had gone on +duty to the trenches. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + + +Late on Christmas morning of this year 1864, Penhallow with no duty on +his hands saw with satisfaction the peacemaking efforts of the winter +weather. A thin drizzle of cold rain froze as it fell on the snow; the +engineers' lines were quiet. There was no infantry drill and the raw +recruits had rest from the never satisfied sergeants, while unmanageable +accumulations of gifts from distant homes were being distributed to +well-pleased men. Penhallow, lazily at ease, planned to spend Christmas +day with Tom McGregor or Roland Blake. The orders of a too energetic +Colonel of his own Corps summarily disposed of his anticipated leisure. +The tired and disgusted Captain dismounted at evening, and limping gave +his horse to Josiah. + +"What you done to Hoodoo, Master John? He's lame--and you too." + +Without answering John Penhallow turned to greet Tom McGregor. "Happy +Christmas, Tom." + +"You don't look very happy, John, nor that poor beast of yours. But I am +glad to have caught you at last." The faraway thunder of the siege +mortars was heard as he spoke. "Nice Christmas carol that! Have you been +to-day in the graveyards you call trenches?" + +"No, I was not on duty. I meant to ride over to your hospital to have a +home-talk and exchange grumbles, but just as I mounted Colonel Swift +stopped with a smartly dressed aide-de-camp. I saluted. He said, 'I was +looking for an engineer off duty. Have the kindness to ride with me.'" + +"By George! Tom, he was so polite that I felt sure we were on some +unpleasant errand. I was as civil, and said, 'With pleasure.' A nice +Christmas celebration! Well, I have been in the saddle all day. It rained +and froze to sleet on the snow, and the horses slipped and slid most +unpleasantly. About noon we passed our pickets. I was half frozen. When +we got a bit further, the old colonel pulled up on a hillside and began +to ask me questions, how far was that bridge, and could I see their +pickets, and where did that cross-road go to. The aide was apparently +ornamental and did not do anything but guess. I answered with sublime +confidence, as my mind got thawed a little and the colonel made notes." + +"I know," laughed Tom. "Must never admit in the army that you don't know. +You can always write 'respectfully referred' on a document. When General +Grant visits our hospital and asks questions ten to the minute, I fire +back replies after quick consultation with my imagination. It works. He +assured the surgeon-in-charge that I was a remarkably well-informed +officer. So was he!" + +"Come in," said Penhallow. "I am cold and cross. I expect a brevet at +least--nothing less; but if Comstock or Duane reads the colonel's notes, +I may get something else." + +"Have you had a fall, John? You are pretty dirty, and that horse with the +queer name is dead lame. How did you come to grief?" + +"I had an adventure." + +"Really! What was it?" + +"Tell you another time--it was a queer one. Here's Mr. Rivers." He was +followed by a contraband black with a basket. + +"Happy Christmas, boys. I bring you a Christmas turkey and a plum-pudding +from your aunt, John." + +He was made heartily welcome and was in unusually good spirits, as Josiah +took possession of these unexpected rations and John got into dry +clothes. + +They fell to familiar talk of Westways. "I fear," said Rivers, "that the +colonel is worse. I am always sure of that when Mrs. Penhallow writes of +him as cheerful." + +"My father," said Tom, "tells me he has days of excessive unnatural +gaiety, and then is irritable and cannot remember even the events of +yesterday." + +"Can you account for it, Tom?" asked John. + +"No, but he ought to take dad's advice and see Professor Askew. It makes +him furious. Oh! if we were all at home again, Mr. Rivers--and out of +this row. You are limping, John--what's wrong? Let me see that leg." + +"No, you don't," cried John merrily. "You promised to get even with me +after our famous battle--I don't trust you. I bruised my knee--that's +all." + +"Well, I can wait." + +They talked of home, of the village and its people, and at their meal of +the way they proposed to conduct the spring campaign. Many bloodless +battles were thus fought over mess-tables and around camp-fires. + +"For my part," said John, "I want to get done with this mole business and +do anything in the open--Oh, here comes Blake! You know our clergyman +from home, the Rev. Mr. Rivers? No! Well, then I make you the Christmas +gift of a pleasant acquaintance. Sit down, there is some turkey left +and plum-pudding." + +"Glad to see you, McGregor," said Blake. "I know Mr. Rivers by +sight--oh, and well, too--he was back of the line in that horrid +mix-up at the Bloody Angle--he was with the stretcher-bearers." + +"Where," said McGregor, "he had no business to be." + +Rivers laughed as he rarely did. "It may seem strange to you all, but I +am never so happy"--he came near to saying so little unhappy--"as when I +am among the dying and the wounded, even if the firing is heavy." + +Blake looked at the large-featured face and the eyes that, as old +McGregor said, were so kindly and so like mysterious jewels as they +seemed to radiate the light that came from within. His moment of critical +doubt passed, and he felt the strange attractiveness which Rivers had for +men and the influential trust he surely won. + +"I prefer," remarked McGregor, "to operate when bullets are not flying." + +"But you do not think of them then," returned Rivers, "I am sure you do +not." + +"No, I do not, but they seem to be too attentive at times. I lost a +little finger-tip back of Round Top. We had thirteen surgeons killed or +wounded that day. The Rebs left eighty surgeons with their wounded. We +sent them home after we got up enough help from the cities." + +"It was not done always," said Penhallow. "More's the pity." + +"We had Grant at the hospital yesterday," said the doctor. "He comes +often." + +"Did you notice his face?" queried Rivers. + +"The face? Not particularly--why?" + +"He has two deep lines between the eyes, and crossing them two lateral +furrows on the forehead. In Sicily they call it the 'cross of +misfortune.'" + +"Then it has yet to come," said Blake. + +"Late or early," said Rivers, "they assure you it will come. Some men +find their calamities when young, some when they are old, which is +better." + +"Let us be thankful that we have no choice," said Blake. + +"May God spare you now and always," said Rivers. The habitual melancholy +he dreaded took possession of his face as he rose, adding, "Come, Tom, we +must go." + +"And I," said Blake. + +"Happy Christmas to you all--and a happier New Year than 1864." They left +John to the letters Josiah placed on the table. + +The night was now clear and the stars brilliant, as Penhallow saw Blake +mount his horse and Rivers and McGregor walk away to find the hospital +ambulance. "There at least is peace," said John, as he watched the +Pleiades and the North Star, symbol of unfailing duty. "Well, it is as +good as a sermon, and as it belongs there on eternal guard so do I +belong here for my little day; but I trust the spring will bring us +peace, for--oh, my God!--I want it--and Westways." He went in to his hut +and stirred the fire into roaring companionship. + +Meanwhile Rivers, walking with McGregor, said, "Did the figure of that +doomed wretch haunt you as we talked to John?" + +"It did indeed! I had never before been ordered to certify to a death +like that, and I hated it even before I bent down and knew who it was." + +"How far was he accountable, Tom?" + +"Don't ask me riddles like that, Mr. Rivers. It is a subject I have often +thought about. It turns up in many forms--most terribly in the cases of +the sins of the fathers being loaded on the sons. How far is a man +accountable who inherits a family tendency to insanity? Should he marry? +If he falls in love, what ought he to do or not do? It is a pretty grim +proposition, Mr. Rivers." + +"He should not marry," replied the clergyman, and both moved on in silent +thought. + +"Oh, here is our ambulance," said Tom. They got in, Rivers reflecting how +war, parent of good and evil, had made of this rough country-bred lad a +dutiful, thoughtful man. + +Presently McGregor said, "When we were talking of our unpleasant duties, +I meant to tell you that one of them is to tattoo a D--for deserter--on +the breast of some poor homesick fellow. After that his head is shaved; +then the men laugh as he is drummed out of the lines--and it's +disgusting." + +"I agree with you," said Rivers. + +John lighted a fresh pipe and sat down by the fire to get some Christmas +pleasure from the home letter in Leila's large and clear script. His aunt +had ceased to write to him, and had left to her niece this task, +insisting that it should be punctually fulfilled. This time the letter +was brief. + +"Of course, my dear John, you know that I am under orders to write to you +once a week."--"Is that explanatory?" thought the reader.--The letter +dealt with the town and mills, the sad condition of Colonel Penhallow, +his aunt's messages and her advice to John in regard to health. The +horses came in for the largest share of a page. And why did he not write +more about himself? She did not suppose that even winter war consisted +only in drawing maps and waiting for Grant to flank Lee out of Petersburg +and Richmond. "War," wrote the young woman, "must be rather a dull +business. Have you no adventures? Tom McGregor wrote his father that you +had a thrilling experience in the trenches lately. The doctor spoke of it +to Aunt Ann, who was surprised I had never mentioned it. Don't dry up +into an old regular like the inspecting major of ordnance at the mills. + +"Expectantly yours, + +"LEILA GREY. + +"A Happy Christmas, Jack." + +"Oh, Great Scott!" laughed John. He read it again. Not a word of herself, +nor any of her rides, or of the incessant reading she liked to discuss +with him. Some dim suspicion of the why of this impersonal letter gently +flattered the winged hopefulness of love. "Well, I think I shall punish +you, Miss Grey, for sending me a Christmas letter like that." Oh, the +dear old playmate, the tease, the eyes full of tenderness when the +child's shaft of satire hurt! He laughed gaily as he went through the +historically famous test of courage in snuffing the flaring candle wicks +with his fingers. The little cabin was warm, the night silent, not a +sound came from the lines a mile away to disturb the peaceful memories of +home within the thirty thousand pickets needed to guard our far-spread +army. Men on both sides spoke this Christmas night, for they were often +near and exchanged greetings as they called out, "Halloa, Johnny Reb, +Merry Christmas!" + +"Same to you, Yank," and during that sacred night there was the truce of +God and overhead the silence of the solemn stars. + +As the young Captain became altogether comfortable, his thoughts wandered +far afield--always at last to Josiah's pansy, the many-masked Leila, and +behind her pretty feminine disguises the serious-minded woman for whom, +as he smilingly consulted his fancy, he found no flower emblem to suit +him. The letter he read once more represented many Leilas. Could he +answer all of them and abide too by the silence he meant to preserve +until the war was over? The imp of mischief was at his side. There was no +kind of personal word of herself in the letter, except that he was +ordered to talk of John Penhallow and his adventures. He wrote far into +the Christmas night: + +"DEAR LEILA: To hear is to obey. I am to write of myself--of adventures. +Nearness to death in the trenches is an every-second-day adventure +enough--no one talks of it. Tom was ill-advised to report of me at home. +I used to dream of the romance of war when I was a boy. There is very +little romance in it, and much dirt, awful horrors of the dead and +wounded, of battles lost or won, and waste beyond conception. After a big +fight or wearying march one could collect material for a rummage-sale +such as would rout Aunt Ann's ideal of an amusing auction of useless +things. + +"My love to one and all, and above all to the dear Colonel who is never +long out of my mind. + +"Yours truly, + +"JOHN PENHALLOW." + +"I put on this separate sheet for you alone the adventure you ask for. It +is the only one worth telling, and came to me this Christmas morning. It +was strange enough. + +"An old Colonel caught me as I was about to visit Tom McGregor at the +hospital. I was disgusted, but he wanted an engineer. He got me, alas! We +rode far to our left over icy snow-crust. To cut my tale short, after we +passed our outlying pickets and I had answered a dozen questions, he +said, 'Can you see their pickets?' I said, 'No, they are half a mile away +on the far side of a creek in the woods. That road leads to a bridge; +they may be behind the creek.' + +"'Do you think it fordable?' + +"'I do not know.' Like a fool, I said, 'I will ride down the road and get +a nearer look.' He would be much obliged. I rode Hoodoo down an icy hill +with a sharp lookout for their pickets. As I rode, I slipped my revolver +out and let it hang at my wrist. I rode on cautiously. About a quarter of +a mile from the creek I made up my mind that I had gone far enough. The +creek was frozen, as I might have known, and the colonel too. As I +checked Hoodoo a shot rang out from a clump of pines on my right and a +horseman leaped into the road some twenty yards in front of me. I fired +and missed him. He turned and rode pretty fast toward the bridge, turning +to fire as he went. I like a fool rode after him. We exchanged shot after +shot. He was on the farther end of the bridge when he pulled up his horse +and stopped short. He held up a hand; I felt for my sword, having emptied +my revolver. It was rather ridiculous. By George! the man was laughing. +We were not fifty feet apart when I reined up Hoodoo. We had each fired +six shots in vain--I had counted his. + +"He called out, 'A rather pretty duel, sir. Don't ride over the bridge.' +A picket shot from the left singing over my head rather emphasized his +warning. 'It would not be fair--you would ride right into my pickets.' It +was an unusual bit of chivalry. + +"I called out, 'Thank you, I hope I have not hit you. May I ask your +name?' + +"'I am at your service. I am'--here Captain John wrote +merrily--'Scheherazade who says-- + +"Being now sleepy, the Caliph will hear the amazing sequel to-morrow +night or _later_. + +"There you have my adventure all but the end. If I do not hear more of +Miss Grey's personal adventures she will never--never, hear the name. + +"JOHN PENHALLOW." + +He laughed outright as he closed and directed the envelope. I suppose, +he wrote in his diary, that as there are several Leilas, there are also +several John Penhallows, and I am just now the mischievous lad who was +so much younger than Miss Grey. Would she laugh over the lesson of his +letter or be angry, or cry a little and feel ill-treated, or--and even +that was possible--say it was of no moment who the man was. He felt the +gaiety which in some men who have not the mere brute courage of the +bull-dog is apt to follow for many hours the escape from a great danger. +The boylike mischief of his letter was in part due to some return of the +cheerful mood which possessed him after the morning's risks. He went out +to question the night of the weather. As he looked over the snow and then +up at the mighty clock-work of the stars, he responded slowly to the +awe this silentness of immeasurable forces was apt to produce; a perfect +engine at the mills in noiseless motion always had upon him the same +effect. As he moved, his knee reminded him of the morning's escape. When +he rode away from the bridge, with attentions from the enemy's pickets +following and came near the waiting colonel, his horse came down and like +his rider suffered for the fall on frozen ground. + +There was just then for a time less work than usual for the engineers, +and he had begun to feel troubled by the fact that two weeks had gone by +since Leila wrote, without a home letter. Then it came and was brief: + +"DEAR JOHN: I have truly no better and no worse news to send about dear +Uncle Jim and this saddened home. To be quite frank with you, your letter +made me realize what is hardly felt as here in our home we become used to +war news. I thought less of your mischievous attempt to torment my +curiosity than of your personal danger, and yet I know too well what +are the constant risks in your engineer duties, for I have found among +Uncle Jim's books accounts of the siege of Sevastopol. As to your naughty +ending, I do not care who the man was--why should I? I doubt if you +really know. + +"I am, +Your seriously indifferent +LEILA GREY. + +"P.S. I am ashamed to admit that I reopened my letter to tell you I +fibbed large. _Please_ not to tease me any more." + +He replied at once: + +"DEAR LEILA: I am off to the front as usual. The man was Henry Grey. An +amazing encounter! I had never seen him, as you may know. I did not wait +to reply to him because the Rebel pickets were not so considerate as +their colonel. I recalled Uncle Jim's casual mention of Henry Grey as a +rather light-minded, quixotic man. I am glad he is, but imagine what +a tragedy failed to materialize because two men were awkward with the +pistol. But what a strange meeting too! It is not the only case. A +captain I know took his own brother prisoner last month; the Rebel would +not shake hands with him. Do not tell Aunt Ann--or rather, do what seems +best to you. I trust you, of course. The encounter made me want to know +your uncle in some far-off happier day. + +"In haste, Yours, + +"JOHN PENHALLOW." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + + +When late in March Grant about to move left the engineer brigade at City +Point, the need to corduroy the rain-soaked roads called some of the +corps to the front, and among them John Penhallow. As usual when +unoccupied they were set free to volunteer for staff duty. It thus +chanced that Penhallow found himself for a time an extra aide to General +John Parke. + +The guarded outer lines of the defences of Petersburg included forests +with here and there open spaces and clumps of trees. More than a half +mile away from the enemy, on rising ground, amid bushes and trees, lay +the army corps of General Parke. It was far into the night. The men were +comfortably asleep, for on this second of April, the air was no longer +chilly and there were no tents up. In the mid-centre of the corps-line +behind the ridge a huge fire marked the headquarters. As the great logs +blazed high, they cast radiating shadows of tree trunks, which were and +were not as the fire rose or fell. Horses tied to the trees moved +uneasily when from far and near came the clamour of guns. Now and then a +man sat up in the darkness and listened, but this was some new recruit. +For the most of the sleepers the roar of guns was less disturbing than +the surly mosquitoes and the sonorous trumpeting of a noisy neighbour. +Aides dismounted near the one small tent in the wood shadows, and coming +out mounted horses as tired as the riders and rode away into the night. +Here and there apart black servants and orderlies slept the deep sleep of +irresponsibility and among them Josiah. Beside the deserted fire John +Penhallow sat smoking. A hand fell on his shoulder. + +"Halloa, Blake!" he said, "where did you come from?" + +"I am on Wright's staff. I am waiting for a note I am to carry. There +will be no sleep for me to-night. We shall attack at dawn--a square +frontal attack through slashes, chevaux-de-frises and parapets; but the +men are keen for it, and we shall win." + +"I think so--the game is nearly played out." + +"I am sorry for them, Penhallow." + +"And I. I was thinking when you came of the pleasant West Point friends +who may be in those woods yonder, and of the coming agony of that +wonderful crumbling host of brave men, and of my uncle's friend, Robert +Lee. I shall be a happy man when I can take their hands again." + +"How many will be left?" said Blake. + +"God knows--we shall, I hope, live to be proud of them." + +"My friend Francis sees always the humorous side of war--I cannot." + +"It does have--oh, very rarely--its humorous side," returned Penhallow, +"but not often for me. His mocking way of seeing things is doubly +unpleasant because no man in the army is more in earnest. This orchestra +of snoring men would amuse him." + +As Blake sat down, he said, "I wonder if they are talking the language of +that land--that nightly bourne from which we bring back so little. Listen +to them!" + +"That's so like you, Blake. I was reflecting too when you came on the +good luck I had at the North Anna when you pulled me out. Mark Rivers +once said that I was good at making acquaintances, but slow at making +friendships." + +"Thank you," said Blake, understanding him readily. "I am somewhat like +you." + +The solemnity of the night and of the fate-laden hours had opened for +a minute the minds of two men as reserved and reticent as are most +well-bred Americans, who as a rule lack the strange out-spoken frankness +of our English kin. + +"Oh! here is my summons," said Blake. "Good luck to you, Penhallow. I +have about the closing of this war a kind of fear I have never had +before." + +"That is natural enough," returned Penhallow, "and I fancy it is not +uncommon. Let us part with a more pleasant thought. You will come and +shoot with me at Grey Pine in the fall? Bye-bye." + +Blake rode away. His friend deep in thought and unable to sleep watched +the dying fire. The night hours ran on. Obedient to habit he wound his +watch. "Not asleep," said a pleasant voice. He rose to face the slight +figure and gently smiling face of General Parke. + +"What time is it, Penhallow?" + +"Four o'clock, sir." + +"I have sent back Captain Blake with a word to General Wright, but he +will have too long a ride. I want you to carry this same request. By +taking the short cut in front of our lines, you can get there in a third +of the time. You will keep this side of our pickets to where our line +turns, then go through them and down the slope a bit. For a short +distance you will be near the clump of trees on the right. If it is +picketed--there are no pickets nearer--you will have to ride hard. Once +past the angle of their line you are safe. Am I clear?" + +"Certainly, sir. There is some marshy ground--I climbed a tree and looked +it over yesterday--it won't stop the men, but may slow a horse." + +"I see. Here is my note." + +Penhallow tucked it in his belt and roused Josiah. "See to the girth," he +said. "Is Hoodoo in good order?" + +"Yes, sir. Where you going, Master John?" + +"A little errand. Make haste." + +"I know those little errands," said the black. "The good Lord care for +him," he murmured, as the man he loved best was lost in the darkness. + +He was aware of the great danger of his errand and was at once in that +state of intensity of attention which sharpens every sense. He rode for +the fourth of a mile between the long lines of infantry now astir here +and there, and then an officer saw him through their picket-line. "Good +luck to you!" he said. "I think the Rebs have no outlying pickets, but +the woods are full of them." + +Penhallow rode down a slight incline, and remembering that the marsh +lower down might be difficult turned aside and came on a deep gully. The +night was still dark, but a faint glow to eastward made haste desirable. +The gully, as he rode beside it, flattened out, but at once he felt that +his horse was in trouble on marshy ground. He dismounted and led him, +but always the better footing lay nearer to the clump of trees. He made +up his mind to ride for it. While on foot he had been as yet hardly +visible. A shot from the salient group of trees decided him. He mounted +and touched Hoodoo with the spur. The horse bounded forwards too quickly +to sink in the boggy ground. Then a dozen shots told the rider he had +been seen. Something like the feeling of a blow from a stick was felt as +his left arm fell with gripped reins, and the right arm also dropped. +Hoodoo pitched forward, rose with a gallant effort, and sinking down +rolled to left upon the rider's leg. + +The horse lay still. Penhallow's first sensation was astonishment; then +he began to make efforts to get free. His arms were of no use. He tried +to stir his horse with the spur of the free foot. It had no effect. +Something must be wrong with him. He had himself a feeling of weakness he +could not comprehend, aware that he had no wound of the trunk. His +useless arms made all effort vain, and the left foot under the weight of +the horse began to feel numb. The position struck him as past help until +our people charged. He thought of Francis's axiom that there was nothing +so entirely tragic as to be without some marginalia of humour. The lad +smiled at his use of the word. His own situation appealed to him as +ridiculous--a man with a horse on him waiting for an army to lift it off. + +The left elbow began to recover from the early insensibility of shock and +to be painful. Then in the dim light, as he lifted his head, he was aware +of a Rebel soldier in front covering him with a revolver. Penhallow cried +out with promptness, "I surrender--and I am shot through both arms." + +The soldier said, "You are not worth taking--guess you'll keep till we +lick the Yanks," and walking around the helpless officer he appropriated +his revolver. + +"Can you get my horse up?" said John. + +"Horse up! I want your boots." + +"Well, pull them off--I can't." + +"Oh, don't you bother, I'll get them." With this he knelt down and began +on the boot which belonged to the leg projecting beneath the horse. "Darn +it! They're just my size." As he tugged at it, Hoodoo dying and convulsed +struck out with his fore legs and caught the unlucky soldier full in the +belly. The man gave a wild cry and staggering back fell. + +Penhallow craned over the horse's body and broke into laughter. It hurt +his arm, but he gasped with fierce joy, "Francis would call him a +freebooter." Then he fell back and quite helpless listened. Unable to +turn his head, he heard behind him the wild rush of men. Leaping over +horse and man they went by. He got a look to right and left. They tore +through the slashes, dropping fast and facing a furious fusillade were +lost to sight in the underbrush. "By George! they've won," he exclaimed +and fell back. "They must have carried the parapet." He waited. In +about a half hour a party of men in grey went by. An officer in blue +cried out, "Up the hill, you beggars!" More of the grey men followed--a +battle-grimed mob of hundreds. + +"Halloa!" called Penhallow. "Get this horse up. Put your hand in my +pocket and you will find fifty dollars." They stopped short and a half +dozen men lifted the dead animal. "Thank you, set me on my feet," said +Penhallow. "Empty my pockets--I can't use my arms." They did it well, and +taking also his watch went on their way well pleased. + +John stood still, the blood tingling in his numb foot. "Halloa!" he +cried, as the stretcher-bearers and surgeons came near. A headquarters +surgeon said, "We thought you were killed. Can you walk?" + +"No--hit in both arms--why the deuce can't I walk?" + +"Shock, I suppose." + +A half hour later he was in a hospital tent and a grim old army surgeon +handling his arms. "Right arm flesh-wound--left elbow smashed. You will +likely have to lose the arm." + +"No, I won't," said Penhallow, "I'd as leave die." + +"Don't talk nonsense. They all say that. See you again." + +"You will get ten dollars," said John to a hospital orderly, "if you will +find Captain Blake of General Wright's staff." + +"I'll do it, sir." + +Presently his arms having been dressed, he was made comfortable with +morphia. At dusk next morning his friend Blake sat down beside his cot. +"Are you badly hurt?" he said. A certain tenderness in the voice was like +a revelation of some qualities unknown before. + +"I do not know. For about the first time in my life I am suffering +pain--I mean constant pain, with a devilish variety in it too. The same +ball, I believe, went through some muscle in the right arm and smashed my +left elbow. It's a queer experience. The surgeon-in-charge informed me +that I would probably lose the arm. The younger surgeon says the ball +will become what he calls encysted. They probed and couldn't find it. +Isn't that Josiah I hear?" + +"Yes, I will bring him in." + +In a moment they came back. "My God! Master John, I been looking for you +all night and this morning I found Hoodoo dead. Didn't I say he'd bring +you bad luck. Oh, my!--are you hurt bad?" + +"Less noise there," said an assistant surgeon, "or get out of this." + +"He'll be quiet," said Blake, "and you will have the decency to be less +rough." The indignant doctor walked away. + +"Poor Hoodoo--he did his best," murmured John. "Get me out of this, +Blake. It's a hell of suffering. Take me to Tom McGregor at City Point." + +"I will, but now I must go. General Parke hopes you are doing well. You +will be mentioned in his despatches." + +"That is of no moment--get me to McGregor. Hang the flies--I can't fight +them." + +John never forgot the ambulance and the rough railway ride to City Point, +nor his pleasure when at rest in the officers' pavilion he waited for his +old playmate. As I write I see, as he saw, the long familiar ward, the +neat cots, the busy orderlies. He waited with the impatience of +increasing pain. "Well, Tom," he said, with an effort to appear gay, +"here's your chance at last to get even." + +McGregor made brief reply as he uncovered the wounded joint. Then he said +gravely, "A little ether--I will get out the ball." + +"No ether, Tom, I can stand it. Now get to work." + +"I shall hurt you horribly." + +"No ether," he repeated. "Go on, Tom." + +McGregor sat beside him with a finger on the bounding pulse and +understood its meaning and the tale it told. "It will not be long, John," +and then with attention so concentrated as not even to note the one stir +of the tortured body or to hear the long-drawn groan of pain, he rose to +his feet. "All right, John--it's only a slug--lucky it was not a musket +ball." He laid a tender hand on the sweating brow, shot a dose of morphia +into the right arm, and added, "You will get well with a stiff joint. Now +go to sleep. The right arm is sound, a flesh-wound." + +"Thanks," said John, "we are even now, Tom. Captain Blake telegraphed +your father, Tom--but write, please." + +"To whom, John?" + +"To Leila--but do not alarm them." + +"I will write. In a week or two you must go home. That is the medicine +you need most. You will still have some pain, but you will not lose the +arm." + +"Thank you--but what of the army? I am a bit confused as to time. Parke +attacked on the second of April, I think. What day is this?" + +"Oh, they got out of Petersburg that night--out of Richmond too. Lee is +done for--a day or two will end it." + +"Thank God," murmured John, "but I am so sorry for Lee." + +"Can't say I am." + +"Oh, that blessed morphia!" + +"Well, go to sleep--I will see you again shortly. I have other fellows to +look after. In a few minutes you will be easy. Draw the fly-nets, +orderly." + +Of all that followed John Penhallow in later years remembered most +distinctly the half hour of astonishing relief from pain. As his senses +one by one went off guard, he seemed to himself to be watching with +increase of ease the departure of some material tormentor. In after years +he recalled with far less readiness the days of varied torment which +required more and more morphia. Why I know not, the remembrance of pain +as time goes by is far less permanent than that of relief or of an hour +of radiant happiness. Long days of suffering followed as the tortured +nerves recorded their far-spread effects in the waste of the body and +that failure of emotional control which even the most courageous feel +when long under the tyranny of continuous pain. McGregor watched him +with anxiety and such help as was possible. On the tenth of April John +awakened after a night of assisted sleep to find himself nearly free +from pain. Tom came early into the ward. + +"Good news, John," he said. "Lee has surrendered. You look better. Your +resignation will be accepted, and I have a leave of absence. Economy is +the rule. We are sending the wounded north in ship-loads. Home! Home! old +fellow, in a week." + +The man on the cot looked up. "You have a letter, I see," and as he spoke +broke into childlike tears, for so did long suffering deal with the most +self-controlled in those terrible years, which we do well to forgive, and +to remember with pride not for ourselves alone. The child-man on the bed +murmured, "Home was too much for me." + +The surgeon who loved him well said, "Read your letter--you are not the +only man in this ward whom pain has made a baby. Home will complete your +cure--home!" + +"Thank you, Tom." He turned to the letter and using the one half-useful +hand opened it with difficulty. What he first felt was disappointment at +the brevity of the letter. He was what Blake called home-hungry. With +acute perception, being himself a homeless man, Blake made his diagnosis +of that form of heart-ache which too often adds a perilously depressing +agency to the more material disasters of war. Pain, fever, the inevitable +ward odours, the easier neighbour in the next bed who was of a mind +to be social, the flies--those Virginia flies more wily than Lee's +troopers--and even trifling annoyances made Penhallow irritable. He +became a burden to hospital stewards and over-worked orderlies, and now +the first look at Leila's letter disturbed him, and as he read he became +indignant: + +"DEAR JOHN: Mr. Blake's telegram telling us of your wound caused us some +anxiety, which was made less by Dr. McGregor's somewhat hastily written +letter. Aunt Ann thought it was excusable in so busy a man. Poor Uncle +Jim on hearing it said, 'Yes, yes--why didn't John write--can't be much +the matter.' This shows you his sad failure. He has not mentioned it +since. + +"It is a relief to us to know that you were not dangerously hurt. It +seems as if this sad war and its consequences were near to end. Let us +hear soon. Aunt Ann promises to write to you at once. + +"Yours truly, + +"LEILA GREY." + +He threw the letter down, and forgetting that he had asked Blake and the +doctor not to alarm his people, was overcome by the coldness of Leila's +letter. He lay still, and with eyes quite too full felt that life had for +him little of that which once made it sweet with what all men hold most +dear. He would have been relieved if he could have seen Leila when alone +she read and read again McGregor's letter, and read with fear between the +lines of carefully guarded words what he would not say and for days much +feared to say. She sat down and wrote to John a letter of such tender +anxiety as was she felt a confession she was of no mind to make. He was +in no danger. Had he been, she would have written even more frankly. But +her trouble about her uncle was fed from day to day by what her aunt +could not or would not see, and it was a nearer calamity and more and +more distressing. Then she sat thinking what was John like now. She saw +the slight figure, so young and still so thoughtful, as she had smiled in +her larger experience of men when they had sat and played years ago with +violets on the hillside of West Point. No, she was unprepared to commit +herself for life, for would he too be of the same mind? For a moment she +stood still indecisive, then she tore up her too tender letter and wrote +the brief note which so troubled him. She sent it and then was sorry she +had not obeyed the impulse of the kindlier hour. + +The nobler woman instinct is apt to be armed by nature for defensive +warfare. If she has imagination, she has in hours of doubt some sense of +humiliation in the vast surrender of marriage. This accounts for certain +of the cases of celibate women, who miss the complete life and have no +ready traitor within the guarded fortress to open the way to love. Some +such instinctive limitations beset Leila Grey. The sorrow of a great, a +nearer and constant affection came to her aid. To think of anything like +love, even if again it questioned her, was out of the question while +before her eyes James Penhallow was fading in mind. + +John Penhallow was shortly relieved by McGregor's order that he should +get some exercise. It enabled him to escape the early surgical visit and +the diverse odours of surgical dressings which lingered in the long ward +while breakfast was being served. There were more uneasy sleepers than he +in the ward and much pain, and crippled men with little to look forward +to. The suffering he saw and could not lessen had been for John one of +the depressing agencies of this hospital life. The ward was quiet when he +awoke at dawn of April 13th. He quickly summoned an orderly and endured +the daily humiliation of being dressed like a baby. He found Josiah +waiting with the camp-chair at the door as he came out of the ward. + +"How you feeling, Master John?" + +"Rather better. What time is it? That Reb stole my watch." Even yet it +was amusing. He laughed at the remembrance of having been relieved by the +prisoners of purse and watch. + +For Josiah to extract his own watch was as McGregor said something +like a surgical operation. "It's not goin', Master John. It's been losing +time--like it wasn't accountable. What's it called watch for if it don't +watch?" + +This faintly amused John. He said no more, but sat enjoying the early +morning quiet, the long hazy reaches of the James River, the awakening of +life here and there, and the early stir among the gun-boats. + +"Get me some coffee, Josiah," he said. "I am like your watch, losing time +and everything else." + +Josiah stood over him. His unnatural depression troubled a simple mind +made sensitive by a limitless affection and dog-like power to feel +without comprehending the moods of the master. + +"Captain John, you was sayin' to me yesterday you was most unfortunate. I +just went away and kept a kind of thinkin' about it." + +"Well, what conclusion did you come to?" He spoke wearily. + +"Oh, I just wondered if you'd like to change with me--guess you wouldn't +for all the pain?" + +Surprised at the man's reflection, John looked up at the black kindly +face. "Get me some coffee." + +"Yes, sir--what's that?" The morning gun rang out the sunrise hour. +"What's that, sir?" The flag was being hoisted on the slope below them. +"It's stopped at half-mast, sir! Who's dead now?" + +"Go and ask, Josiah." McGregor came up as he spoke. + +"The President was killed last night, John, by an assassin!" + +"Lincoln killed!" + +"Yes--I will tell you by and by--now this is all we know. I must make my +rounds. We leave to-morrow for home." + +John sat alone. This measureless calamity had at once on the +thoughtful young soldier the effect of lessening the influences of +his over-sensitive surrender to pain and its attendant power to weaken +self-control. Like others, in the turmoil of war he had given too little +thought to the Promethean torment of a great soul chained to the rock of +duty--the man to whom like the Christ "the common people listened +gladly." He looked back over his own physical suffering with sense of +shame at his defeat, and sat up in his chair as if with a call on his +worn frame to assert the power of a soul to hear and answer the summons +of a great example. + +"Thank you, Josiah," he said cheerfully. "No coffee is like yours to set +a fellow up." A greater tonic was acting. "We go home to-morrow." + +"That's good. Listen, sir--what's that?" + +"Minute guns, Josiah. Have you heard the news?" + +"Yes, sir--it's awful; but we are going home to Westways." + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + + +As the trains went northward crowded with more or less damaged officers +and men, John Penhallow in his faded engineer uniform showed signs of +renewed vitality. He chatted in his old companionable way with the other +home-bound volunteers, and as they went through Baltimore related to +McGregor with some merriment his bloodless duel with Mrs. Penhallow's +Rebel brother Henry. The doctor watched him with the most friendly +satisfaction and with such pride as a florist may have in his prospering +flowers. The colour of health was returning to the pale face and there +was evidently relief from excessive pain. He heard, too, as they chatted, +of John's regrets that his simple engineer dress was not as neat as he +would have desired and of whether his aunt would dislike it. Wearing the +station of Westways Crossing, John fell into a laughing account of his +first arrival and of the meeting with Leila. The home-tonic was of use +and he was glad with gay gladness that the war was over. + +As the train stopped, he said as he got out, "There is no carriage--you +telegraphed, McGregor?" + +"Yes, I did, but the service is, I fancy, snowed under just now with +messages. I will walk on and have them send for you." + +"No," said John, "I am quite able to walk. Come along." + +"Are you really able?" + +"Yes--we'll take it easy." + +"There isn't much left of you to carry what remains." + +"My legs are all right, Tom." He led the way through the woods until they +came out on the avenue. "Think of it, Tom,--it is close to nine years +since first I left Grey Pine for the Point." + +In the afternoon of this sunny day late in April the Colonel sat on the +porch with his wife. Below them on the step Rivers was reading aloud the +detailed account of Lincoln's death. Leila coming out of the house was +first to see the tall thin figure in dark undress uniform. She was +thankful for an unwatched moment of ability to gain entire self-command. +It was needed. She helped herself by her cry of joyous recognition. + +"Aunt Ann! Aunt Ann!" she cried, "there is Dr. McGregor and--and John and +Josiah." The aunt cast a look of anxiety at the expressionless face of +James Penhallow, as he rose to his feet, saying, "Why wasn't I told?" + +"We did not know, sir," said Rivers, dropping the paper as he went down +the steps to meet the new-comer. + +Then the wasted figure with the left arm in a sling was in Ann +Penhallow's embrace. + +"My God!" he said, "but it's good to be at home." As he spoke he turned +to the Colonel who had risen. + +"Got hit, John? It runs in the family. Once had a Sioux arrow through my +arm. Glad to see you. Want to be fed up a bit. Lord! but you're lean." He +said no more, but sat down again without appearance of interest. + +Rivers made John welcome with a pleasant word, and Leila coming forward +took his hand, saying quietly, "We hardly looked for you to-day, but it +is none too soon." Then she turned to McGregor, "We have much to thank +you for. You will stay to dine?" + +John, still too sensitive, was troubled as he realized his uncle's +condition, and felt that there was something in Leila's manner which was +unlike that of the far-remembered Leila of other days. She had urged +McGregor to stay and dine, and then added, "But, of course, that pleasure +must wait--you will want to see your father. He is so proud of you--as we +all are." + +"That is a pleasant welcome, Miss Leila; and, dear Mrs. Penhallow, I do +not want a carriage, I prefer to walk. I will see you, John, and that +lame arm to-morrow. Good-bye, Colonel." + +The master of Grey Pine said, "Nice young man! Ann ought to kill the +fatted calf. Tell John not to be late for dinner." + +"It is all right, James," said Mrs. Ann, "all right." + +Rivers watched with pain the vacant face of the Colonel. This mental +failure constantly recalled the days of anguish when with despair he had +seen all who were dear to him one after another die mentally before their +merciful exit from life. + +"John must be tired," he said. Leila, who noted on the young soldier's +face the effect of sudden realization of his useless state said, "Your +room is ready, John." + +"Yes," said John, "I should like to rest before dinner." + +With a word as to the fatigue of his journey, Leila followed him into the +well-remembered hall. + +"Good heavens, Leila. It seems an age since I was here. Send up Josiah. +I am like a baby and need him to help me." + +She looked after him pitifully as he went up the stairs. "Surely," she +thought, "we have paid dearly our debt to the country." + +He came down at six o'clock, still in his undress uniform, but thinking +that his aunt would not like it. In a day or two he would have the +civilian clothes he had ordered in Philadelphia. He need have had no such +anxiety; she was indifferent to all but her husband, who sat at table +speechless, while Leila and John too consciously manufactured talk of the +home and the mills--and the ending of the war. After the meal Ann began +her patient efforts to interest the Colonel with a game of cards and then +of backgammon. It seemed only to make him irritable, and he said at last, +"I think I must go to bed." + +"Certainly, dear." She went with him upstairs, saying, "Good-night, +children." + +"She will not return, John. This is what goes on day after day." + +"It is very sad--I did not fully comprehend his condition." + +"He is often far worse, and complains of his head or is resolutely--I +should say obstinately--bent on some folly, such as walking to the mills +and advising them. Aunt Ann never contradicts him--what he wants, she +wants. Not the most reasonable opposition is of any use." + +"Does he never ride, Leila?" + +"Never, and is vexed when Dr. McGregor calls to see him and advises a +consultation. Once we had a distressing outbreak." + +"And yet," said John, "there should have been other advice long ago. +Somehow there must be." + +"Mr. Rivers has urged it and made him angry; as for Aunt Ann, she sees +only the bright side of his case and humours him as she would a sick +child." + +"She is greatly changed, Leila. I hardly know how to state it. She has a +look of--well, of something spiritual in her face." + +"Yes, that is true. Are you in pain, John?" she added. + +"Yes--not in great pain, but enough. For two weeks I did suffer +horribly." + +"John! Oh, my poor Jack! We never knew--is it so bad?" + +"Yes, imagine a toothache in your elbow with a variety of torments in the +whole arm." + +"I can't imagine. I never had a toothache--in fact, I hardly know the +sensation of serious pain." + +"Well, I broke down under it, Leila. I became depressed and quite +foolishly hopeless. Some day I will tell you what helped me out of a +morass of melancholy." + +"Tell me now." + +"No, I must go to bed. I am getting better and will get off with a stiff +elbow, so Tom says. At first they talked of amputation. That was awful. +Good-night!" + +It was none too soon. She was still unsure of herself, and although no +word of tender approach had disturbed her as he talked, and she was glad +of that, the tense look of pain, the reserve of his hospital confession +of suffering nearly broke down her guarded attitude. As he passed out of +view at the turn of the stairs, she murmured, "Oh, if only Uncle Jim were +well." + +Josiah came at the call of the bell. She detained him. She asked, "How +was the Captain wounded? No one wrote of how it happened." + +"Well, missy, he would ride a horse called Hoodoo--it was just the bad +luck of that brute done it." Josiah's account was graphic and clear +enough. John Penhallow's character lost nothing as interpreted by Josiah. + +"It was a dangerous errand, I suppose." + +"Yes, Miss Leila. You see, when they know about a man that he somehow +don't mind bullets and will go straight to where he's sent, they're very +apt to get him killed. At the first shot he ought to have tumbled off and +played possum till it was dark." + +"But then," said Leila, "he would have been too late with General Parke's +message." + +"Of course, Master John couldn't sham dead like I would.--I don't despise +bullets like he does. Once before he had orders to go somewhere, and +couldn't get across a river. He was as mad as a wet hen." + +"A wet hen--delightful! Did he do it?" + +"Guess you don't know him! When Master John wants anything, well, he's a +terrible wanter--always was that way even when he was a boy--when he +wants anything, he gets it." + +"Indeed! does he? I think he is waiting for you, Josiah." + +The black's conclusive summary hardened the young woman's heart. She sat +a while smiling, then took up a book and failed to become interested. + +As John became familiar with the altered life of a household once happy +and in pleasant relation to the outer world, he felt as Leila had done +the depressing influence of a home in which the caprices of an invalid +life were constantly to be considered. Meanwhile his own spare figure +gained flesh, and on one sunny morning--he long remembered it--he was +rather suddenly free from pain, and with only the stiff elbow was, as +McGregor described it, "discharged cured." + +For some time he had been feeling that in bodily vigour and sense of +being his normal self he had been rapidly gaining ground. The relief from +the thraldom of pain brought a sudden uplift of spirits and a feeling of +having been born anew into an inheritance of renewed strength and of +senses sharpened beyond what he had ever known. A certain activity of +happiness like a bodily springtime comes with such a convalescence. +Ceasing to feel the despotism of self-attention, he began to recover his +natural good sense and to watch with more care his uncle's state, his +aunt's want of consideration for any one but James Penhallow, and the +effect upon Leila of this abnormal existence. He began to understand that +to surely win this sad girl-heart there must be a patient siege, and +above all something done for the master of Grey Pine. He recognized with +love's impatience the beauty of this young life amid the difficulties of +the Colonel's moods and Ann Penhallow's ill-concealed jealousy. A great +passion may be a very selfish thing, or in the nobler natures rise so +high on the wings of love that it casts like the singing lark no shadow +on the earth. He could wait and respect with patient affection the sense +of duty which perhaps--ah! that perhaps--made love a thing which must +wait--yes, and wait too with helpful service where she too had nobly +served. + +When the day came for his first venture on a horse and he rode through +the young leafage of June, no enterprise seemed impossible. How could he +be of use to her and these dear people to whom he owed so much? War had +been costly, but it had taught him that devotion to the duty of the hour +which is one of the best lessons of that terrible schoolmaster. There +was, as he saw every day, no overruling common sense in the household of +Grey Pine, and no apparent possibility of reasonable control. Just now it +was worse than ever, and he meant to talk it over with the two McGregors. +With Josiah riding behind him, he left a message here and there in the +village, laughing and jesting, with a word of sympathy where the war had +left its cruel memories. He had been in the little town very often since +his return, but never before when free from pain or with the pleasant +consciousness that he had it in his power to be to these friends of his +childhood what the Colonel had been. He talked to Joe Grace, left a +message for Pole's son, and then rode on to his appointment. + +He sat down with father and son in the unchanged surroundings of the +untidy office; even the flies were busy as before on the old man's +tempting bald head. + +"Well, John," said the doctor, "what's up now? The Squire won't see me at +all." Tom sat still and listened. + +"There are two things to consider, and I want your advice; but, first, I +want to say that there is no head to that family. I wonder how Leila +stands it. I mean that your advice shall be taken about a consultation +with Prof. Askew." + +"You want my advice? Do you, indeed! Mrs. Penhallow will ask the +Colonel's opinion, he will swear, and the matter is at an end." + +"I mean to have that consultation," said John. Tom laughed and nodded +approval. + +"It's no use, John, none," said the older man. + +"We shall see about that. Do you approve?--that is my question." + +"If that's the form of advice you want, why, of course--yes--but count me +out." + +"Count me in, John," said the younger surgeon. "I know what Askew will +say and what should have been done long ago." + +"An operation?" asked his father. + +"Yes, sir, an operation." + +"Too late!" + +"Well," said John, "he gets no worse; a week or two will make no +difference, I presume." + +"None," said Dr. McGregor. + +"It may," said Tom. + +"Well, it may have to wait. Just now there is a very serious question. +Aunt Ann made last night the wild suggestion that the Colonel might be +amused if we had one of those rummage-sales with which she used to +delight the village. Uncle Jim at once declared it to be the thing he +would like best. Aunt Ann said we must see about it at once. Her +satisfaction in finding an amusement which the Colonel fancied was really +childlike. Leila said nothing, nor did I. In fact, the proposal came +about when I happened unluckily to say what a fine chance Uncle Sam had +for a rummage-sale after a forced march or a fight. I recall having said +much the same thing long ago in a letter to Leila." + +"Then there's nothing to be done just now, John," remarked Tom McGregor, +"but I cannot conceive of anything more likely to affect badly a +disordered brain." + +The older man was silent until John asked, "Is it worth while to talk to +Aunt Ann about it--advise against it?" + +"Quite useless, John. I advise you and Leila quietly to assist your aunt, +and like as not the Colonel may forget all about it in a day or two." + +"No, Doctor. To-day he had Billy up with him in the attic bringing down +whatever he can find, useful or useless." + +With little satisfaction from this talk, John rode homeward. Sitting in +the saddle at the post-office door, he called for the mail. Mrs. Crocker, +of undiminished bulk and rosiness, came out. + +"How's your arm, Captain? I bet it's more use than mine. The rheumatism +have took to permanent boarding in my right shoulder--and no glory like +you got to show for it." + +"I could do without the glory." + +"No, you couldn't. If I was a man, I'd be glad to swap; you've got to +make believe a bit, but the town's proud of you. I guess some one will +soon have to look after them Penhallow mills." Mrs. Crocker put a +detaining hand on his bridle reins. + +"Yes, yes," said John absently, glancing well pleased over a kind letter +of inquiry from General Parke. "Well, what else, Mrs. Crocker?" + +"The Colonel quite give me a shock this morning. He's not been here--no, +not once--since he came home. Well, he walked in quite spry and told me +there was to be a rummage-sale in a week, and I was to put up a notice +and tell everybody. Why, Mr. John, he was that natural. He went away +laughing because I offered to sell my old man--twenty-five cents a +pound. I did notice he don't walk right." + +"Yes, I have noticed that; but this notion of a rummage-sale has seemed +to make him better. Now, suppose you let my reins go." + +"Oh, Mr. John, don't be in such a hurry. It's surely a responsible place, +this post-office; I don't ever get time for a quiet talk." + +"Well, Mrs. Crocker, now is your chance." + +"That's real good of you. I was wanting to ask if you ever heard anything +of Peter Lamb. He wrote to his mother he was in the army, and then that +was the end of it. She keeps on writing once a week, and the letters come +back stamped 'not found.' I guess he's wandering somewhere." + +"Like enough. I went to see her last week, but I could not give her any +comfort. She couldn't have a worse thing happen than for Peter to come +home." + +"Well, Captain John, when you come to have babies of your own, you'll +find mothers are a curious kind of animal." + +"Mothers!" laughed John. "I hope there won't be more than one. Now, I +really must go." + +"Oh, just one more real bit of news. Lawyer Swallow's wife was here +yesterday with another man to settle up her husband's business." + +"Is he dead?" + +"They say so, but you can't believe everything you hear. Now, don't +hurry. What most killed Swallow was just this: He hated Pole like poison, +and when he got a five hundred dollar mortgage-grip on Pole's pasture +meadow, he kept that butcher-man real uneasy. When you were all away, +Swallow began to squeeze--what those lawyers call 'foreclose.' It's +just some lawyer word for robbery." + +"It's pretty bad, Mrs. Crocker, but two people are waiting for you and +this isn't exactly Government business." + +"Got to hear the end, Captain." + +"I suppose so--what next?" Dixy wondered why the spur touched him even +lightly. + +"Pole, he told Mrs. Penhallow all about it, and she wasn't as glad to +help her meat-man as she was to bother Swallow, so she took over the +mortgage. When the Squire first came home from Washington and wasn't like +he was later, she told him, of course. Now everybody knows Pole's ways, +and so the Squire he says to me--he was awful amused--'Mrs. Crocker, I +asked Mrs. Penhallow how Pole was going to pay her.' She said she did put +that at Pole, and he said it wouldn't take long to eat up that debt at +Grey Pine. He wouldn't have dared to speak like that to your aunt if she +hadn't got to be so meek-like, what with war and bother." By this time +Dixy was with reason displeased and so restless that Mrs. Crocker let the +reins drop, but as John Penhallow rode away she cried, "The price of +meats at Grey Pine has been going up ever since, until Miss Leila--" The +rest was lost to the Captain. He rode away laughing as he reflected on +what share of Pole's debt he was to devour. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + + +The bustle and folly of a rummage-sale was once in every two or three +years a frolic altogether pleasant to quiet Westways. It enabled Ann +Penhallow and other wise women to get rid of worn-out garments and other +trash dear to the male mind. When Leila complained of the disturbing +antecedents of a rummage-sale, Mrs. Crocker, contributive of unasked +wisdom, remarked, "Men have habits, and women don't; women have blind +instincts. You'll find that out when you're married. You see marriage is +a kind of voyage of discovery. You just remember that and begin early to +keep your young man from storing away useless clothes and the like. +That's where a rummage-sale comes in handy." + +Leila laughed. "Why not sell the unsatisfactory young man, Mrs. Crocker?" + +"Well, that ain't a bad idea," said the post-mistress slyly, "if he's a +damaged article--a rummage-sale of husbands not up to sample." + +"A very useful idea," said the young woman. "Good-bye." + +In the afternoon a day later, Leila, making her escape from her aunt's +busy collections, slipped away into the woods alone. The solitude of the +early woodland days of summer were what she needed, and the chance they +gave for such tranquil reflection as the disturbance and restless state +of her home just now made it rarely possible to secure. She tried to put +aside her increasing anxiety about her uncle and had more difficulty in +dealing with John Penhallow and his over-quiet friendliness. She thought +too of her own coldly-worded letters and of the suffering of which she +had been kept so long ignorant. He had loved her once; did he now? She +was annoyed to hear the voice of Mark Rivers. + +"So, Leila, you have run away, and I do not wonder. This turmoil is most +distressing." + +"Yes, yes--and everything--those years of war and what it has brought +us--and my dear Uncle Jim--and how is it to end? Let us talk of something +else. I came here to be--well, to see if I could find peace of soul and +what these silent forests have often given me, strength to take up again +the cares and troubles of life." He did not excuse his intrusion nor seem +to notice the obvious suggestions, but fell upon their personal +application to himself. + +"They have never done that for me," he said sadly. "There is some defect +in my nature--some want. I have no such relation to nature; it is +speechless to me--mute, and I never needed more what I fail to find in +myself. The war and its duties gave me the only entire happiness I have +had for years." Then he added, in a curiously contemplative manner, "It +does seem as if a man had a right to some undisturbed happiness in life. +I must go. I leave you to the quiet of the woods." + +"I am sorry," she said, "I am sorry that you are able to imply that you +have never known happiness. Surely you cannot mean that." It was all she +could say. His look of profound melancholy hurt her, for like all who +knew Mark Rivers well, she loved, respected and admired him. + +He made no explanatory reply, but after a brief silence said, "I must go, +Leila, where there are both duties and dangers--not--no, not in cities." + +"I trust you do not mean to leave us--surely not!" + +"No, not yet--not while I can be of use to these dear friends." + +As she moved on at his side or before him, he saw too well the easy grace +of her strong young virgin form, the great blue eyes, the expressive +tenderness of features which told of dumb sympathy with what she had no +knowledge to understand. He longed to say, "I love you and am condemned +by my conscience to ask no return." It would only add to his unhappiness +and disturb a relation which even in its incompleteness was dear to him. +The human yearning to confess, to win even the sad luxury of pity beset +the man. In his constant habit of introspection, he had become +unobservant and had no least idea that the two young people he loved so +well were nearing what was to him forever impossible. + +"Let me sit down," he said unwilling to leave her; "I am tired." He was +terribly afraid of himself and shaken by a storm of passion, which left +his sensitive body feeble. + +She sat down with him on a great trunk wrecked a century ago. "Are you +not well?" she asked, observing the paleness of his face. + +"No, it is nothing. I am not very well, but it is nothing of moment. +Don't let it trouble you--I am much as usual. I want, Leila, what I +cannot get--what I ought not to get." Even this approach to fuller +confession relieved him. + +"What is there, my dear Mr. Rivers, you cannot get? Oh! you are a man to +envy with your hold on men, your power to charm, your eloquence. I have +heard Dr. McGregor talk of what you were among the wounded and the dying +on the firing-line. Don't you know that you are one of God's helpful +messengers, an interpreter into terms of human thought and words of what +men need to-day, when--" + +"No, no," he broke in, lifting a hand of dissenting protest. The flushed +young face as she spoke, his sense of being nobly considered by this +earnest young woman had again made him feel how just the little more +would have set free in ardent words what he was honestly striving to +control. + +"Thank you, my dear Leila, I could wish I were all you think I am; but +were it all true, there would remain things that sweeten life and which +must always be forbidden to me." + +He rose to his feet once again master of his troubled soul. "I leave +you," he said, "and your tireless youth to your walk. We cannot have +everything, I must be contented in some moment of self-delusion to half +believe the half of what you credit me with." + +"Then," cried Leila, laughing, "you would have only a fourth." + +"Ah! I taught you arithmetic too well." He too laughed as he turned away. +Laughter was rare with him and to smile frequent. He walked slowly away +to the rectory and for two days was not seen at Grey Pine. + +Leila, more at ease and relieved by the final gay banter, strolled into +the solemn quiet of the pines the Squire had so successfully freed from +underbrush and left in royal solitude. At the door of the old log-cabin +she lay down on the dry floor of pine-needles. The quick interchange of +talk had given her no chance to consider, as now she reviewed in +thoughtful illumination, what had seemed to her strange. She tried to +recall exactly what he had said. Of a sudden she knew, and was startled +to know. She had come into possession of the power of a woman innocent of +intention to inflict pain on a strong and high-minded man. A lower nature +might have felt some sense of triumph. It left her with no feeling but +the utmost distress and pitiful thinking of what had gone wrong in this +man's life. Once before she had been thus puzzled. The relief of her walk +was gone. She gathered some imperfect comfort in the thought that she +might not have been justified in her conclusions regarding a man who was +in so many ways an unexplained personality. + +During the next few days the village was in a state of anticipative +pleasure and of effort to find for the rummage-sale articles which were +damaged or useless. At Grey Pine John and Leila Grey were the only +unexcited persons. She was too troubled in divers ways to enjoy the +amusement to be had out of what delighted every one else except John +Penhallow. To please his aunt he made some small and peculiar offerings, +and daily went away to the mills to meet and consult with the Colonel's +former partners. He was out of humour with his world, saw trouble ahead +if he did as he meant to do, and as there was an east wind howling +through the pines, his wounded arm was recording the storm in dull aches +or sharp twinges. He smoked, I fear, too much during these days of +preparation for the rummage-sale, and rode hard; while Leila within the +dismantled house was all day long like the quiet steadying flywheel in +some noisy machinery. What with Billy as the over-excited Colonel's aide +and her aunt aggrieved by a word of critical comment on her husband's +actions, Leila had need of all the qualities required in a household +where, as it seemed to her, it was hard to keep tongue or temper quiet. + +Mr. Rivers towards the end of the week came in often, and would, of +course, see that the Sunday school hall was made ready for the sale. He +would make some contributions and help to arrange the articles for the +sale. The Colonel's continuity of childlike interest deceived him into +sharing the belief of Ann Penhallow, who was, Leila thought, unreasonably +elated. Meanwhile Leila felt as a kind of desertion John's successive +days of absence. Where was he? What was he doing? Once she would have +asked frankly why he left to her the burden of cares he ought to have +been eager to share, while Mark Rivers was so steadily helpful. When Ann +Penhallow asked him to act as salesman, he said that he was at her +disposal. The Colonel declared that was just the thing, and John must +uncover and announce the articles to be sold. He said, "How long ago was +the last sale? Wasn't it last year?" + +"No, dear, not so lately." + +"I must have forgotten. Perhaps, Rivers, we might sell a few useless +people. What would Leila fetch in the marriage market?" Ann somewhat +annoyed said nothing; nor did Rivers like it. The Colonel continued, +"Might sell John--badly damaged." + +"I must go," said Rivers. "I have my sermon to think over. I mean to use +the text you gave me, Leila, some two weeks ago." + +Sunday went by, and Tuesday, the day of the sale, came with a return of +the east wind and a cold downpour of rain. The Colonel and Billy were +busy late in the day; Mrs. Ann was tired; while John in some pain was +silent at dinner. The carriage took the Colonel and his wife to the hall. +He was now quiet and answered curtly the too frequent questions about how +he felt. + +"We will send back for you, Leila," said her aunt. + +"No, I want to walk there with John." + +The Captain looked up surprised, "Why, yes, with pleasure." + +She came down in her rain-cloak. "Take a large umbrella, John. How it +blows!" + +As they set off in the face of a rain-whipped wind, he said, "Take my +arm, Leila--the other side--the sound arm." + +"You were in pain at dinner, John." + +"It is my familiar devil, the east wind, but don't talk of it." + +She understood him, and returned, "I will not if you don't wish me to +talk of it. Where have you been all these uneasy days?" + +"Oh, at the mills. Uncle refuses to speak of business and I am trying to +understand the situation--some one must." + +"I see--you must explain it all to me later." + +"I will. One of the mill men of my Corps needed help. I have asked Tom to +see him. How depressed Mr. Rivers seems. Gracious, how it rains!" + +"Yes, he is at his worst. I am sorry you missed his sermon on Sunday--it +was great. He talked about Lincoln, and used a text I gave him some time +ago." + +"What was it?" + +"It is in Exodus: 'Ye have seen what I did unto the Egyptians and how I +bare you on eagles' wings, and brought you unto myself.'" + +John's ready imagination began for a silent moment to play with the +words. "How did he use it, Leila?" + +"Oh, he told the preceding story briefly, and then his great seeking eyes +wandered a little and he said, 'Think how the uplift of God's eagles' +wings enlarged their horizon!' Then he seemed to me to have the idea that +they might not comprehend, so he made one of those eloquent pauses and +went on to say, 'You can all, like Lincoln, rise as he rose from the +lesser things of a hard life to see more widely and more surely the +duties of life. The eagle-wings of God's uplifting power are for you, +for me, for all of us.' He made them understand." + +"I am sorry I missed it. I spent the Sunday morning with my engineer." + +"Aren't you getting wet, John?" + +"No. How did he end?" + +"What I did not like was the dwelling on Lincoln's melancholy, and the +effort it must have cost him--at times. It seemed to me, John, as if he +was preaching to himself. I wonder if clergymen often preach to +themselves. Some of us have to. The sketch of Lincoln's life was to me a +wonder of terse biography. At the close he did not dwell on the murder, +but just said--'Then--and then, my friends, God took him to himself.'" + +"Thank you, Leila. What a lot of wagons--we must have half the +county--and in this rain too." + +"Now, John, you hate this affair, and so do I; but the Westways people +think it great fun, and in the last few years they have had very little." + +"_Ni moi non plus, Mademoiselle Grey._" + +"Yes, yes," she said, "I know, John, but make it go--make it gay, John. +It will soon be over." + +"I will try." They left their wet garments in an empty outer room and +entering by a side door stood beside the raised platform at the end of +the crowded hall. + +Quite a hundred villagers or farming people, young and old, filled the +room, and the air was oppressively heavy. At one end on a raised platform +the Colonel was seated, and near by his wife well pleased to see him +smiling as he recognized here and there some of the farmers who had been +the playmates of his youth. John stood by the long table on which, +covered by sheets, lay the articles for sale. Rivers came forward to the +front of the platform, leaving Leila, who declined to sit down, at one +side with Mr. Grace and the two McGregors. + +The murmur of voices ceased; there was an appearance of expectant +attention. Rivers raised a hand, and said, "You are all, I am sure, most +glad to welcome the friend who like others among you has paid so dearly +for keeping unbroken the union of the States." Loud applause followed, as +he paused. "An occasion like this brings together young and old for +good-humoured fun, and may remind you of a similar meeting years ago. +This is to be a rummage-auction of useful things out of use, and of +useless things. If you will explain why anybody wants useless things I +shall know why some of you come to hear me preach or"--with a slight +pause--"my friend, Grace." Every one laughed, and John and Leila alike +felt that Rivers had struck the right note. + +"Captain John Penhallow"--loud plaudits--"Captain John Penhallow will +mention the articles for sale. Now, as you see, they are all hidden--some +of them I have never seen. Whoever makes the highest bid of the sale for +the most useless article will collect the whole product--the whole +proceeds of the sale, and"--he laughed--"will pay it over to the girl +about to be married." + +This was really great fun, and even John felt some relief as the hall +rang with merry laughter. Only Tom McGregor was grave while he watched +the Colonel. As Rivers spoke, Colonel Penhallow stood up, swayed a +little, straightened his tall figure, and waving Rivers aside said, "I +shall now conduct this sale." This was only a pleasant surprise to the +audience, and was welcomed with noisy hands. + +The two McGregors exchanged looks of anxious alarm as the Colonel said, +"Now, John!" Mrs. Penhallow smiled approval. + +John uncovered a corner of the nearest sheet and brought out a clock +without hands. "First article! Who'll bid? I think the hands have all +struck like the mill-hands down East. Five cents--do I hear ten? +Going--gone," cried the Colonel. + +A rag doll came next and brought a penny. There was high bidding over a +heavy band-box. When it went for half a dollar to Mrs. Crocker and was +found to contain a shrivelled pumpkin of last year's crop, the audience +wildly congratulated the post-mistress. + +John, who was now thoroughly in the spirit of their fun, produced two +large apples. "Now what daughter of Eve will bid," said the elated +Colonel. Leila laughing bid fifty cents. "Going--gone." + +"Look out for the serpent, Miss Grey," said Grace. + +Leila handed the apples to a small girl, who losing no time followed +Eve's remote example. "Oh, mother!" she cried, "it's got a five-dollar +piece in it--most broke my new tooth." + +"The root of all evil," said Grace. + +There were pots that were cracked or bottomless, old novels, and to the +evident dismay of John a favourite smoking jacket. Ann clapped her hands +with delight as John shook at her a finger of reproach. Then came tied up +in paper, which John unrolled, the long-forgotten cane of his youth, and +how it got there the Squire or Billy may have known. John bid, but at +a warning signal from Leila gave up, as she recaptured her property. +There were other apples, with and without money; and so with fun and +merriment the sale went on to Westways' satisfaction. + +"What's this," said John, with an unpleasant shock of annoyance as he +uncovered the Colonel's war-worn uniform. He hesitated, looking towards +his uncle who seemed bewildered. "That's that rascal, Billy--it's a +mistake," exclaimed the Colonel. + +"No, sir," shouted Billy, "Squire told me to take 'em. There's a sword +too. Squire said it wasn't any use now." + +No one laughed; it was obviously one of Billy's blunders. John put the +worn uniform and the sword aside and threw a cover over them. It was an +unpleasant reminder of the Colonel's state of mind and disturbed the +little group at one side of the stage. John made haste to get away from +it. + +"Last article for sale--it's large and must be bought covered up. Who +will bid?" Amid laughter the bids rose. At a dollar and ten cents it fell +to Mrs. Pole, and proved when uncovered to be another band-box. Mrs. Pole +came forward, and Ann Penhallow pleased to have been able to amuse her +husband said, "We are curious, Mrs. Pole, open it." Mrs. Pole obeyed, and +as she held up the rolled package it dropped into the unmistakable form +of a man's breeches. + +Westways exploded into wild applause, understanding joyously this freak +of fortune. Mrs. Pole joined in their merriment, and the carpenter +punched the butcher in the ribs for emphasis, as he said, "How's that, +Pole?" The butcher made use of unpleasant language, as John relieved +said, "The sale is over. You can settle with Mr. Grace." As he spoke he +moved over to where Leila stood beside the two McGregors. + +The people rose and put on their cloaks preparing to leave. Then John +heard Tom McGregor say, "Look out, father! Something is going to happen." + +The Colonel moved forward unsteadily. His face flushed, grew pale, and +something like a grimace distorted his features, as he said, "The sale is +not over, sit down." + +People took their places again wondering what was to come. Then with the +clear ringing voice the cavalry lines knew in far-away Indian wars, he +cried, "We will now sell the most useless article in Westways. Who'll buy +silly Billy?" + +"Can't sell me," piped out Billy's thin voice as he fled in alarm, amid +laughter. + +"The sale is over, uncle," said John. + +"No, sir--don't interrupt. I'd like to sell Swallow." + +This was much to their taste. "Guess he's sold a many of us," cried an +old farmer. + +"Why, he's dead," said Mrs. Crocker. + +The Colonel's gaze wandered. The little group of friends became +hopelessly uneasy; even Mrs. Ann ceased to smile. "You stand up, Polly +Somers--you are the handsomest girl in the county," which was quite true. + +The girl, who was near by, sat still embarrassed. "Get up," said +Penhallow sharply. + +"She's withdrawed these three months," cried a ready-witted young farmer. + +"Oh, is she? Well, then, we will go on." Tom McGregor went quietly up the +two steps to the platform. All those who were near to the much-loved +master of Grey Pine stood still aware of something wrong and unable to +interfere. Rivers alone moved towards him and was put aside by an +authoritative gesture. The moment of silence was oppressive, and Leila +was hardly conscious of the movement which carried her up beside Dr. +McGregor to the level of the platform. + +"Oh, do something," she whispered; "please do something." + +"It is useless--this can't last." + +"Uncle Jim," she exclaimed in her despair, and what more she would have +urged was unheard or unsaid as the Colonel turned towards her and cried, +"One more for sale!" + +No one spoke. At last these various people who loved the man well saw +more or less clearly that he was no longer their James Penhallow of +other days. He went on at once with raised voice: "Last sale--Leila +Grey--likely young woman--warranted sound--single or double harness. +Fetch her up." His confusion of mind was painfuly apparent. "Who'll bid?" +A suppressed titter rose from the younger people. + +"She is withdrawn, uncle," said John Penhallow distinctly. + +"Ah! who did you say--Like Polly, owner withdraws her--Can't you speak +out?" + +"I said, withdrawn, sir," John repeated. As he spoke he saw the Colonel +stagger backwards and sink into his chair; his face became white and +twitched; his head fell to one side; he breathed stertorously, flushed +slightly, and was instantly as one asleep. + +Ann Penhallow and the two doctors were at his side. Rivers called out, +"Leave the room, all of you, please. Open the windows, Grace!" + +"Is he dead?" asked Ann of McGregor. + +"No, no--it is a slight fit--there is no danger." + +A moment later Penhallow opened his eyes, sat up, and said, "Where am I? +What's all this about?" + +John said, "A bit faint, uncle. The carriage is waiting." He staggered to +his feet, and seizing Rivers's arm followed Ann and John in silence. With +Rivers they were driven back to Grey Pine. Of all Ann Penhallow's schemes +to amuse or interest her husband this had been the most utter failure. + +Every one had gone from the hall when John missing Leila returned to the +outer room to put on his cloak. The boy-cap Leila liked to wear in bad +weather, her rain-cloak, his umbrella, were as they had been left. He +stood still in the first moment available for thought and knew that here +was a new trouble. She must have been so shocked and ashamed as to have +fled in the rain eager to get away. + +Neither he nor any man could have realized what she felt as her uncle +talked wildly--and she had been put up for sale. She used none of the +resources of reason. All her body was hot with the same flush of shame +which burned in her face. In her passion of disgust and anger, she +hurried out into the storm. The chill of the east wind was friendly. She +gave no other thought to the wind-driven rain, but ran through the woods +like a wild thing, all virginal woman, unreasonable, insulted, angry as a +child is angry--even her uncle was forgotten. She ran upstairs, the glory +of her rain-soaked hair in tumbled disorder, and in her room broke into +the open speech which passion confides to the priest solitude. + +"Oh, John Penhallow, how could you! That ends it--a man who could--and +oh, John Penhallow!" She cried a little, wailing in a childish way, and +then with some returning sense of anxiety put herself in condition to go +downstairs, where she learned that her uncle was in bed. She went back to +her room. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + + +A half hour later John sat alone in the library. He had much to disturb a +young man trained to obey and at need command, and was feeling the +responsibility of an unusual position. At last he wrote a note to his +aunt and sent it up to her by a maid. In a few minutes Ann Penhallow +appeared. + +"What is it, John? I cannot leave James alone long." She sat down. "Now +don't keep me." + +"I need not detain you long, but I feel that you ought to know, Aunt Ann, +that I have had a talk with Tom McGregor and have sent a telegram to Dr. +Askew desiring him to come at once and see my uncle. I ought to hear +to-morrow." + +She rose to her feet. "You did this, John, without a word to me and +knowing that your uncle has over and over said he would not listen to +anything of the kind. You have taken a great liberty--I shall telegraph +for your doctor not to come. James is always better after these attacks." + +Much surprised, he said, "These attacks--has he had them before?" + +"Oh, twice--very slight." + +"But, aunt, do you not understand how serious this one was?" + +"He is better already--much better. There should not be any need to +remind you that you are not the head of this house. I shall telegraph at +once, in the morning, and stop him." + +"It will be too late, aunt." + +"Then your doctor may go back. I will not see this doctor if in spite of +my telegram he should come. You will understand, John, that this ends it. +I certainly will not have James constantly irritated. I shall telegraph +now--at once." + +"You will do, aunt, as it seems best to you." He saw the telegram written +and heard her order to send it to the Westways office. + +His aunt, having settled the matter, went upstairs, an angry and +indignant woman, leaving in the library a man resolute not to accept +defeat. + +He wrote a second message: "Disregard Mrs. Penhallow's telegram. Come at +once. Fee at discretion. Will meet you at Westways Crossing." + +He roused up Josiah and gave his order. "Ride to the mills and get this +despatch sent to-night or early to-morrow--oh, to-night, somehow. It is +important. Pay some one--only get it sent. Here are five dollars." + +He was of no mind to meet either Leila or his aunt, and to escape them +breakfasted early next morning, and riding to the mills was pleased to +avoid another painful interview. On his return at evening the dinner at +Grey Pine was made rather less uncomfortable by the presence of Rivers +who talked to Ann Penhallow while the Colonel dozed in his armchair. +Accustomed to have her decisions obeyed in her home, Ann Penhallow had +now dismissed the question of a consultation as settled, and had quite +lightly mentioned to Leila that John had revived the subject and that she +had once for all put an end to it. + +She was sorry to have had to be so positive, but was pleased to be done +with the matter in dispute. She little knew the young soldier. When he +was certain that the consultant would come, he began to consider what he +would do if his aunt did simply refuse to see Dr. Askew. She might, in +fact, be as resolute as her nephew. + +In her trouble about her husband's mishap, Ann Penhallow hardly regarded +her niece's unpleasant share in the sad ending of the rummage-sale--it +was relatively of no moment. Nor would the girl herself have been willing +to discuss it. John Penhallow should have held his tongue, and now all +Westways must be laughing--and she would never--never--forgive him. +Evidently her aunt had scolded him about that consultation. She had a +little curiosity to know how he had taken it and how he looked when he +came to match the will of his young manhood against the unreasonable +obstinacy of the woman he had been taught to obey. She observed next day +at breakfast that John was more than usually gay, as he asked if there +were any errands. There were none. He loitered about waiting and at last +went out to the back porch where he stood a minute looking over the box +hedge which bounded the garden. Leila was busy taking tribute from the +first roses of the summer days. As she bent over, she let them fall one +by one into the basket at her feet. Now and then she drew up her tall +figure, and seemed to John as she paused to be deep in thought. When she +became aware of his approach, she fell again to harvesting roses. + +He said, "Leila, before I go to the mills, I want to talk with you about +what is troubling me. In fact--" + +Without looking up she broke into his attempt to explain himself, "I am +in no mood to discuss anything, John Penhallow." + +He was frankly puzzled. Of the many Leilas, this was a new acquaintance, +but he said quietly, "It is necessary to make a statement--I want first +to explain." + +She refreshed her rising anger with words. "I do not want any +explanation--there are things no woman can pardon. I was insulted." + +"My dear Leila, upon my honour I do not know what you mean." + +She was near to saying, "I am not yours, or dear." Something in the look +of the attentive face and the calmness of his manner put her on guard, +and she said only, "That is, I presume, because you are not a woman." + +He said, "I do not regret that, but you clearly are thinking of one thing +and I of another. It must be the rummage-sale. I have no desire to +discuss that sorrowful business, Miss Grey. You have quite misapprehended +me. It is of Uncle Jim I want to talk--in fact, to ask advice." + +"I did not understand," she said, flushing a little. His formal manner +was very unpleasant, and to be called Miss Grey was ridiculous. If he had +shown anger or even annoyance it would have eased the situation. He went +on to explain himself, rather aware of her embarrassment and not +altogether sorry for her mishap. + +"I said I want help--advice. I have sent for Prof. Askew. Aunt Ann has +telegraphed him not to come. I wired him to disregard her message. He has +answered me that he will be here at the house, if the train is on time, +about six to-day. It is our last hope, but it is a hope. Aunt Ann must +see this gentleman--I say she must. Now, how can it be managed?" + +Leila let fall a handful of roses into the basket and faced him. "Take +time," he said. "I do really need help--how can I make Aunt Ann see this +famous surgeon? Take time," he repeated. + +Here was for Leila a rather astonishing revelation of resolute aggressive +manhood--a new John Penhallow. Relieved to have been taken out of her +angry mood, she stood still a moment while he waited on her counsel. +"There is but one way," she said, "it is the only way. I do not like +it--whether you will be willing to accept it, I do not know." + +"And still you advise it?" + +"I do not." + +"Well, what is it?" + +"At about six every afternoon, when Uncle Jim is asleep, Aunt Ann is +almost certain to be in her little library-room. Take Dr. Askew in, +present him, and walk out. She will hate it, but she is sure to be what +she is always to a guest. He will have his chance." + +"Thank you, Miss Grey."--How she hated that!--"You have helped me." He +touched his army cap in salute and left her alone. At the garden gate he +looked back--Miss Grey was also looking back, and vexed at being thus +caught bent down again and cut buds and roses with sharp nips of the +scissors. + +It was not in the nature or breeding of John Penhallow to like Leila's +plan for securing to the surgeon a chance to impose on a reluctant woman +a clearly stated opinion which otherwise she might have the courage to +disregard. But what else could he do? A little after six he met the +carriage far down the avenue and walked slowly to the house with the +younger McGregor and the surgeon. + +"You are most welcome," said John. "Dr. McGregor has, I trust, told you +of our difficulties with my aunt?" + +Askew smiled. "Yes; it is no uncommon case. I may add that Dr. McGregor's +letters have satisfied me that an immediate operation offers the only and +too long delayed chance of success. I must, of course, see Mrs. +Penhallow--the sooner the better." + +"Yes--pray follow me." He led the way across the hall, opened the library +door, and said to the astonished lady, "Prof. Askew, Aunt Ann." Then he +went out. + +Well aware of being trapped, Mrs. Penhallow stood up and apparently at +perfect ease said, "You must have had a very tiresome journey." + +"Not very," he returned, as he accepted a seat. + +Then the little lady sat up and said, "You must pardon me if I say that +this consultation has been brought about by my nephew against my +husband's wishes." + +"And your own?" + +"Yes, my own." + +"I so understand it. May I say in my defence that I missed your telegram +and only saw it when it was sent after me on the train, but now I am +here." She had not the courage to say what she would have liked to say, +and he went on. "General Hancock saw me a day or two back. What he said +of your husband gave me at once a personal interest in him. Isn't it +odd how one is brought to realize what a small place our world is? I was +at Port Delaware before the war ended and saw there--I was on inspection +duty--a Confederate Colonel, Henry Grey--a prisoner. Is he not a relation +of the handsome Miss Grey we met on the avenue?" + +"My niece. He is my brother." + +"Indeed! I gave some advice about his wound--it was not serious. May I +talk to you a little about your husband?" + +She felt herself cornered, and could not escape without discourtesy, +of which she was quite incapable; "Or," he added, "may I not rather talk +first to Colonel Penhallow, and later to you? It is, I take it, his view +of this very grave matter which naturally influences you." + +For the briefest of moments she made no reply. Then she stood up and +felt the force conveyed in the personality of George Askew, as he +towered over her, a man of unusual height. She looked up at the large +kind face the long sad wards knew so well. The lines of thought were +deeply graven below a broad forehead thinly crowned with yellow hair now +fast greying. He showed no sign of impatience. "Yes," she said, "that +will be better--you must see Mr. Penhallow before you talk to me. If he +consents to do what you want to do--I--Well, Dr. Askew, I am just now too +angry to reason. Have the kindness to follow me." + +She was unwilling to give her husband any more choice than John Penhallow +had given her. If the Colonel became irritable and declined to accept the +visit of this impressive personage as a surgeon, well, that must of +course end the matter. But as he went upstairs behind her, there arose in +her mind a storm-battered hope. + +The surgeon was smiling and so far pleased. He was greatly interested in +the case he was about to see. It had excited some discussion as unusual, +and the unusual in surgery or medicine has many times been the guide to +broad highways of usefulness where the daring of the one has made easy +the way for the many. Now he meant to win the confidence of the man, if +he proved sane enough to reason. He might also have to make more complete +his conquest of this coldly civil hostess. It was for him an old game, +and he played it with tact and skill. + +She paused at the door. "Pray wait a moment, Doctor. No--he has wakened, +I hear him." He stopped her. + +"Before we see the Colonel--before I see him--I want you to be heartily +in accord with any decision we may reach. There are but two courses which +seem to me possible, and I do want you to feel sure that either you will +have to watch a mind crumble hopelessly or, if we succeed, see one of +those amazing recoveries which are like the dawning of day. I say this +most earnestly, because your hearty help may be wanted. If he says _no_ +to our decision, his fate may really rest with your will to stand by me." + +This was pretty hard, and no time was given for discussion. She looked up +at the kind pleading face, and while feeling that she must yield, +hesitated--so distinctly hesitated that the surgeon's brow became +severely grave as the furrows between the eyes deepened in growing +wonder. He took her hand as if to get into some personal touch with a +woman whose opposition he could not understand. "You will help me? In +this man's condition a word may win or lose a game in which the stake +is a life--oh, that is little--or the restoration of a noble, useful +mind. I know you will help me." + +She looked down, and said faintly, "Yes." + +"Thank you." He smiled--"Bless me! what a little hand," he said, as he +let it fall. + +She opened the door and as he followed her, stepped aside, saying +bravely, "Here is a friend, James. You will like to see Dr. Askew." + +He took the chair she set at the bedside, while the Colonel regarded him +suspiciously, saying, "I think I heard of you after Gettysburg." + +"Yes, I took care of General Hancock. A lot of us went down to help. +Curious case his--a ball hit the pommel of his saddle and drove a nail +into his leg." + +"Yes, I heard of it. It was thought they were firing nails--queer that!" + +Askew seized on the moment of illumined intelligence, wondering what dull +surgeon had set in this man's mind an obsession which forbade all other +opinion. "Hancock will suffer long--but now, about you--did no one think +you could be relieved by an operation? Take your time to answer me." + +Penhallow, groping in the confusion of remote memories, returned, "I seem +to recall--yes--it was talked of--" + +"But not done? Some one is responsible for these years of pain. You do +suffer?" + +"Oh, my God! yes. I try to bear it." His eyes filled. "Is it too late?" + +"No," said Askew, "it is not." What doubt he had he put aside. + +"Then we will see to-morrow." + +"An operation!" said Ann, alarmed. A look conquered her. "You will do, +James, whatever Dr. Askew wishes?" + +"I will--but don't make me talk any more, Ann--my head aches." + +Askew rose. "Please to send up the Drs. McGregor. May I make use of +another room?" + +"Yes, of course." + +Ann Penhallow found Dr. Tom and his father on the porch with Leila and +John. She said, "Take the doctors up to my own room, Leila, and I want to +talk with John--there are some arrangements to make." + +Leila, guiltily conscious of her share in securing the surgeon's +interview with her aunt, was glad to accept the hint and the chance to +escape. + +Ann sat down beside John, and said, "John, why did you trick me into a +talk with Dr. Askew?" + +"Because, aunt, you said you would not see him--and it was necessary." + +"You took me too literally." + +"I took you at your word--something had to be done. If it fails, we are +no worse off." + +"But it may fail--oh! what if it does, John." + +"Aunt Ann, I am in despair. Listen to me; no, I must talk it out. The +agreement with uncle's old partners ended with the war. Things at the +mills are in confusion--what is to be done? I asked Uncle Jim to give me +a power of attorney to act for him. He refused. You supported him. Delay +is ruinous, and yet we can do nothing. You are vexed with me--Yes--you +have not given me my morning kiss for days. Leila is unreasonably angry +with me because that dreadful night I did the only thing possible in my +power to stop my uncle. I am most unhappy. I sometimes think I had better +go away and look for work as an engineer, and--you did love me once." He +rose and walked up and down the porch silent; he had emptied mind and +heart. Then he paused before her. She was crying, as she said, "Don't +reproach me, John--I can't bear it--I have had to bear too much +to-day--and you were so naughty." He leaned over and kissed her forehead. +"John," she said, "there is to be an operation to-morrow. It is terrible. +May the good God be kind to him and us. Now go away--I want to be alone. +See that Dr. Askew is well cared for." + +"Certainly, Aunt Ann." He had won his battle. + +At dinner the doctor was at pains to dispel the gloom which, as he well +knew, falls on those who love when one of the critical hours of life +approaches. When they left the table he went into the library with the +doctors and John, where they smoked many pipes and talked war. + +At breakfast next day Askew's account of his early morning drew a smile +even from Ann Penhallow. "Sleep! Yes, I suppose I slept. There was a +blank of some hours. I am apt to waken early. At dawn there was a bright +red-eyed sky, then it clouded as if the eyes had shut. A little later +Miss Grey rode away on a chestnut horse. I walked through your garden +and an unseen lady gave me this rose-bud. I had a joyful swim. As I came +back I saw Captain Penhallow ride away--and why not with you, Miss Grey? +You may perceive that I am a dangerous man to entertain. If you do not +prefer better society, may I ask to ride with you to-morrow?" + +"What better society?" asked Leila. + +"Oh, Miss Grey, alone--by herself." + +The two young people understood the charitable gaiety of his talk, but +although one of them at least was feeling a sudden access of relief the +quick jesting chat and laughter became distressing to Ann Penhallow. At +last she rose and excused herself, saying, "Another cup? My niece will +give it to you." + +"One moment," he returned--his face became grave. "I shall operate early +this morning. You must go out-of-doors--the porch--I suggest the porch. +I shall send down Dr. McGregor to tell you frankly the result of my +operation. I want Captain Penhallow, and with him and the two McGregors +we shall care for my patient. I hope the doctors will let you see the +Colonel in a week. I shall trespass on your hospitality for two days +more." + +"I could wish it were a week. I shall do precisely what you desire." + +John Penhallow caught some signal of amused surprise in Leila's looks. He +checked his own smile of partnership in mirth at Ann Penhallow's sudden +subjugation, feeling that with Leila the intimacies of mirth were at an +end. + +Ann took her knitting and went out upon the back porch. "How many rows +can I knit until I hear? No, Leila--I want to be alone. Here is a note +from Mr. Rivers. The Bishop met him at Harrisburg and carried him off to +Philadelphia. I hope there is no scheme to take him away. Now go, dear." +She heard the voices of the McGregors as they went upstairs. She sat +alone and waited. + +Among the friends who know me only through my summer-born books, there +must be many who can recall such hours of suspense as Ann Penhallow +endured. The clock in the hall struck ten. A little later her keen sense +made her aware of the faint odour of ether from the open windows on the +second floor. She let fall her work, went down the garden path, and +walked with quick steps among the firstlings of June. Then came Tom +McGregor swiftly, and in his smiling face she read good news. + +"It is all right," he said; "it is over. There was a fracture of the +fragile inner layer of the bone--a piece was pressing on the brain--it +was easily removed. The doctor is very much pleased. Oh, my dear Mrs. +Penhallow, there are better days ahead for you and him. Now, I must go +back." + +"Thank God!" she said, "and--and you--and--John. God forgive me, I have +been a fool!" + +The next two days went by without incident. Askew rode, walked, and had +no news for her except, "He is doing well." He would say no more. What +hours of doubt, of watchful fear, he had, she never knew. On the morning +of the third day, while the carriage waited to carry him away, Mrs. +Penhallow led him into her library. + +"Now," she said, with her cheque-book open before her, "we owe you a +debt none can pay, but let me offer you my most humble apologies for my +behaviour when you came." + +"Please, don't," he returned. + +"But I had to. And now, let me know what is our lesser and more material +debt?" + +He rose, smiling. "It has been my happy, unbroken rule to take nothing +from any soldier who served in this sad war--oh! on either side. I have +made, I hope, some friends. The Colonel asked to-day about a horse +Dixy--I think--and when could he ride. You may imagine my pleasure. He +will get well, but you must be patient. I leave him in competent hands, +and in the fall I mean to come back and shoot your woodcocks. Good-bye." +He was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + + +A week later Ann Penhallow was told that she might see her husband. She +entered his bedroom with timidity. "Oh, Ann, my most dear Ann!" he cried, +as she kissed him. His expression of recovered intelligence overcame her +for a moment. + +She faltered, "How are you feeling, James--any better?" + +"Better--I am well." + +"Hardly, dear--do be careful." She was unable to accept as a wholesome +reality this amazing resurrection of a mind. + +He understood her need for some reassurance, and said, "Don't worry about +me, Ann. It is like a vague dream, all these many months--but a dream you +know fades fast. My own memories get clearer--some things are quite +lost--some are as distinct as if they happened yesterday. The war is a +puzzle to me--and--if I try to remember, it confuses me. But I must not +talk war to you--I do remember that. I won't do it again, dear." + +There was something so childlike in this that it almost overcame the +woman's steadily guarded calm. She had been warned to be careful that +there should be no excitement to agitate a mind which was slowly groping +its way out of the shadows of half-illumined memories. + +"Oh, my dear James," she said quietly, "talk of war or anything; it is +over." Despite her cautious command of her voice it trembled with emotion +as she said, "Nothing is of any moment but you--you. What do I care for +the war or--or anything but to have you as you were? Oh, my God! I am +thankful." + +It disturbed him, as she saw. He felt and looked puzzled as he said, "I +see--I am not quite clear-headed yet, Ann." + +"No, but you will be. Don't try too hard, James. We must be patient and +wait." + +"I will--I will--and it is such a relief to have no pain and to see you." + +Then as he asked about Leila and the mill work, the younger doctor came +in and said, "Time is up, Mrs. Penhallow." + +"What--already, Tom?" + +"But I want to know more," said the Colonel. "Wasn't there a +rummage-sale--" + +"Yes; but now you must let Mrs. Penhallow go. You are mending daily. +To-morrow Mrs. Penhallow may come again, and there will be to-morrow, and +many happy to-morrows." She went out and downstairs singing in a low +sweet voice--a long lost habit. + +If to watch with an aching heart the hopeless decay of a mind be the most +distressing of all human trials, surely there can be few greater joys +than to see a disordered intellect emerge day by day into possession of +its long lost capacities. James Penhallow was soon able to sign a power +of attorney enabling John to reconstruct the old partnership with his own +name added to the firm. + +Very soon town and county shared in the growth of prosperity which +followed the war. Rivers was the only one who was not what his friends +desired, and never was his melancholy mood more noticeable. + +The master of Grey Pine was, of course, many months in recovering his +normal state of mind. The man's bodily strength had not been seriously +impaired, and the return of his natural gaiety and his eager resumption +one by one of his old habits filled his home with that cheerfulness which +is the relieving and precious gift of convalescence. Penhallow's +remembrances of the war were rapidly recovered as he talked to John, +but much of his recent life was buried in the strange graveyard of +memory, which gave up no reminding ghosts of what all who loved the man +feared might haunt him. + +When satisfied of the certainty of his uncle's recovery John Penhallow +hurt by Leila's continual coldness and seeing for it no reasonable +explanation gave more and more time to the mills in which the family +fortunes were so seriously concerned. On the first of September he was +glad to go away on business which carried him to several of the large +cities, and resulted in orders which would keep the works busy for many +months. He no longer wrote to Leila, nor did he expect letters from her. +He considered any nearer relation than friendship to be at an end, but to +lose that also seemed to him a quite too needlessly cruel loss, and now +for the first time on returning he approached Grey Pine without pleasure. +He had telegraphed to have a horse sent to meet him at Westways Crossing, +that he might ride on to the mills after seeing his uncle. + +Having taken the night train, it was about noon when Leila saw him coming +up the avenue. She went forward to the roadside and as he sat in the +saddle shook his hand, saying, "I am sorry you were delayed, John. You +will be disappointed to know that Uncle Jim and Aunt Ann left home +yesterday." She wished that he had not quite so clearly shown the limits +of his regret, as he said quietly, "Well, I shall miss them, of course." + +"A letter from aunt's brother, Henry Grey, asked them to visit him at the +old Maryland home. I think it both pleased and surprised Aunt Ann. I am +to join them later. Josiah is to matronize me--or, if you like, patronize +me. Uncle Jim was delighted to be asked and hopes to reconcile the +brothers. Henry's letter was very kind, but he is still suffering from +his wound. Of course, Aunt Ann was happy." + +He looked down at the upturned face as he sat in the saddle. She had +given him no warm word of personal welcome. "Well, it can't be helped. +I had much to talk over with uncle." Then he laughed. + +"What amuses you, John?" + +"Oh, I should like to see the interview. Both Uncle Jim and I had queer +encounters with Henry Grey." + +"Uncle Jim!--what--when?" + +"Ask him. I should have liked to add George Grey to the party. As for +your Uncle Henry"--John smiled--"a serious wound is rather productive of +the unexpected, as I know. I will see you at dinner--now I must go on to +the mills." He rode away thinking without pleasure of being alone with +Leila. + +The presence of the maids who waited at dinner kept their conversation +on the Colonel's rapid gain in health, village incidents, and the mill +life--mere loitering disconnected talk of no interest except to fill the +hour of two people who would have preferred to be silent. + +John said, as he rose from the table, "I have a letter to write, Leila, +and so I must leave you to the better company of your book." Once--but a +little while ago--he would have asked what book was now on hand. "Any +messages for aunt or uncle?" + +"None--I wrote this morning." + +He sat down in the library at his old desk and wrote: "Dear Leila"--Then +he stood up--the easy freedom of the letter was denied to him. He was in +the mood when outspoken speech, always for him the more natural way of +expressing himself, became imperative. He went back to the hall. + +The book lay face down on her lap. "What is it, John?" she asked. + +"I want to talk to you--not here. Come into the library; those maids hear +everything." + +"Certainly," she said, "if you want me." + +She sat down, and John leaning against the mantel and looking down at +her, said, "I came in here to write to you what is not easy to write or +say--I prefer to put it into speech." + +"Indeed! I am quite ready to listen." + +"After your recent treatment of me, I have no inclination to make myself +needlessly unpleasant. You have made it plain to me that what my heart +longs for is to be put aside forever. There is something due to a man's +self-respect. But if you were a man, Leila, I could say more easily +something else. Are we--am I to lose also your friendship--or is even +that at an end?" + +The blue eyes became less adventurous as she said, "I don't understand +you, John." + +"I think you do. Long as I have known you, I cannot have known you fully. +Blake used to say that everybody is several people, and just now--here +has come into my life some one I don't know--and don't want to know." + +"Indeed! It must be rather confusing to be several people. Your friend, +Mr. Blake, as your letters showed, was rather given to enigmatical +statements. I should like to know him. Would you please, John, to bring +me my fan--I left it in that delightful book you interrupted." + +"Certainly," he said, now a trifle more at ease. For Leila to ask of any +one such a service was so unlike her that he felt it to be a betrayal of +embarrassment, and was humorously pleased as he went and came again. + +She took the fan and played with that expressive piece of a woman's +outfit while John brought the talk back to its starting-point. + +"Cannot you be the Leila I used to know--a frank girl; or are you to use +one of your many disguises and just leave things as they have been of +late?" + +"If you will say plainly just what you mean, John"--the fan was in active +use--"I will be as frank as possible." + +"But you may not like it, Leila." + +"Oh, go on. I know you are going to be unpleasant." + +He looked at her with surprise. "We are fencing--and I hate it. Once at +West Point I was fencing with a man, my friend; the button broke off my +foil and I hurt him seriously. He fell dead beside me in the trenches at +Vicksburg--dead!" + +"Oh, John!"--the fan ceased moving. + +"What I mean is that one may chance, you or I, to say something that will +leave in memory that which no years will blot out. Don't be vexed with +me. I have had a cruel summer. What with Uncle Jim and Aunt Ann--and now +with you, I--well--you told me after that dreadful night when Uncle Jim +was so wild that I had insulted you--" + +"Don't talk of it," she cried. "I was put to shame before all those +grinning people. You ought to have said nothing--or something better than +that farmer boy said--" + +"Well--perhaps, Leila; but the point is not _what_ I said in my desire to +help you and stop a man for the time insane. The point is that I did not +insult you; for an insult to be really that it must be intentional." + +"Then you think I was unreasonably angry?" + +"Yes, I do; and ever since then you have been coldly civil. I cannot +stand it. I shall never again ask you for what you cannot give, but if +you are to continue to resent what I said, then Grey Pine is no home for +me." + +She stood up, the fan falling to the floor. "What do you want me to say, +John Penhallow?" + +"Wait a little--just a word more. It was what poor Uncle Jim said that +hurt you. You could not turn on him; in your quite natural dismay or +disgust you turned on me, who meant only to help in a dreadful situation. +You know I am right"--his voice rose as he went on--"it is I, not you, +who am insulted. If you were a man, I should ask for an apology; as +you are the woman I have hopelessly loved for years, I will not ask you +to say you were wrong--I do not want you to say that. I want you to say +you are sorry you hurt me." + +"I am sorry I hurt you, John. Will that do?"--her eyes were filling. + +"Yes--but--" + +"But what?" + +"Oh, I want you to feel sorry." + +"Don't say any more," she returned. "Let us be friends again." She put +out her hand, he took it, picked up her fan, laid it on the table, and +saying "Thank you!" opened the door towards which she moved and closed it +after her. + +"And so"--she kept saying to herself--"we are to be no more than +friends." She sat still staring across the hall, trying to read. She was +fast losing control of the woman who was fenced in by social rule and +custom, trained to suppress emotion and to be the steady mistress of +insurgent passion. "My God," she murmured, "I should never have been +angry when he bought me, if I had not loved him--and now it is all +over--perhaps!" + +Some readjustment there may have been, for when he reentered the hall an +hour later, she was reading. He said, as she looked up, "I mean to have a +long tramp to-morrow. I shall start early and walk to the mills and on to +the ore-beds. Then I shall return over the hills back of Westways, and +bring you, I hope, a few wood-pigeons. I may be a little late for +dinner." + +"But, John, it is quite twelve miles, and you will have to carry a +gun--and your arm--" + +John laughed happy laughter. "That was so like Aunt Ann!" + +"Was it?--and now you will say 'yes, yes, you are quite right,' and walk +away and do just as you meant to do, like Uncle Jim." + +"I may, but I will not walk further than Grey Pine." The air had +cleared--he had done some good! + +"Good-night," he said, "it is late." + +"Don't go too far, John. I shall read a while. This book is really so +interesting. We will talk about it." + +"Good-night, once more." + +The woman he left in the hall laid her book aside. Her unreasonable +vexation had gone, defeated by the quiet statement of his simply +confessed unhappiness. She looked about the hall and recalled their youth +and the love of which she still felt sure. The manliness of his ways +appealed to her sense of the value of character. Why she had been so +coldly difficult of approach she did not know. What woman can define that +defensive instinct? "He shall ask me again, and I--ah, Heaven!--I love +him." A wild passionate longing shook her as she rose to her feet. + +At early morning John wandered away through the woods feeling the joyful +relief from the hot air of cities. After his visit to the mills and the +iron-mines, he struck across a somewhat unfamiliar country, found few +birds, and the blackened ravage of an old forest fire. He returned to the +well-known river-bank below the garden and the pines, and instead of +going to Grey Pine as he had meant to do went on as far as the cabin, +failing to get any more birds. He had walked some fourteen miles, and was +reminded by a distinct sense of fatigue that the body had not yet +regained its former vigour. + +It was about five of the warm September day when he came to the old +log-house. Smiling as he recalled the memories of his childhood, he went +into the cabin and found its shelter pleasant and the cooling air of +evening grateful. He took off his game bag, laid it on the floor, set his +gun against the wall, and glad of a rest sat down. Having enjoyed his +first smoke of the day, he let his head drop on the floor, and by no +means intending it fell asleep. + +Leila too was in a happier mood, and sure of not meeting John set out to +walk through the forest. After a pleasant loitering stroll she stopped at +the cabin door, and as she glanced in saw John Penhallow asleep. She +leaned against the door post and considered the motionless sleeper in the +shadows of the closing day. She was alone with him--alone as never +before. He would neither question nor make answer. Strange thoughts came +into her mind, disturbing, novel. How could he sleep without a pillow? It +must be an army habit after tent-less nights of exhaustion in the deadly +trenches. People--men--had tried to kill this living silent thing before +her; and he too--he too had wanted to kill. She wondered at that as with +the motion of a will-less automaton she drew nearer step by step. Her +feet unwatched struck the half-filled game-bag. She stumbled, caught her +breath, and had a moment of fear as she hung the bag on the wooden hook +upon which as a child she used to hang her sun-bonnet. + +Then again some natural yearning moved her, and unresisting as in a dream +she drew still nearer--merely a woman in an unguarded moment once again +under the control of a great passion which knew no social rule of conduct +nor the maiden modesties of a serenely dutiful life. At each approach, +she stood still, unashamed, innocent of guile, thrilling with emotion +which before in quiet hours had been felt as no more disturbing than the +wandering little breezes which scarcely stir the leafage of the young +spring. She stood still until she won bodily mastery of this stormy +influence with its faintly conveyed sense of maiden terror. Her thoughts +wandered as she looked down on the sleeper. In voiceless self-whispered +speech she said, "Ah me! he used to be so vexed when I said he was too +young to ask me--a woman--to marry him. How young he looks now!" The +wounded arm forever crippled lay across his breast. She caught her +breath. "I wonder," she thought, "if we get younger in sleep--and then +age in the daytime. Good Heavens! he is smiling like a baby. Oh! but I +should like to know what he is thinking of." There was unresisted +fascination in the little drama of passionate love so long repressed. + +She knelt beside him, saw the one great beauty of the hardy bronzed +face, the mouth now relaxed, with the perfect lip lines of a young +Antinous. She bent over him intent, reading his face as a child reads +some forbidden book, reading it feature by feature as a woman reads +for the first time with understanding a passionate love-poem. Ah, if he +would but open his eyes and then sleep again and never know. He moved, +and she drew back ready for flight, shy and startled. And now he was +quiet. "I must--I must," she murmured. "His lips? Ah! would they +forgive?--and--if, if he wakens, I shall die of shame. Oh, naughty +love of mine that was so cruel yesterday, I forgive you!" What would he +do--must he do--if he wakened? The risk, the urgent passion of appealing +love, gave her approach the quality of a sacred ceremonial. She bent +lower, not breathing, fearful, helpless, and dropt on his forehead a +kiss, light as the touch a honey-seeking butterfly leaves on an unstirred +flower. He moved a little; she rose in alarm and backed to the door. "Oh! +why did I?" she said to herself, reproachful for a moment's delicious +weakness. She looked back at the motionless sleeper, as she stood in the +doorway. "Why did I?--but then he does look so young--and innocent." + +Once more in the world of custom, she fled through the forest shadows, +and far away sank down panting. She caught up the tumbled downfall of +hair, and suddenly another Leila, laughed as she remembered that he would +miss the game-bag he had set at his side. How puzzled he would be when he +missed it. Amused delight in his wondering search captured her. She saw +again the beauty of his mouth and the face above it as she recalled what +her Aunt Margaret Grey had mischievously said to her, a girl, of James +Penhallow. "He has the one Penhallow beauty--the mouth, but then he has +that monumental Penhallow nose--it might be in the way." She had not +understood, but now she did, and again laughing went away homeward, not +at all unhappy or repentant, for who would ever know, and love is a +priest who gives absolution easily. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + + +In her room she went straight to the long cheval glass and looked at +Leila Grey. "So, he will never ask me again?" The mirror reported a quite +other answer. "Mark Rivers once said conscience runs down at times like a +watch. I must have forgotten to wind up mine. How could I have done it!" +She blushed a little at the remembrance. "Well, he will never know." She +dressed in white summer garb with unusual care and went down the stairs +smiling. + +"The Captain is not in yet," said the maid. + +She waited long for John Penhallow, who had gone up the back stairs, and +now at last came down to dinner. + +"Excuse me, Leila. I was so very tired that I fell asleep in the old +cabin, but I had a noble tramp, and there are some birds, not many; I +shot badly." He said no word of the displaced game-bag, which made her +uneasy, but talked of the mills and of some trouble at the mines about +wages. She pretended to be interested. + +After dinner, she said, "You will want to smoke--come into Uncle Jim's +library. I like the pipe smell. How Aunt Ann detests it!" + +"Has Uncle Jim gone back to his pipe?" he inquired, as she sat down. + +"Yes, and Aunt Ann declares that she likes it now." + +"How pleasantly you women can fib," remarked John. + +She made no reply except, "Well, sometimes." He did not fill his pipe +although he lighted in succession two matches and let them burn out. + +"Why don't you smoke, John?" This was a vague effort at the self-defence +which she felt might be needed, the mood of the hour not being at all +like the mood of two hours ago. + +"No," he replied, "not yet. Where did you walk--or did you walk?" + +"Oh, I took a little stroll through the woods." + +"Did you chance to go by the old cabin?" This was very dreadful. + +"Oh, one hardly remembers if one passes places seen every day. Why do you +ask, John?"--and then knew she was fatally blundering. + +"Why? Oh, I fell asleep, and when I woke up my game-bag had mysteriously +hung itself on the wall." + +"You might have put it there and forgotten it." + +"No, some one must have been in the cabin." + +"Oh, John, how stupid of us! Why, of course, it was Josiah." + +John was in a state of mind to enjoy the game, and shaking his head in +negation said, "No, Josiah passed me long before. He had a lot of frogs +he caught in Lonesome Man's Swamp." + +Miss Leila having exhausted all the possible explanations, said with +sweet simplicity, "Did you ever find out the origin of that name? Who was +the _lonesome man_? You see, John, lonesome seems to stand for lonely and +sad, as Mr. Rivers said." This was rather too clever, but the young woman +was so near detection as not to think wisely. + +John repeated her words, "Lonely and sad." He had been humorously sure of +his prey, but the words she used had the effect of bringing into direct +speech the appeal she had been trying to evade and knew was near at hand. + +He stood leaning against the mantel, his crippled arm caught in his +waistcoat. Repeating her word "lonesome" "more than merely alone"--he +put aside his pipe, the companion of many camp-fires. His moment of +after-silence caused the blue eyes to question timidly with upward glance +as their owner sat below him. He was very grave as he said, "I have come, +Leila, to a critical time in my life. I loved you in a boy's unmeaning +way; I loved you as a lad and a man. I have said so often in one way or +another. You told me at West Point pretty plainly that--oh, you made it +clear--that I was a boy asking a woman for her heart. It was years ago." + +"John, I--want to--" + +"Well--later--now I mean to have my say. You were not altogether wrong. +I told you that I should ask again when I had more to offer than a boy +cadet. Since then I have held my tongue, or said enough to be sure that +your reply made clear that my time had not yet come. + +"You cannot know how much you have been a part of my life. I went +gladly into the war because it was a righteous cause. No man thinks +as he goes into action, this is for my country, but--well, Leila, many +times when men were falling around me, you have been with me. If a fatal +ball had found me, I should have carried with me to another world a +thought of you. This is not mere lover's talk. I believe in you--you are +a noble-minded woman, worthy of any man's love, but"--and he smiled--"as +Josiah put it, you are rather numerous." + +"Am I?--I am much obliged by Josiah's study of my character." + +"Don't, please, Leila! It is true. I have been as good as my word. +I have been through all that can tempt in camps and cities. I was only +a young officer, but I have won praise from men whose praise is history. +Did you ever think that an honest love may be to a man like a second--an +angelic--conscience? By Heaven! Leila, it should make a woman careful." + +The woman's eyes had long since been lost to the man's, as with bent head +she listened intently, for the first time amazed at what she had been to +a man whose ideals were of the highest and his ways beyond reproach. A +coy upward lift of the proudly carried head--a mere glance of transient +reply--too brief for the man to read--might have meant, "Have not I +too been careful of my life!" + +He went on slowly. "You and I have not been spared the discipline of +responsibility. Action, danger--helps a man. You at home have had the +worst of it--you dear, sweet, beautiful thing. It would have made some +women peevish or rebellious. You have grown under it in mind and heart, +and I think the soul has fed the dear body. To have set you free from +Aunt Ann's morbid unreason and the sorrow of Uncle Jim's condition would +have been enough to repay my taking over responsibilities which Aunt Ann +should have borne." + +"John--I--" + +"No, dear, let me say a word more. I have at last talked myself out--or +almost. It is vain to put me aside again. You do not dare to say you do +not love me--" + +"You have not asked me," she murmured. + +"No, I said I would not yesterday. A tender word would have brought me to +your feet--and I was very sore." + +"If you were a woman, you would have understood and--" + +"Oh, wait a little," he said. "You are going to ask me to marry you, +Leila Grey--" She was on her feet. "Take care," he cried, and a smile on +the strong battle-tried face arrested her angry outburst. + +She said only, "Why?--I ask--you--why indeed?" + +"Because, Leila, you owe it to my self-respect--because you have given +that which implies love, and all I ask--" + +She looked up at him with eyes that implored pity, but all she found +herself able to say was, "I don't understand." + +"You kissed me in the cabin this afternoon--I was not asleep--I had half +risen when I heard you, and I fell back in wondering quiet to see what +you would do or say when you should wake me up." + +She was silent. + +"And then you kissed me--" + +"Oh, John! how wicked of you--why did you keep so still?" + +"I waited--longing." + +"For what?" + +"Hoping you would kiss me again." + +"What! twice?" she cried. "How could you think I would kiss you twice--I +was so ashamed--" + +"Well, Leila?" + +She began to feel that she was perilously close to tears, as he said +softly, "Leila Grey!" + +"John Penhallow, will you take me--oh, John! I love you." + +He caught her hand and touched it with his lips reverently. + +"If," she cried, "if you do not give me back my kiss, I shall die of +shame." + +He bent over her and kissed her forehead lightly, as though he were in +fear of too familiar approach to a thing too sacred for a rude caress. A +great surf-like rush of comprehension swept over the woman. "Was I so +loved as this--so honoured?" Then she said suddenly, "You are pale--are +you in pain?" for she saw him grasp the wounded arm and set his teeth. + +"Yes, yes--sometimes--when things happen--it wakes up and reminds me. I +shall be better in a moment. Take care"--for her arms were around him--"I +think, dear, I am not yet as strong as I shall be--but love is a great +tonic, and--I can bear no more to-night. I am in pain. I fear this has +been too much for me." + +Then he kissed her on lips that took it as a great draft from the +fountain of youth and love. "To-morrow, dear, we will ride together--in +the morning. Ah, together!" + +"Where--Jack?" + +"Oh, into fairyland! God bless you! Great Heavens, how beautiful you are! +Good-night!" + +She fell into a seat as he went out, and heard his feet on the +stair--then he stood beside her again. + +"Leila, forgive me--I was hard--uncourteous--to make you say--" + +"Hush!" she cried, between tears and laughter, as she put her hand over +his mouth, "no one shall abuse my Jack--not even Captain Penhallow. +There, sir! I deserved it." She ran by him, and was gone. + +I have not the pass-words into fairyland, and where they rode that +morning in September is not within my knowledge; nor can I say what +adventures they may have met with. The byways of this enchanted land +here and there by ill-luck come near to the haunts of men, who may catch +glimpses of such as ride through fairyland unsuspicious of other eyes. +Billy neglectful of mails this morning, was on the river bobbing for +eels. To be long attentive to anything was for him impossible, wherefore +his wandering gaze caught sight for a moment through the fringe of +willows of two people riding slowly. He saw with amazement that on +horseback in fairyland the feat of kissing is possible. + +Some hours later, my lovers, feeling as John wickedly quoted, that "the +world is too much with us," rode into Westways to get Billy's neglected +mail. + +Mr. Crocker, lean and deaf, at ease in charge of the grocery counter, sat +unoccupied in his shirt sleeves, while Mrs. Crocker bent over the mail +she had sorted. There were letters for the little group of village folk, +who read them at once as they sat on the step or as they moved away +stumbling along the sidewalk. + +Mrs. Crocker sallied out with a batch of letters. "Quite a lot, Captain. +Good-morning, Leila." + +"Mail these, Mrs. Crocker," said the travellers fresh from fairyland. + +"I saw some was from the Squire and some from Mrs. Penhallow--Squire's +writing better." + +"You wicked Mrs. Crocker," said John, "how much you pick up of folk's +secrets, I should like to know--" + +"Secrets!" laughed Leila. "They can't be read on the outside of letters." + +Then Mrs. Crocker on the sidewalk to them on horseback began to talk. +John seeing that Leila was interested and amused sat still and listened. + +"Secrets," exclaimed the post-mistress, "ain't all inside of letters. +They're on the envelopes sometimes. Oh! I've seen 'em in war time, +letters that looked like they'd been out in the rain--sort of blistered; +and people here in those days just tore open their letters and laughed or +cried." Mrs. Crocker caught her breath and paused. + +"I know, John," said Leila in a low aside. + +"And there used to come back from the front letters marked 'missing' or +'can't be found.' Folks used to come in gay and go away with a letter +just crumpled up in a hand. And now it's all over--and up you come right +gallant and happy. Here comes old Granny Lamb tottering along. I'd invent +a letter from that brute if I could. I tell you, Leila, mother-hope dies +hard." + +"It is sad--dreadful. Come, John." + +"One minute, please," said Mrs. Crocker, "I'm not half done. I tell you, +Captain John, there's a heap of human nature comin' and goin' through a +post-office. Well, good-bye." + +They rode away to Grey Pine exchanging bits from their letters. Their +uncle and aunt would be home in a week. "Sooner--if they get the letter +I mailed last night," laughed Leila. + +"I should like to have seen it." + +"No doubt." + +At the open avenue gate Josiah was waiting. He saluted in soldier +fashion, Penhallow acknowledging the greeting in like manner. + +Josiah said, "Wouldn't you just let me have a minute with the Captain?" + +Leila laughed. "Certainly." She rode away wondering what Josiah had to +report alone to the man who for him was and always would he Captain +despite the old custom of the regular army. + +"Well, Josiah--nothing wrong, I trust." + +"No, sir--everything just entirely right--but first I got to ask your +advice. I've had a letter from the Colonel--he just says some things +ought to make a man kind of blush." + +John had the odd thought that a blush must be the securely private +property of a fellow as black as this grey-headed old friend. "What does +he say, Josiah?" + +"He wants to give me a farm." + +"Well, why not--you have earned a dozen." + +"I'd like it--but--if you're goin' to marry Miss Leila, I'd rather live +with you." + +"Good Heavens!" said the traveller out of fairyland, "what put that in +your head?" + +Josiah smiled. "You'll please to excuse me, Captain--but I thought I +ought to tell you about that fool Billy. He was bobbin' for eels--and--he +saw you go by--" + +"Well, what else?" + +"He met me and he said, 'Saw Mr. John kissin' Miss Leila!' He was off +like a shot singin' out 'Goin' to get married, sure.' It will be all over +Westways by noon, sir." + +John laughed. "Well, it's true, Josiah--Confound Billy! Well, what more?" + +"Oh, I would rather live with you. The Colonel wants to give me a +farm--don't want any farm." + +"Well, well--we'll see about it later." + +"The trouble would be, sir, who's to shave the Colonel?" + +"That's serious," said John, as he rode away to rejoin Leila, who had +meant to keep their secret from the village until their aunt's return. +Three days went by before Ann Penhallow's letter of reply came to hand. + +"Well, any more news, Leila?" said John. + +"Yes, but not altogether pleasant--I am to leave early tomorrow. Uncle +Jim will meet me in Philadelphia--and, oh! I know Aunt Ann well--there +will be no end of shopping." + +"I should feel worse about it, Leila, but I see by one of my letters +that there is some row in Pittsburgh over our last rails. I am not +responsible, but I must go to-night and see about it. Isn't it dreadful, +Leila?" + +The two having come of late into a great inheritance in fairyland +demanding close personal attention were at one as regarded absence. + +After dinner Leila said, "My order to report to headquarters from +heart-quarters was in the second post-script. I have saved the rest of +the letter for you." + +"Read it, please." + +"MY DEAR CHILDREN: You are a pair of young ostriches--you know what they +do. Did you suppose a middle-aged ostrich could not use her eyes? I did +think it took a quite needless length of time." + +"Isn't that absurd, John, as if--" + +"Well, what more?" + +She read on--"I dislike long engagements--" + +"Now, that is better, Leila." + +"Your uncle says you must live at Grey Pine. I said, no--young married +people had better be alone. He must build you a house on the river nearer +the mills. I am making a list of what furniture you will require--" + +"There is more of that--much more, John, and a list of things to be done +before her return. Isn't that like what aunt was before the war?" + +John laughed. "Well, she will have her way." + +"More or less," said Leila. "Oh, there's another postscript!" + +"Well?" + +"I think you should be married about Christmas week. Of course, Mark +Rivers will marry you, and I shall ask the Bishop to assist, when I see +him on our way home. Don't fail to write to both your uncles." + +"It is certainly complete," said John. He left for Pittsburgh that night. + + * * * * * + +I have little to add to this long story. The days went by swiftly, and +after a week all of the family, except John, were once more together at +Grey Pine. Mark Rivers had also returned. He was too evidently in one of +his moods of sombre silentness, but his congratulations were warm and as +he sat at dinner he made unusual efforts to be at his agreeable best. + +When they left the table, he said, "No, Colonel, I shall not smoke +to-night. May I have a few minutes of your time, Mrs. Penhallow?" + +"Certainly, Mark--I want to talk to you about the Bible Class--I mean to +take it up again." She led the way into her own little library. "Sit +down--there is so much to talk over. Of course, you will marry these dear +children somewhere about Christmas time." + +"No," he said, "I shall be far away." + +"Away! Oh, Mark! surely you do not mean to leave us." + +"Yes, I am going to live as a missionary among the Indians." + +"You cannot--you really cannot--where could you be more useful than +here?" + +"No, I must go. My life on the whole has been most happy here--and how to +thank you I fail to be able to say." + +"But why," she urged, "why do you go?" + +"Oh--I want--I must have an active life, open air, even risks. The war +gave me what I need for entire competence of body and mind to use in my +Master's service. But now, the war is at an end--" + +"Thank God! But all you ask--and more--Mark, except danger, are +here--and oh, but we shall miss you, and more than ever when we miss +too these children. Think of it--don't make up your mind until James +talks to you--" + +"No, I go to-morrow." + +"But it does seem to me, Mark, that you are making a serious change +without sufficient consideration of what you lose and we lose." + +"Yes, yes," he returned, "I know--but to remain is for me impossible." + +"But why?" + +He was silent a moment, looking at this dear friend with the over-filled +eyes of a troubled and yet resolute manhood. Then he said, "I did not +mean to tell you why in my weakness flight alone will save me from what +has been to me unbearable here and ever will be." + +"Can I in any way help you?" + +"No." + +"But what is it--trust me a little--what is it?" + +He hesitated, and then said, "It is Leila Grey! God pity my weakness, and +you will say good-bye and give the Squire this note and them my love." He +was gone. + +The woman sat still for an hour, pitiful, and understanding the flight +of a too sensitive man. Then she gave her husband the note, with her +good-night, and no other word. Of why her friend had gone she said later +nothing, except to defend him for his obedience to the call of duty. Late +that evening John returned. + +When after breakfast next day he and Leila were riding through the +wood-roads of the forest, John said, "I cannot or I could not see why +Mr. Rivers went away so abruptly." + +"Nor I," said Leila. Then there was one of those long silences dear to +lovers. + +"What are you thinking of, Jack?" + +"Uncle Jim told me last night the story of the early life of Mark +Rivers." + +"Tell it to me." + +He told it--"But," he continued, "that was not all of him. I have heard +Mr. Rivers hold at the closest attention a great crowd of soldiers with +that far-carrying voice; and then to hear as he led them singing the old +familiar hymns--perhaps a thousand men--oh, it was a thing to remember! +And they loved him, Leila, because behind the battle line he was coolly, +serviceably brave; and in the hospital wards--well, as tender as--well, +as you would have been. I wondered, Leila, why he did not marry again. +The first was a mistake, but I suppose he knew that for him to marry +would have been wrong, with that sad family history. Probably life never +offered him the temptation." + +"Perhaps not," said Leila, and they rode out of the woods and over the +meadows. "Let us talk of something less sad." + +"Well, Leila, a pleasant thing to discuss is Tom McGregor. I suspect him +of a fortunate love affair with the daughter of the General at Fortress +Monroe." + +"Indeed--but what else? Oh, our own great debt to him!" + +"Uncle Jim is considering that. We may trust him to be more than +generous. Yes, surely. Now for a run over this grass. Can you take that +fence?" + +"Can I, indeed! Follow me, Jack." + +"Anywhere. Everywhere, Leila!" + + + + +THE END + + + + +Books by + +Dr. S. Weir Mitchell + + +Fiction + +HUGH WYNNE. + +CONSTANCE TRESCOT. + +THE YOUTH OF WASHINGTON. + +CIRCUMSTANCE. + +THE ADVENTURES OF FRANÇOIS. + +THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A QUACK. + +DR. NORTH AND HIS FRIENDS. + +IN WAR TIME. + +ROLAND BLAKE. + +FAR IN THE FOREST. + +CHARACTERISTICS. + +WHEN ALL THE WOODS ARE GREEN. + +A MADEIRA PARTY. + +THE RED CITY. + +HEPHZIBAH GUINNESS. + +A COMEDY OF CONSCIENCE. + +A DIPLOMATIC ADVENTURE. + +THE GUILLOTINE CLUB. + +JOHN SHERWOOD, IRONMASTER. + +WESTWAYS. + + +Essays. + +DOCTOR AND PATIENT. + +WEAR AND TEAR.--HINTS FOR THE OVERWORKED. + + +Poems. + +COLLECTED POEMS. + +THE WAGER, AND OTHER POEMS. + +THE COMFORT OF THE HILLS. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14153 *** diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8a4517d --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #14153 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/14153) diff --git a/old/14153-8.txt b/old/14153-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3208025 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/14153-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,19361 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Westways, by S. Weir Mitchell + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Westways + +Author: S. Weir Mitchell + +Release Date: November 26, 2004 [eBook #14153] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WESTWAYS*** + + +E-text prepared by Audrey Longhurst, Mary Meehan, and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + +WESTWAYS + +A Village Chronicle + +by + +S. WEIR MITCHELL, M.D., LL.D. + +Author of _Hugh Wynne_, _The Adventures of François_, _Constance +Trescot_, etc., etc. + +1913 + + + + + + + +I DEDICATE THIS BOOK WHICH RECALLS CERTAIN SCENES OF THE CIVIL WAR TO THE +MEMORY OF MY THREE BROTHERS + +R.W.M. +N.C.M. +E.K.M. + +ALL OF WHOM SERVED IN THE ARMIES OF THEIR COUNTRY + + + + +PREFACE + + +There will be many people in this book; some will be important, others +will come on the scene for a time and return no more. The life-lines of +these persons will cross and recross, to meet once or twice and not +again, like the ruts in a much used road. To-day the stage may be +crowded, to-morrow empty. The corner novels where only a half dozen +people are concerned give no impression of the multitudinous contacts +which affect human lives. Even of the limited life of a village this is +true. It was more true of the time of my story, which lacking plot must +rely for interest on the influential relations of social groups, then +more defined in small communities than they are to-day. + +Long before the Civil War there were in the middle states, near to or +remote from great centres, villages where the social division of classes +was tacitly accepted. In or near these towns one or more families were +continuously important on account of wealth or because of historic +position, generations of social training, and constant relation to the +larger world. They came by degrees to constitute what I may describe as +an indistinct caste, for a long time accepted as such by their less +fortune-favoured neighbours. They were, in fact, for many years almost as +much a class by themselves as are the long-seated county families of +England and like these were looked to for helpful aid in sickness and in +other of the calamities of life. The democrat time, increasing ease of +travel and the growth of large industries, gradually altered the relation +between these small communities, and the families who in the smaller +matters of life long remained singularly familiar with their poorer +neighbours and in the way of closer social intimacies far apart. + +It seemed to me worth while to use the life of one of these groups of +people as the background of a story which also deals with the influence +of politics and war on all classes. + + + + +WESTWAYS + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +The first Penhallow crossed the Alleghanies long before the War for +Independence and on the frontier of civilisation took up land where the +axe was needed for the forest and the rifle for the Indian. He made a +clearing and lived a hard life of peril, wearily waiting for the charred +stumps to rot away. + +The younger men of the name in Colonial days and later left the place +early, and for the most part took to the sea or to the army, if there +were activity in the way of war. In later years, others drifted westward +on the tide of border migration, where adventure was always to be had. +This stir of enterprise in a breed tends to extinction in the male lines. +Men are thinned out in their wooing of danger--the _belle dame sans +merci_. Thus there were but few Penhallows alive at any one time, and +yet for many years they bred in old-fashioned numbers. + +As time ran on, a Penhallow prospered in the cities, and clinging to +the land added fresh acres as new ambitions developed qualities which +are not infrequently found in descendants of long-seated American +families. It was not then, nor is it now, rare in American life to find +fortune-favoured men returning in later days to the homes of their youth +to become useful in many ways to the communities they loved. One of +these, James Penhallow,--and there was always a James,--after greatly +prospering in the ventures of the China trade, was of the many who about +1800 bought great tracts of land on the farther slope of the Pennsylvania +Alleghanies. His own purchases lay near and around the few hundred acres +his ancestor took up and where an aged cousin was left in charge of the +farm-house. When this tenant died, the house decayed, and the next +Penhallow weary of being taxed for unproductive land spent a summer on +the property, and with the aid of engineers found iron in plenty and soft +coal. He began about 1830 to develop the property, and built a large +house which he never occupied and which was long known in the county as +"Penhallow's Folly." It was considered the more notably foolish because +of being set, in unAmerican fashion, deep in the woods, and remote from +the highway. What was believed to be the oldest pine-tree in the county +gave to the place the popular name of "Grey Pine" and being accepted by +the family when they came there to live, "Penhallow's Folly" ceased to be +considered descriptive. + +The able and enterprising discoverer of mines had two sons. One of them, +the youngest, married late in life, and dying soon after left a widow and +a posthumous son John, of whom more hereafter. The elder brother was +graduated from West Point, served some years with distinction, and +marrying found himself obliged to resign his captaincy on his father's +death to take charge of the iron-mills and mines, which had become far +more important to the family than their extensive forest-holdings on the +foot-hills of the western watershed of the Alleghanies. + +The country had long been well settled. The farmers thrived as the mills +and mines needed increasing supplies of food and the railway gave access +to market. The small village of Westways was less fortunate than the +county. Strung along the side of the road opposite to Penhallow's woods, +it had lost the bustling prosperity of a day when the Conestoga wagons +stopped over-night at the "General Wayne Inn" and when as yet no one +dreamed that the new railroad would ruin the taverns set at intervals +along the highway to Pittsburgh. Now that Westways Crossing, two miles +away, had been made the nearest station, Westways was left to live on the +mill-wages and such profits as farming furnished. + +When Captain James Penhallow repaired the neglected house and kept the +town busy with demands for workmen, the village woke up for a whole +summer. In the autumn he brought to Grey Pine his wife, Ann Grey, of the +well-known Greys of the eastern shore of Maryland. A year or two of +discomfort at Western army-posts and a busy-minded, energetic +personality, made welcome to this little lady a position which provided +unaccustomed luxuries and a limitless range of duties, such as were to +her what mere social enjoyments are to many women. Grey Pine--the house, +the flower and kitchen-gardens, the church to be built--and the schools +at the mills, all were as she liked it, having been bred up amid the +kindly despotism of a great plantation with its many dependent slaves. + +When Ann Penhallow put Grey Pine and the Penhallow crest on her +notepaper, her husband said laughing that women had no rights to crests, +and that although the arms were surely his by right of good Cornish +descent, he thought their use in America a folly. This disturbed Ann +Penhallow very little, but when they first came to Grey Pine the headings +of her notepaper were matters of considerable curiosity to the straggling +village of Westways, where she soon became liked, respected, and +moderately feared. A busy-minded woman, few things in the life of the +people about her escaped her notice, and she distributed uninvited +counsel or well-considered charity and did her best to restrain the more +lavish, periodical assistance when harvests were now and then bad--which +made James Penhallow a favourite in the county. + +Late in the summer of 1855, John Penhallow's widow, long a wandering +resident in Europe, acquired the first serious illness of a +self-manufactured life of invalidism and promptly died at Vevey. Her only +child, John, was at once ordered home by his uncle and guardian, James +Penhallow, and after some delay crossed the sea in charge of his tutor. +The dependent little fellow hid under a natural reserve what grief he +felt, and accustomed to being sent here and there by an absent mother, +silently submissive, was turned over by the tutor to James Penhallow's +agent in Philadelphia. On the next day, early in November, he was put in +charge of a conductor to be left at Westways Crossing, where he was told +that some one would meet him. + +The day was warm when in the morning he took his seat in the train, +but before noon it became clouded, and an early snow-storm with sudden +fall of temperature made the boy sensible that he was ill-clothed to +encounter the change of weather. He had been unfortunate in the fact +that his mother had for years used the vigilant tyranny of feebleness +to enforce upon the boy her own sanitary views. Children are easily +made hypochondriac, and under her system of government he became +self-attentive, careful of what he ate and extremely timid. There +had been many tutors and only twice long residence at schools in Vevey +and for a winter in Budapest. The health she too sedulously watched she +was fast destroying, and her son was at the time of her death a thin, +pallid, undersized boy, who disliked even the mild sports of French lads, +and had been flattered and considered until he had acquired the +conviction that he was an important member of an important family. His +other mother--nature--had given him, happily, better traits. He was an +observer, a born lover of books, intelligent, truthful, and trained +in the gentle, somewhat formal, manners of an older person. Now for the +first time in his guarded life he was alone on a railway journey in +charge of the conductor. A more unhappy, frightened little fellow could +hardly have been found. + +The train paused at many stations; men and women got on or got out of the +cars, very common-looking people, surely, he concluded. The day ran by to +afternoon. The train had stopped at a station for lunch, but John, +although hungry, was afraid of being left and kept the seat which he +presumed to be his own property until a stout man took half of it. A +little later, a lean old woman said, "Move up, sonny," and sat down. +When she asked his name and where he lived, he replied in the coldly +civil manner with which he had heard his mother repress the good-natured +advances of her wandering countrymen. When again the seat was free, he +fell to thinking of the unknown home, Grey Pine, which he had heard his +mother talk of to English friends as "our ancestral home," and of the +great forests, the mines and the iron-works. Her son would, of course, +inherit it, as Captain Penhallow had no child. "Really a great estate, +my dear," his mother had said. It loomed large in his young imagination. +Who would meet him? Probably a carriage with the liveried driver and the +groom immaculate in white-topped boots, a fur cover on his arm. It would, +of course, be Captain Penhallow who would make him welcome. Then the +cold, which is hostile to imagination, made him shiver as he drew his +thin cloak about him and watched the snow squadrons wind-driven and the +big flakes blurring his view as they melted on the panes. By and by, two +giggling young women near by made comments on his looks and dress. +Fragments of their talk he overheard. It was not quite pleasant. "Law! +ain't he got curly hair, and ain't he just like a girl doll," and so on +in the lawless freedom of democratic feminine speech. The flat Morocco +cap and large visor of the French schoolboy and the dark blue cloak with +the silver clasp were subjects of comment. One of them offered peanuts or +sugar-plums, which he declined with "Much obliged, but I never take +them." Now and then he consulted his watch or felt in his pocket to be +certain that his baggage-check was secure, or looked to see if the little +bag of toilet articles at his feet was safe. The kindly attentions of +those who noticed his evident discomfort were neither mannerless nor, as +he thought, impertinent. A woman said to him that he seemed cold, +wouldn't he put around him a shawl she laid on his knees. He declined it +civilly with thanks. In fact, he was thinly and quite too lightly clad, +and he not only felt the cold, but was unhappy and utterly unprepared by +any previous experience for the mode of travel, the crowded car and the +rough kindness of the people, who liking his curly hair and refined young +childlike face would have been of service if he had accepted their +advances with any pleasure. Presently, after four in the afternoon, the +brakeman called "All out for Westways Crossing." + +John seized his bag and was at the exit-door before the train came to a +stand. The conductor bade him be careful, as the steps were slippery. As +the engine snorted and the train moved away, the conductor cried out, +"Forgot your cane, sonny," and threw the light gold-mounted bamboo from +the car. He had a new sense of loneliness as he stood on the roofless +platform, half a foot deep in gathering snow, which driven by a pitiless +gale from the north blew his cloak about as he looked to see that his +trunk had been delivered. A man shifted a switch and coming back said, +"Gi'me your check." John decided that this was not safe, and to the man's +amusement said that he would wait until the carriage of Captain Penhallow +arrived. The man went away. John remained angrily expectant looking up +the road. Presently he heard the gay jingle of bells and around a turn of +the road came a one-horse sleigh. It stopped beside him. He first saw +only the odd face of the driver in a fur cap and earlets. Then, tossing +off the bear skins, bounded on to the platform a young girl and shook +herself snow-free as she threw back a wild mane of dark red hair. + +"Halloa! John Penhallow," she cried, "I'm Leila Grey. I'm sent for you. +I'm late too. Uncle James has gone to the mills and Aunt Ann is busy. +Been here long?" + +"Not very," said John, his teeth chattering with cold. + +"Gracious! you'll freeze. Sorry I was late." She saw at a glance the low +shoes, the blue cloak, the kid gloves, the boy's look of suffering, and +at once took possession of him. + +"Get into the sleigh. Oh! leave your check on the trunk or give it to +me." She was off and away to the trunk as he climbed in, helpless. She +undid the counter check, ran across to the guard's house, was back in a +moment and tumbled in beside him. + +"But, is it safe? My trunk, I mean," said John. + +"Safe. No one will steal it. Pat will come for it. There he is now. Tuck +in the rugs. Put this shawl around you and over your head." She pinned it +with ready fingers. + +"Now, you'll be real comfy." The chilled boy puzzled and amused her. + +As he became warm, John felt better in the hands of this easy despot, but +was somewhat indignant. "To send a chit of a girl for him--John +Penhallow!" + +"Now," she cried to the driver, "be careful. Why did they send _you_?" + +Billy, a middle-aged man, short-legged and long of body, turned a +big-featured head as he replied in an odd boyish voice, "The man was busy +giving a ball in the stable." + +"A ball"--said John--"in the stable?" + +"Oh! that is funny," said the girl. "A ball's a big pill for Lucy, my +mare. She's sick." + +"Oh! I see." And they were off and away through the wind-driven snow. + +The girl, instinctively aware of the shyness and discomfort of her +companion, set herself to put him at ease. The lessening snow still fell, +but now a brilliant sun lighted the white radiance of field and forest. +He was warmer, and the disconnected chat of childhood began. + +"The snow is early. Don't you love it?" said the small maid bent on +making herself agreeable. + +"No, I do not." + +"But, oh!--see--the sun is out. Now you will like it. I suppose you don't +know how to walk in snow-shoes, or it would be lovely to go right home +across country." + +"I never used them. Once I read about them in a book." + +"Oh! you'll learn. I'll teach you." + +John, used to being considered and flattered, as he became more +comfortable began to resent the way in which the girl proposed to +instruct him. He was silent for a time. + +"Tuck in that robe," she said. "How old are you?" + +"This last September, fifteen. How old are you?" + +"Guess." + +"About ten, I think." Now this was malicious. + +"Ten, indeed! I'm thirteen and ten months and--and three days," she +returned, with the accuracy of childhood about age. "Were you at school +in Europe?" + +"Yes, in France and Hungary." + +"That's queer. In Hungary and France--Oh! then you can speak French." + +"Of course," he replied. "Can't you?" + +"A little, but Aunt Ann says I have a good accent when I read to her--we +often do." + +"You should say 'without accent,'" he felt better after this assertion of +superior knowledge. She thought his manners bad, but, though more amused +than annoyed, felt herself snubbed and was silent for a time. He was +quick to perceive that he had better have held his critical tongue, and +said pleasantly, "But really it don't matter--only I was told that in +France." + +She was as quick to reply, "You shouldn't say 'don't matter,' I say that +sometimes, and then Uncle James comes down on me." + +"Why? I am really at a loss--" + +"Oh! you must say 'doesn't'--not 'don't.'" She shook her great mass of +hair and cried merrily, "I guess we are about even now, John Penhallow." + +Then they laughed gaily, as the boy said, "I wasn't very--very +courteous." + +"Now that's pretty, John. Good gracious, Billy!" she cried, punching the +broad back of the driver. "Are you asleep? You are all over the road." + +"Oh! I was thinkin' how Pole, the butcher, sold the Squire a horse that's +spavined--got it sent back--funny, wasn't it?" + +"Look out," said Leila, "you will upset us." + +John looked the uneasiness he felt, as he said, "Do you think it is +safe?" + +"No, I don't. Drive on, Billy, but do be careful." + +They came to the little village of Westways. At intervals Billy +communicated bits of village gossip. "Susan McKnight, she's going to +marry Finney--" + +"Bother Susan," cried Leila. "Be careful." + +John alarmed held on to his seat as the sleigh rocked about, while Billy +whipped up the mare. + +"This is Westways, our village. It is just a row of houses. Uncle James +won't sell land on our side. Look out, Billy! Our rector lives in that +small house by the church. His name is Mark Rivers. You'll like him. +That's Mr. Grace, the Baptist preacher." She bade him good-day. "Stop, +Billy!" + +He pulled up at the sidewalk. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Crocker," she said, +as the postmistress came out to the sleigh. "Please mail this. Any +letters for us?" + +"No, Leila." She glanced at the curly locks above the thin face and the +wrapped up form in the shawl. "Got a nice little girl with you, Leila." + +John indignant said nothing. "This is a boy--my cousin, John Penhallow," +returned Leila. + +"Law! is that so?" + +"Get on," cried Leila. "Stop at Josiah's." + +Here a tall, strongly built, very black negro came out. "Fine frosty day, +missy." + +"Come up to the house to-night. Uncle Jim wants you." + +"I'll come--sure." + +"Now, get along, Billy." + +The black was strange to the boy. He thought the lower orders here +disrespectful. + +"Josiah's our barber," said Leila. "He saved me once from a dreadful +accident. You'll like him." + +"Will I?" thought John, but merely remarked, "They all seem rather +intimate." + +"Why not?" said the young Republican. "Ah! here's the gate. I'll get out +and open it. It's the best gate to swing on in the whole place." + +As she tossed the furs aside, John gasped, "To swing on--" + +"Oh, yes. Aunt Ann says I am too old to swing on gates, but I do. It +shuts with a bang. I'll show you some day." + +"What is swinging on a gate?" said John, as she jumped out and stood in +the snow laughing. Surely this was an amazing kind of boy. "Why, did you +never hear the rhyme about it?" + +"No," said John, "I never did." + +"Well, you just get on the gate when it's wide open and give a push, and +you sing-- + + "If I was the President of these United States, + I'd suck molasses candy and swing upon the gates. + +"There! Then it shuts--bang!" With this bit of child folklore she +scampered away through the snow and stood holding the gate open while +Billy drove through. She reflected mischievously that it must have been +three years since she had swung on a gate. + +John feeling warm and for the first time looking about him with interest +began to notice the grandeur of the rigid snow-laden pines of an +untouched forest which stood in what was now brilliant sunshine. + +As Leila got into the sleigh, she said, "Now, Billy, go slowly when you +make the short turn at the house. If you upset us, I--I'll kill you." + +"Yes, miss. Guess I'll drive all right." But the ways of drivers are +everywhere the same, and to come to the end of a drive swiftly with crack +of whip was an unresisted temptation. + +"_Sang de Dieu!_" cried John, "we will be upset." + +"We are," shouted Leila. The horse was down, the sleigh on its side, and +the cousins disappeared in a huge drift piled high when the road was +cleared. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +John was the first to return to the outer world. He stood still, seeing +the horse on its legs, Billy unharnessing, Leila for an instant lost to +sight. The boy was scared. In his ordered life it was an unequalled +experience. Then he saw a merry face above the drift and lying around it +a wide-spread glory of red hair on the white snow. In after years he +would recall the beauty of the laughing young face in its setting of dark +gold and sunlit silver snow. + +"Oh, my!" she cried. "That Billy! Don't stand there, John; pull me out, +I'm stuck." + +He gave her a hand and she bounded forth out of the drift, shaking off +the dry snow as a wet dog shakes off water. "What's the matter, John?" + +He was trying to empty neck, pocket and shoes of snow, and was past +the limits of what small endurance he had been taught. "I shall catch +my death of cold. It's down my back--it's everywhere, and I--shall +get--laryngitis." + +The brave blue eyes of the girl stared at his dejected figure. She was at +heart a gentle, little woman-child, endowed by nature with so much of +tom-boy barbarism as was good for her. Just now a feeling of contemptuous +surprise overcame her kindliness and her aunt's training. "There's your +bag on the snow, and Billy will find your cap. What does a boy want with +a bag? A boy--and afraid of snow!" she cried. "Help him with that +harness." + +He made no reply, but looked about for his lost cane. Then the young +despot turned upon the driver. "Wait till Uncle James hears; he'll come +down on you." + +"My lands!" said Billy, unbuckling a trace, "I'll just say, I'm sorry; +and the Squire he'll say, don't let it happen again; and I'll say, yes, +sir." + +"Yes, until Aunt Ann hears," said Leila, and turned to John. His attitude +of utter helplessness touched her. + +"Come into the house; you must be cold." She was of a sudden all +tenderness. + +Through an outside winter doorway-shelter they entered a hall unusually +large for an American's house and warmed by two great blazing hickory +wood-fires. "Come in," she cried, "you'll be all right. Sit down by the +fire; I'll be down in a minute, I want to see where Aunt Ann has put +you." + +"I am much obliged," said John shivering. He was alone, but wet as he was +the place captured an ever active imagination. He looked about him as he +stood before the roaring fire. To the right was an open library, to the +left a drawing-room rarely used, the hall being by choice the favoured +sitting-room. The dining-room was built out from the back of the hall, +whence up a broad stairway Leila had gone. The walls were hung with +Indian painted robes, Sioux and Arapahoe weapons, old colonial rifles, +and among them portraits of three generations of Penhallows. Many older +people had found interesting the strange adornment of the walls, where +amid antlered trophies of game, buffalo heads and war-worn Indian relics, +could be read something of the owner's tastes and history. John stood by +the fire fascinated. Like many timid boys, he liked books of adventure +and to imagine himself heroic in situations of peril. + +"It's all right. Come up," cried Leila from the stair. "Your trunk's +there now. There's a fine fire." + +Forgetful of the cold ride and of the snow down his back, he was +standing before the feathered head-dress of a Sioux Chief and +touching the tomahawk below it. He turned as she spoke. "Those must +be scalp-locks--three." He saw the prairie, the wild pursuit--saw them +as she could not. He went after her upstairs, the girl talking, the +boy rapt, lost in far-away battles on the plains. + +"This is your room. See what a nice fire. You can dry yourself. Your +trunk is here already." She lighted two candles. "We dine at half-past +six." + +"Thank you; I am very much obliged," he said, thinking what a mannerless +girl. + +Leila closed the door and stood still a moment. Then she exclaimed, +"Well, I never! What will Uncle Jim say?" She listened a moment. No +one was in the hall. Then she laughed, and getting astride of the +banister-rail made a wild, swift and perilous descent, alighting at the +foot in the hall, and readjusting her short skirts as she heard her aunt +and uncle on the porch. "I was just in time," she exclaimed. "Wouldn't I +have caught it!" + +The Squire, as the village called him, would have applauded this form of +coasting, but Aunt Ann had other views. "Well!" he said as they came in, +"what have you done with your young man?" + +Now he was for Leila anything but a man or manly, but she was a loyal +little lady and unwilling to expose the guest to Uncle Jim's laughter. +"He's all right," she said, "but Billy upset the sleigh." She was longing +to tell about that ball in the stable, but refrained. + +"So Billy upset you; and John, where is he?" + +"He's upstairs getting dried." + +"It is rather a rough welcome," remarked her aunt. + +"He lost his cap and his cane," said Leila. + +"His cane!" exclaimed her uncle, "his cane!" + +"I must see him," said his wife. + +"Better let him alone, Ann." But as usual she took her own way and went +upstairs. She came down in a few minutes, finding her husband standing +before the fire--an erect, soldierly figure close to forty years of age. + +"Well, Ann?" he queried. + +"A very nice lad, with such good manners, James." + +"Billy found his cap," said Leila, "but he couldn't get the sleigh set up +until the stable men came." + +"And that cane," laughed Penhallow. "Was the boy amused or--or scared?" + +"I don't know," which was hardly true, but the chivalry of childhood +forbade tale-telling and he learned very little. "He was rather tired and +cold, so I made him go to his room and rest." + +"Poor child!" said Aunt Ann. + +James Penhallow looked at Leila. Some manner of signals were +interchanged. "I saw Billy digging in the big drift," he said. "I trust +he found the young gentleman's cane." Some pitying, dim comprehension of +the delicately nurtured lad had brought to the social surface the +kindliness of the girl and she said no more. + +"It is time to dress for dinner," said Ann. Away from the usages of the +city she had wisely insisted on keeping up the social forms which the +Squire would at times have been glad to disregard. For a moment Ann +Penhallow lingered. "We must try to make him feel at home, James." + +"Of course, my dear. I can imagine how Susan Penhallow would have +educated a boy, and now I know quite too well what we shall have to +undo--and--do." + +"You won't, oh! you will not be too hard on him." + +"I--no, my dear--but--I suspect his American education has begun +already." + +"What do you mean?" + +"Ask Leila--and Billy. But that can wait." They separated. + +While his elders were thus briefly discussing this new addition to the +responsibilities of their busy lives, the subject of their talk had been +warmed into comfortable repossession of his self-esteem. He set in order +his elaborate silver toilet things marked with the Penhallow crest, saw +in the glass that his dress and unboylike length of curly hair were as he +had been taught they should be; then he looked at his watch and went +slowly downstairs. + +"Halloa! John," he heard as he reached the last turn of the stairs. "Most +glad to see you. You are very welcome to your new home." The man who +hailed him was six feet two inches, deep-chested, erect--the West Point +figure; the face clean-shaven, ruddy, hazel-eyed, was radiant with the +honest feeling of desire to put this childlike boy at ease. + +The little gentleman needed no aid and replied, "My dear uncle, I cannot +sufficiently thank you." A little bow went with his words, and he +placidly accepted his aunt's embrace, while the hearty Miss Leila looked +on in silence. The boy's black suit, the short jacket, the neat black +tie, made the paleness of his thin large-featured face too obvious. Then +Leila took note of the court shoes and silk socks, and looked at Uncle +Jim to see what he thought. The Squire reserved what criticism he may +have had and asked cheerfully about the journey, Aunt Ann aiding him with +eager will to make the boy feel at home. He was quite enough at home. It +was all agreeable, these handsome relations and the other Penhallows on +the walls. He had been taught that which is good or ill as men use it, +pride of race, and in his capacity to be impressed by his surroundings +was years older than Leila. He felt sure that he would like it here at +Grey Pine, but was surprised to see no butler and to be waited on at +dinner by two neat little maids. + +When Ann Penhallow asked him about his schools and his life in Europe, he +became critical, and conversed about picture-galleries and foreign life +with no lack of accuracy, while the Squire listened smiling and Leila sat +dumb with astonishment as the dinner went on. He ate little and kept in +mind the endless lessons in regard to what he should or should not eat. +Meanwhile, he silently approved of the old silver and these well-bred +kinsfolk, with a reserve of doubt concerning his silent cousin. + +His uncle had at last his one glass of Madeira, and as they rose his aunt +said, "You may be tired, John; you ought to go to bed early." + +"It is not yet time," he said. "I always retire at ten o'clock." + +"He 'retires,'" murmured his uncle. "Come, Ann, we will leave Leila to +make friends with the new cousin. Try John at checkers, Leila. She +defeats me easily." + +"I--never saw any one could beat me at _jeu des dames_," said John. It +was a fine chance to get even with Leila for the humiliating adventures +of a not very flattering day. + +"Well, take care," said the Squire, not altogether amused. "Come, Ann." +Entering the large library room he closed the door, drew over it a +curtain, filled his pipe but did not light it, and sat down at the fire +beside his wife. + +"Well, James," she said, "did you ever see a better mannered lad, and so +intelligent?" + +"Never--nor any lad who has as good an opinion of his small self. He is +too young for his years, and in some ways too old. I looked him over a +bit. He is a mere scaffolding, a sickly-looking chap. He eats too little. +I heard him remark to you that potatoes disagreed with him and that he +never ate apples." + +"But, James, what shall we do with him? It is a new and a difficult +responsibility." + +"Do with him? Oh! make a man of him. Give him and Leila a week's holiday. +Turn him loose with that fine tom-boy. Then he must go to school to Mark +Rivers with Leila and those two young village imps, the doctor's boy and +Grace's, that precious young Baptist. They will do him good. When Mark +reports, we shall see further. That is all my present wisdom, Ann. Has +the _Tribune_ come? Oh! I see--it is on the table." + +Ann was still in some doubt and returned to the boy. "And where do I come +in?" + +"Feed the young animal and get the tailor in the village to make him some +warm rough clothes, and get him boots for the snow--and thick gloves--and +a warm ready-made overcoat." + +"I will. But, James, Leila will half kill him. He is so thin and pale. He +looks hardly older than she does." Then Ann rose, saying, "Well, we shall +see, I suppose you are right," and after some talk about the iron-works +left him to his pipe. + +When she returned to the hall, the two children were talking of +Europe--or rather Leila was listening. "Well," said the little lady, Ann +Penhallow, "how did the game go, John?" + +"I am rather out of practice," said John. Leila said nothing. He had been +shamefully worsted. "I think I shall go to bed," he remarked, looking at +his watch. + +"I would," she said. "There are the candles. There is a bathroom next to +you." + +He was tired and disgusted, but slept soundly. When at breakfast he said +that he was not allowed tea or coffee, he was fed with milk, to which +with hot bread and new acquaintance with griddle cakes he took kindly. +After breakfast he was driven to the village with his aunt and equipped +with a rough ready-made overcoat and high boots. He found the dress +comfortable, but not to his taste. + +When he came back, the Squire and Leila had disappeared and he was left +to his own devices. He was advised by his aunt to walk about and see the +stables and the horses. That any boy should not want to see the horses +was inconceivable in this household. He did go out and walk on the porch, +but soon went in chilled and sat down to lose himself in a book of polar +travel. He liked history, travel and biographies of soldiers, fearfully +desiring to have his own courage tested--a more common boy-wish than +might be supposed. He thought of it as he laid down the book and began to +inspect again the painted buffalo skins on the wall, letting his +imagination wander when once more he touched a Sioux tomahawk with its +grim adornment of scalp-locks. He was far away when he heard his aunt +say, "You were not out long, John. Did they show you the horses?" + +Shy and reserved in novel surroundings, he was rather too much at his +ease amid socially familiar things, and now said lightly that he had not +seen the stables. "Really, Aunt Ann, I prefer to read or to look at these +interesting Indian relics." + +"Ask your uncle about them," she said, "but you will find out that horses +are important in this household." She left him with the conviction that +James Penhallow was, on the whole, right as to the educational needs of +this lad. + +After lunch his uncle said, "Leila will show you about the place. You +will want to see the horses, of course, and the dogs." + +"And my guinea pigs," added Leila. + +He took no interest in either, and the dogs somewhat alarmed him. His +cousin, a little discouraged, led him away into the woods where the +ancient pines stood snow laden far apart with no intrusion between them +of low shrubbery. Leila was silent, half aware that he was hard to +entertain, and then mischievously wilful to give this indifferent cousin +a lesson. Presently he stood still, looking up at the towering cones of +the motionless pines. + +"How stately they are--how like old Vikings!" he said. His imagination +was the oldest mental characteristic of this over-guarded, repressed +boyhood. + +Leila turned, surprised. This was beyond her appreciative capacity. "Once +I heard Uncle Jim say something like that. He's queer about trees. He +talks to them sometimes just like that. There's the biggest pine over +there--I'll show it to you. Why! he will stop and pat it and say, 'How +are you?'--Isn't it funny?" + +"No, it isn't funny at all. It's--it's beautiful!" + +"You must be like him, John." + +"I--like him! Do you think so?" He was pleased. The Indian horseman of +the plains who could talk to the big tree began to be felt by the boy as +somehow nearer. + +"Let's play Indian," said Leila. "I'll show you." She was merry, intent +on mischief. + +"Oh! whatever you like." He was uninterested. + +Leila said, "You stand behind this tree, I will stand behind that one." +She took for herself the larger shelter. "Then you, each of us, get ready +this way a pile of snowballs. I say, Make ready! Fire! and we snowball +one another like everything. The first Indian that's hit, he falls down +dead. Then the other rushes at him and scalps him." + +"But," said John, "how can he?" + +"Oh! he just gives your hair a pull and makes believe." + +"I see." + +"Then we play it five times, and each scalp counts one. Now, isn't that +real jolly?" + +John had his doubts as to this, but he took his place and made some +snowballs clumsily. + +"Make ready! Fire!" cried Leila. The snowballs flew. At last, the girl +seeing how wildly he threw exposed herself. A better shot took her full +in the face. Laughing gaily, she dropped, "I'm dead." + +The game pleased him with its unlooked-for good luck. "Now don't stand +there like a ninny--scalp me," she cried. + +He ran to her side and knelt down. The widespread hair affected him +curiously. He touched it daintily, let it fall, and rose. "To pull at a +girl's hair! I couldn't do it." + +Leila laughed. "A good pull, that's how to scalp." + +"I couldn't," said John. + +"Well, you are a queer sort of Indian!" She was less merciful, but in the +end, to her surprise, he had three scalps. "Uncle Jim will laugh when I +tell him," she said. "Shall we go home?" + +"No, I want to see Uncle Jim's big tree." + +"Oh! he's only Uncle Jim to me. Aunt don't like it. He will tell you some +day to call him Uncle Jim. He says I got that as brevet rank the day my +mare refused the barnyard fence and pitched me off. I just got on again +and made her take it! That's why he's Uncle Jim." + +John became thoughtful about that brevet privilege of a remote future. He +had, however, persistent ways. "I want to see the big pine, Leila." + +"Oh! come on then. It's a long way. We must cut across." He followed her +remorselessly swift feet through the leafless bushes and drifts until +they came upon a giant pine in a wide space cleared to give the veteran +royal solitude. "That's him," cried Leila, and carelessly cast herself +down on the snow. + +The boy stood still in wonder. Something about the tree disturbed him +emotionally. With hands clasped behind his back, he stared up at its +towering heights. He was silent. + +"What's the matter? What do you see?" She was never long silent. He was +searching for a word. + +"It's solemn. I like it." He moved forward and patted the huge hole with +a feeling of reverence and affection. "I wish he could speak to us. How +are you, old fellow?" + +Leila watched him. As yet she had no least comprehension of this sense of +being kindred to nature. It is rare in youth. As he spoke, a little +breeze stirred the old fellow's topmost crest and a light downfall of +snow fell on the pair. Leila laughed, but the boy cried, "There! he has +answered. We are friends." + +"Now, if that isn't Uncle Jim all over. He just does make me laugh." + +John shook off the snow. "Let's go home," he said. He Was warm and red +with the exercise, and in high good-humour over his success. "Did you +never read a poem called 'The Talking Oak'? I had a tutor used to read it +to me." + +"Now, the idea of a tree talking!" she said. "No, I never heard of it. +Come along, we'll be late. That's funny about a tree talking. Can you +run?" + +They ran, but not far, because deep snow makes running hard. It was after +dark when they tramped on to the back porch. John's experience taught him +to expect blame for being out late. No one asked a question or made a +remark. He was ignored, to his amazement. Whether, as he soon learned, he +was in or out, wet or dry, seemed to be of no moment to any one, provided +he was punctual at meal-times. It was at first hard to realize the +reasonable freedom suddenly in his possession. The appearance of complete +want of interest in his health and what he did was as useful a moral +tonic as was for the body the educational out-of-doors' society of the +fearless girl, his aunt's niece whom he was told to consider as his +cousin. To his surprise, he was free to come and go, and what he or Leila +did in the woods or in the stables no one inquired. Aunt Ann uneasy would +have known all about them, but the Squire urged, that for a time, "let +alone" was the better policy. This freedom was so unusual, so +unreservedly complete, as to rejoice Leila, who was very ready to use the +liberty it gave. In a week the rector's school would shut them up for +half of the day of sunlit snow. Meanwhile, John wondered with interest +every morning where next those thin active young legs would lead him. + +The dogs he soon took to, when Leila's whistle called them,--a wild +troop, never allowed beyond the porch or in the house. For some occult +reason Mrs. Ann disliked dogs and liked cats, which roamed the house at +will and were at deadly feud with the stable canines. No rough weather +ever disturbed Leila's out-of-door habits, but when for two days a lazy +rain fell and froze on the snow, John declared that he could not venture +to get wet with his tendency to tonsilitis. As Leila refused indoor +society and he did not like to be left alone, he missed the gay and +gallant little lady, and still no one questioned him. On the third day at +breakfast Leila was wildly excited. The smooth ice-mailed snow shone +brilliant in the sunshine. + +"Coasting weather, Uncle Jim," Leila said. + +"First class," said her uncle. "Get off before the sun melts the crust." + +"Do be careful, dear," said Ann Penhallow, "and do not try the farm +hill." + +"Yes, aunt." The Squire exchanged signal glances with Leila over the +teacup he was lifting. "Come, John," she said. "No dogs to-day. It's just +perfect. Here's your sled." + +John had seen coasting in Germany and had been strictly forbidden so +perilous an amusement. As they walked over the crackling ice-cover of the +snow, he said, "Why do you want to sled, Leila? I consider it extremely +dangerous. I saw two persons hurt when we were in Switzerland." His +imagination was predicting all manner of disaster, but he had the moral +courage which makes hypocrisy impossible. From the hill crest John looked +down the long silvery slope and did not like it. "It's just a foolish +risk. Do you mean to slide down to that brook?" + +"Slide! We coast, we don't slide. I think you had better go back and tell +Uncle Jim you were afraid." + +He was furious. "I tell you this, Miss Grey--I am afraid--I have been +told--well, never mind--that--well---I won't say I'm not afraid--but I'm +more afraid of Uncle James than--than--of death." + +She stood still a moment as she faced him, the two pair of blue eyes +meeting. He was very youthful for his years and was near the possibility +of the tears of anger, and, too, the virile qualities of his race were +protesting forces in the background of undeveloped character. The sweet +girl face grew red and kinder. "I was mean, John Penhallow. I am sorry I +was rude." + +"No--no," he exclaimed, "it was I who was--was--ill-mannered. I--mean to +coast if I die." + +"Die," she laughed gaily. "Let me go first." + +"Go ahead then." She was astride of the sled and away down the long +descent, while he watched her swift flight. He set his teeth and was off +after her. A thrill of pleasure possessed him, the joy of swift movement. +Near the foot was an abrupt fall to a frozen brook and then a sharp +ascent. He rolled over at Leila's feet seeing a firmament of stars and +rose bewildered. + +"Busted?" cried Leila, who picked up the slang of the village boys to her +aunt's disgust. + +"I am not what you call busted," said John, "but I consider it most +disagreeable." Without a word more he left her, set out up the hill and +coasted again. He upset half-way down, rolled over, and got on again +laughing. This time somehow he got over the brook and turned crossly on +Leila with, "I hope now you are satisfied, Miss Grey." + +"You'll do, I guess," said she. "I just wondered if you would back out, +John. Let's try the other hills." He went after her vexed at her way of +ordering him about, and not displeased with John Penhallow and his new +experience in snatching from danger a fearful joy. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +The difficult lessons on the use of snow-shoes took up day after day, +until weary but at last eager he followed her tireless little figure far +into the more remote woods. "What's that?" he said. + +"I wanted you to see it, John." It was an old log cabin. "That's where +the first James Penhallow lived. Uncle Jim keeps it from tumbling to +pieces, but it's no use to anybody." + +"The first Penhallow," said John. "It must be very old." + +"Oh! I suppose so--I don't know--ask Uncle Jim. They say the Indians +attacked it once--that first James Penhallow and his wife fought them +till help came. I thought you would like to see it." + +He went in, kicking off his snow-shoes. She was getting used to his +silences, and now with some surprise at his evident interest followed +him. He walked about making brief remarks or eagerly asking questions. + +"They must have had loop-holes to shoot. Did they kill any Indians?" + +"Yes, five. They are buried behind the cabin. Uncle Jim set a stone to +mark the place." + +He made no reply. His thoughts were far away in time, realizing the +beleaguered cabin, the night of fear, the flashing rifles of his +ancestors. The fear--would he have been afraid? + +"When I was little, I was afraid to come here alone," said the girl. + +"I should like to come here at night," he returned. + +"Why? I wouldn't. Oh! not at night. I don't see what fun there would be +in that." + +"Then I would know--" + +"Know what, John? What would you know?" + +"Oh! no matter." He had a deep desire to learn if he would be afraid. +"Some day," he added, "I will tell you. Let's go home." + +"Are you tired?" + +"I'm half dead," he laughed as he slipped on his snow-shoes. + +A long and heavy rain cleared away the snow, and the more usual softness +of the end of November set in. Their holiday sports were over for a time, +to John's relief. On a Monday he went through the woods with Leila to the +rectory. Mark Rivers, who had only seen John twice, made him welcome. The +tall, thin, pale man, with the quiet smile and attentive grey eyes, made +a ready capture of the boy. There were only two other scholars, the sons +of the doctor and the Baptist preacher, lads of sixteen, not very +mannerly, rather rough country boys, who nudged one another and regarded +John with amused interest. In two or three days John knew that he was in +the care of an unusually scholarly man, who became at once his friend +and treated the lazy village boys and him with considerate kindliness. +John liked it. To his surprise, no questions were asked at home about the +school, and the afternoons were often free for lonely walks, when Leila +went away on her mare and John was at liberty to read or to do as best +pleased him. At times Leila bored him, and although with his well-taught +courteous ways he was careful not to show impatience, he had the +imaginative boy's capacity to enjoy being alone and a long repressed +curiosity which now found indulgence among people who liked to answer +questions and were pleased when he asked them. Very often, as he came +into easier relations with his aunt, he was told to take some query she +could not answer to Uncle James or the rector. A rather sensitive lad, he +soon became aware that his uncle appeared to take no great interest in +him, and, too, the boy's long cultivated though lessening reserve kept +them apart. Meanwhile, Ann watched with pleasure his gain in +independence, in looks and in appetite. While James Penhallow after his +game of whist at night growled in his den over the bitter politics of the +day, North and South, his wife read aloud to the children by the fireside +in her own small sitting-room or answered as best she could John's +questions, confessing ignorance at times or turning to books of +reference. It was not always easy to satisfy this restless young mind in +a fast developing body. "Were guinea pigs really pigs? What was the +hematite iron-ore his uncle used at the works?" Once he was surprised. He +asked one evening, "What was the Missouri Compromise?" He had read so +much about it in the papers. "Hasn't it something to do with slavery? +Aunt Ann, it must seem strange to own a man." His eager young ears had +heard rather ignorant talk of it from his mother's English friends. + +His aunt said quietly, "My people in Maryland own slaves, John. It is not +a matter for a child to discuss. The abolitionists at the North are +making trouble. It is a subject--we--I do not care to talk about." + +"But what is an abolitionist, aunt?" he urged. + +She laughed and said gaily, "I will answer no more conundrums; ask your +uncle." + +Leila who took no interest in politics fidgeted until she got her chance +when Mrs. Ann would not answer John. "I want to hear about that talking +oak, John." + +She was quicker than he to observe her aunt's annoyance, and Ann, glad to +be let off easily, found the needed book, and for a time they fell under +the charm of Tennyson, and then earlier than usual were sent to bed. + +The days ran on into weeks of school, and now there were snow-shoe tramps +or sleigh rides to see some big piece of casting at the forge, where +persistently-curious John did learn from some one what hematite was. The +life became to him steadily more and more pleasant as he shed with ease +the habits of an over regulated life, and living wholesome days prospered +in body and mind. + +Christmas was a disappointment to Leila and to him. There was an outbreak +of measles at Westways and there would be no carols, nor children +gathered at Grey Pine. Ann's usual bounty of toys was sent to the +village. John's present from his uncle was a pair of skates, and then +Leila saw a delightful chance to add another branch of education. Next +morning, for this was holiday-week, she asked if he would like to learn +to skate. They had gone early to the cabin and were lazily enjoying a +rest after a snow-shoe tramp. He replied, in an absent way, "I suppose I +may as well learn. How many Indians were there?" + +"I don't know. Who cares now?" + +"I do." + +"I never saw such a boy. You can't ride and you can't skate. You are just +good for nothing. You're just fit to be sold at a rummage-sale." + +He was less easily vexed than made curious. "What's a rummage-sale?" + +"Oh! we had one two years ago. Once in a while Aunt Ann says there must +be one, so she gathers up all the trash and Uncle Jim's old clothes (he +hates that), and the village people they buy things. And Mr. Rivers sells +the things at auction, you know--and oh, my! he was funny." + +"So they sell what no one wants. Then why does any one buy?" + +"I'm sure, I don't know." + +"I wonder what I would fetch, Leila?" + +"Not much," she said. + +"Maybe you're right." He had one of the brief boy-moods of +self-abasement. + +Leila changed quickly. "I'll bid for you," she said coyly. + +He laughed and looked up, surprised at this earliest indication of the +feminine. "What would you give?" he asked. + +"Well, about twenty-five cents." + +He laughed. "I may improve, Leila, and the price go up. Let us go and +learn to skate--you must teach me." + +"Of course," said Leila, "but you will soon learn. It's hard at first." + +At lunch, on Christmas day, John had thanked his uncle for the skates in +the formal way which Ann liked and James Penhallow did not. He said, "I +am very greatly obliged for the skates. They appear to me excellent." + +"What a confoundedly civil young gentleman," thought Penhallow. "I have +been thinking you must learn to skate. The pond has been swept clear of +snow." + +"Thank you," returned the boy, with a grin which his uncle thought odd. + +"Leila will teach you." + +John was silent, regarding his uncle with never dying interest, the +soldier of Indian battles, the perfect rider and good shot, adored in the +stables and loved, as John was learning, in all the country side. John +was in the grip of a boy's admiration for a realized ideal--the worship, +by the timid, of courage. Of the few things he did well, he thought +little; and an invalid's fears had discouraged rough games until he had +become like a timorous girl. He had much dread of horses, and was +alarmingly sure that he would some day be made to ride. Once in Paris he +had tried, had had a harmless accident and, willingly yielding to his +mother's fears, had tried no more. + +Late in the afternoon, Leila, with her long wake of flying hair, burst +into the Squire's den. "What the deuce is the matter?" asked +Penhallow. + +"Oh! Uncle Jim, he can skate like--like a witch. I couldn't keep near +him. He skated an 'L' for my name. Uncle Jim, he's a fraud." + +Penhallow knew now why the boy had grinned at him. "I think, Leila, he +will do. Where did he learn to skate?" + +"At Vevey, he says, on the Lake." + +"Yes, of Geneva." + +"Tom McGregor was there and Bob Grace. We played tag. John knows a way to +play tag on skates. You must chalk your right hand and you must mark with +it the other fellow's right shoulder. It must be jolly. We had no chalk, +but we are to play it to-morrow. Isn't it interesting, Uncle John?" + +Penhallow laughed. "Interesting, my dear? Oh! your aunt will be after you +with a stick." + +"Aunt Ann's--stick!" laughed Leila. + +"My dear Leila," he said gravely, "this boy has had all the manliness +coddled out of him, but he looks like his father. I have my own ideas of +how to deal with him. I suppose he will brag a bit at dinner." + +"He will not, Uncle Jim." + +"Bet you a pound of bonbons, Leila." + +"From town?" + +"Yes." + +"All right." + +"Can he coast? I did not ask you." + +"Well! pretty well," said Leila. For some unknown reason she was +unwilling to say more. + +"Doesn't the rector dine here, to-day, Leila?" + +"Yes, but--oh! Uncle Jim, we found a big hornets' nest yesterday on the +log cabin. They seemed all asleep. I told John we would fight them in the +spring." + +"And what did he say?" + +"He said: 'Did they sting?'--I said: 'That was the fun of it!'" + +"Better not tell your aunt." + +"No, sir. I'm an obedient little girl." + +"You little scamp! You were meant to be a boy. Is there anything you are +afraid of?" + +"Yes, algebra." + +"Oh! get out," and she fled. + +At dinner John said no word of the skating, to the satisfaction of Leila +who conveyed to her uncle a gratified sense of victory by some of the +signs which were their private property. + +Leaving the cousins to their game of chess, Penhallow followed his wife +and Mark Rivers into his library. "Well, Mark," he said, "you have had +this boy long enough to judge; it is time I heard what you think of him. +You asked me to wait. The youngster is rather reticent, and Leila is +about the only person in the house who really knows much about him. He +talks like a man of thirty." + +"I do not find him reticent," remarked Mrs. Ann, "and his manners are +charming--I wish Leila's were half as good." + +"Well, let's hear about him." + +"May I smoke?" asked the rector. + +"Anywhere but in my drawing-room. I believe James would like to smoke in +church." + +"It might have its consolations," returned Penhallow. + +"Thanks," said Rivers smiling. Neither man took advantage of her unusual +permission. "But you, Squire, have been closer than I to this interesting +boy. What do you make of him?" + +"He can't ride--he hardly knows a horse from a mule." + +"That's not his fault," said Mrs. Penhallow, "he's afraid of horses." + +"Afraid!" said her husband. "By George! afraid of horses." + +"He speaks French perfectly," said Mark Rivers. + +"He can't swim. I got that out of Leila. I understand he tried it once +and gave it up." + +"But his mother made him, James. You know Susan. She was as timid as a +house-fly for herself, and I suppose for him." + +"I asked him," said Rivers, "if he knew any Latin. He answered me in +Latin and told me that at Budapest where he was long at school the boys +had to speak Latin." + +"And the rest, Rivers. Is he well up in mathematics?" + +"No, he finds that difficult. But, upon my word, Squire, he is the most +doggedly persistent fellow I have ever had to teach and I handled many +boys when I was younger. I can take care of my side of the boy." + +"He can skate, James," said Mrs. Ann. + +"Yes, so I hear. I suppose that under Leila's care and a good out-of-door +life he will drop his girl-ways--but--" + +"But what, James?" + +"Oh! he has been taught that there is no shame in failure, no disgrace in +being afraid." + +"How do you know he is afraid, my dear James?" + +"Oh! I know." Leila's unwillingness to talk had given him some suspicion +of the truth. "Well, we shall see. He needs some rough boy-company. I +don't like to have the village boys alone with Leila, but when she has +John with her it may be as well to ask Dr. McGregor's son Tom to coast +and play with them." + +"He has no manners," said Mrs. Penhallow. + +"Then he may get some from John. He never will from Leila. I will take +care of the rest, Rivers. He has got to learn to ride." + +"You won't be too hard on him, James?" said his wife. + +"Not unless he needs it. Let us drop him." + +"Have you seen yesterday's papers?" asked Rivers. "Our politics, North +and South, look to me stormy." + +Penhallow shook his head at the tall rector. The angry strife of sections +and parties was the one matter he never discussed with Ann Penhallow. The +rector recalled it as he saw Mrs. Ann sit up and drop on her lap the +garment upon which her ever industrious hands were busy. Accepting +Penhallow's hint, Rivers said quickly, "But really there is nothing new," +and then, "Tom McGregor will certainly be the better for our little +gentleman's good manners, and he too has something to learn of Tom." + +"I should say he has," said Penhallow. + +"A little dose of West Point, I suppose," laughed Mrs. Ann. "It is my +husband's one ideal of education." + +"It must once, I fancy, have satisfied Ann Grey," retorted the Squire +smiling. + +"I reserve any later opinion of James Penhallow," she said laughing, and +gathering up her sewing bag left them, declaring that now they might +smoke. The two men rose, and when alone began at once to talk of the +coming election in the fall of 1856 and the endless troubles arising out +of the Fugitive Slave Act. + +The boy who had been the subject of their conversation was slowly +becoming used to novel surroundings and the influence they exerted. Ann +talked to him at times of his mother, but he had the disinclination to +speak of the dead which most children have, and had in some ways been +kept so much of a child as to astonish his aunt. Neither Leila nor any +one could have failed to like him and his gentle ways, and as between +him and the village boys she knew Leila preferred this clever, if too +timid, cousin. So far they had had no serious quarrels. When she rode +with the Squire, John wandered in the woods, enjoying solitude, and +having some appreciative relation to nature, the great pine woods, the +strange noises of the breaking ice in the river, the sunset skies. + +Among the village boys with whom at the rector's small school and in +the village John was thrown, he liked least the lad McGregor, who had +now been invited to coast or skate with the Grey Pine cousins. Tom had +the democratic boy-belief that very refined manners imply lack of some +other far more practical qualities, and thus to him and the Westways +boys John Penhallow was simply an absurd Miss Nancy kind of lad, and it +was long after the elders of the little town admired and liked him that +the boys learned to respect him. It was easy to see why the generous, +good-tempered and pleasant lad failed to satisfy the town boys. John had +been sedulously educated into the belief that he was of a class to which +these fellows did not belong, and of this the Squire had soon some +suspicion when, obedient as always, John accepted his uncle's choice of +his friend the doctor's son as a playmate. + +He was having his hair cut when Tom McGregor came into the shop of +Josiah, the barber. "Wait a minute," said John. "Are you through, Mr. +Josiah?" + +Tom grinned, "Got a handle to your name?" + +"Yes, because Master John is a gentleman." + +"Then I'll call you Mister too." + +"It won't ever make you Mister," said the barber, "that kind's born so." + +John disliked this outspoken expression of an opinion he shared. +"Nonsense," he said. "Come up, Tom, this afternoon. Don't forget the +muskrat traps, Mr. Josiah." + +"No, sir. Too early yet." + +"All right," returned Tom. "I'll come." + +March had come and the last snow still lay on the land when thus invited +Tom joined John and Leila in the stable-yard. "Let's play tag," cried +Leila. Tom was ready. + +"Here's a stick." They took hold of it in turn. Tom's hand came out on +top. "I'm tagger. Look out!" he cried. + +They played the game. At last he caught Leila, and crying out, "You're +tagged," seized her boy-cap and threw it up on to the steep slope of the +stable roof. + +"Oh! that's not fair," cried the girl. "You are a rude boy. Now you've +got to get it." + +"No, indeed. Get the stable-man to get it." + +She turned to John, "Please to get it." + +"How can I?" he said. + +"Go up inside--there's a trap door. You can slide down the snow and get +it." + +"But I might fall." + +"There's your chance," said Tom grinning. John stood, still irresolute. +Leila walked away into the stable. + +"She'll get a man," said Tom a little regretful of his rudeness, as she +disappeared. + +In a moment Leila was up in the hayloft and out on the roof. Spreading +out arms and thin legs she carefully let herself slide down the soft snow +until, seizing her cap, she set her feet on the roof gutter, crying out, +"Get a ladder quick." Alarmed at her perilous position, they ran and +called out a groom, a ladder was brought, and in a moment she was on the +ground. + +Leila turned on the two lads. "You are a coward, Tom McGregor, and you +too, John Penhallow. I never--never will play with you again." + +"It was just fun," said Tom; "any of the men could have poked it down." + +"Cowards," said the girl, tossing back her dark mass of hair and moving +away without a look at the discomfited pair. + +"I suppose now you will go and tell the Squire," said Tom. He was +alarmed. + +She turned, "I--a tell-tale!" Her child-code of conduct was imperative. +"I am neither a tell-tale nor a coward. 'Tell-tale pick a nail and hang +him to a cow's tail!'" and with this well-known declaration of her creed +of playground honour, she walked away. + +"She'll tell," said Tom. + +"She won't," said John. + +"Guess I'll go home," said Tom, and left John to his reflections. +They were most disagreeable. + +John went into the woods and sat down on a log. "So," he said aloud, "she +called me a coward--and I am--I was--I can't bear it. What would my uncle +say?" His eyes filled. He brushed away the tears with his sleeve. A +sudden remembrance of how good she had been to him, how loyally silent, +added to his distress. He longed for a chance to prove that he was not +that--that--Eager and yet distrustful, he got up and walked through the +melting snow to the cabin, where he lay on the floor thinking, a prey to +that fiend imagination, of which he had a larger share than is always +pleasant when excuses are needed. + +Leila was coldly civil and held her tongue, but for a few days would not +go into the woods with him and rode alone or with her uncle. Tom came no +more for a week, until self-assured that the Squire had not heard of his +behaviour, as he met him on the road with his usual hearty greeting. Ann +Penhallow saw that the boy was less happy than usual and suspected some +mild difficulty with Leila, but in her wise way said nothing and began to +use him for some of her many errands of helpfulness in the village and on +the farms, where always he made friends. Seeing at last that the boy was +too silent and to her eye unhappy, she talked of it to Mark Rivers. The +next day, after school, he said to John, "I want to see that old cabin in +the woods. Long as I have lived here I have never been that far. Come and +show me the way. I tried once to find it and got lost. We can have a +jolly good talk, you and I." + +The word of kindly approach was timely. John felt the invitation as a +compliment, and was singularly open to the approval his lessons won from +this gentle dark-eyed man. "Oh!" he said, "I should like that." + +After lunch, Leila, a little penitent, said with unwonted shyness, "The +woods are very nice to-day, and I found the first arbutus under the +snow." + +When John did not respond, she made a further propitiatory advance, "It +will soon be time for that hornets' nest, we must go and see." + +"What are you about?" said Mrs. Ann; "you will get stung." + +"Pursuit of natural history," said Penhallow smiling. + +"You are as bad as Leila, James." + +"Won't you come?" asked the girl at last. + +"Thank you. I regret that I have an engagement with Mr. Rivers," said +John, with the prim manner he was fast losing. + +"By George!" murmured Penhallow as he rose. + +John looked up puzzled, and his uncle, much amused, went to get his boots +and riding-dress. "Wait till I get you on a horse, my Lord Chesterfield," +he muttered. "He and Leila must have had a row. What about, I wonder." He +asked no questions. + +With a renewal of contentment and well-pleased, John called for the +rector. They went away into the forest to the cabin. + +"And so," said Rivers, "this is where the first Penhallow had his Indian +fight. I must ask the Squire." + +"I know about it," said John. "Leila told me, and"--he paused, "I saw +it." + +"Oh! did you? Let's hear." They lay down, and the rector lazily smoked. +"Well, go ahead, Jack, I like stories." He had early rechristened him +Jack, and the boy liked it. + +"Well, sir, they saw them coming near to dusk and ran. You see, it was a +clearing then; the trees have grown here since. That was at dusk. They +barred the door and cut loop-holes between the logs. Next morning the +Indians came on. She fired first, and she cried out, 'Oh! James, I've +killed a man.'" + +"She said that?" asked Rivers. + +"Yes, and she wouldn't shoot again until her man was wounded, then she +was like a raging lioness." + +"A lioness!" echoed Rivers. + +"By evening, help came." + +"How did you know all this?" + +"Oh! Leila told me some--and the rest--well, sir, I saw it. I've been +here often." + +The rector studied the excited young face. "Would you like to have been +there, Jack?" + +"No." + +"Why not?" + +"I should have been afraid, and--" Then quickly, "I suppose he was; she +was; any one would have been." + +"Like as not. He for her, most of all. But there are many kinds of fear, +Jack." + +John was silent, and the rector waited. Then the boy broke out, "Leila +told me last week I was a coward." + +"Indeed! Leila told you that! That wasn't like her, Jack. Why did she say +it?" + +This was a friendly hearer, whose question John had invited. To-day the +human relief of confession was great to the boy. He told the story, in +bits, carefully, as if to have it exact were essential. Mark Rivers +watched him through his pipe smoke, trying to think of what he could or +should say to this small soul in trouble. The boy was lying on the floor +looking up, his hands clasped behind his head. "That's all, sir. It's +dreadful." + +The young rector's directness of character set him on the right path. "I +don't know just what to say to you, Jack. You see, you have been taught +to be afraid of horses and dogs, of exposure to rain, and generally of +being hurt, until--Well, Jack, if your mother had not been an invalid, +she would not have educated you to fear, to have no joy in risks. Now you +are in more wholesome surroundings--and--in a little while you will +forget this small trouble." + +The young clergyman felt that in his puzzle he had been rather vague, and +added pleasantly, "You have the courage of truth. That's moral courage. +Tom would have explained or denied, or done anything to get out of the +scrape, if the Squire had come down on him. You would not." + +"Oh! thank you," said John. "I'm sorry I troubled you." + +"You did in a way; but you did not when you trusted a man who is your +friend. Let us drop it. Where are those Indian graves?" + +They went out and wandered in the woods, until John said, "Oh! this must +be that arbutus Leila talks about, just peeping out from under the snow." +They gathered a large bunch. + +"It is the first breath of the fragrance of spring," said Rivers. + +"Oh! yes, sir. How sweet it is! It does not grow in Europe." + +"No, we own it with many other good and pleasant things." + +When they came to the house, Leila was dismounting after her ride. John +said, "Here Leila, I gathered these for you." + +When she said, "Thank you, John," he knew by her smiling face that he was +forgiven, and without a word followed her into the hall, still pursued by +the thought; but I was afraid. He put aside this trouble for a time, and +the wood sports with Leila were once more resumed. What thought of his +failure the girl still kept in mind, if she thought of it at all, he +never knew, or not for many days. He had no wish to talk of it, but +fearfully desired to set himself right with her and with John Penhallow. + +One day in early April she asked him to go to the stable and order her +horse. He did so, and alone with an unpleasant memory, in the stable-yard +he stood still a moment, and then with a sudden impulse threw his cap up +on to the roof. He took a moment to regret it, and then saying, "I've got +to do it!" he went into the stable and out of the hay-loft on to the +sloping roof. He did not dare to wait, but let himself slide down the +frozen snow, seized his cap, and knew of a sudden that the smooth +ice-coating was an unsuspected peril. He rolled over on his face, +straightened himself, and slid to the edge. He clutched the gutter, hung +a moment, and dropped some fifteen feet upon the hard pavement. For a +moment the shock stunned him. Then, as he lay, he was aware of Billy, +who cried, "He's dead! he's dead!" and ran to the house, where he met +Mrs. Ann and Leila on the porch. "He's killed--he's dead!" + +"Who? Who?" they cried. + +"Mr. John, he's dead!" + +As Billy ran, the dead got his wits about him, sat up, and, hearing Billy +howling, got on his feet. His hands were torn and bleeding, but he was +not otherwise damaged. He ran after Billy, and was but a moment behind +him. + +Mrs. Ann was shaking the simple fellow, vainly trying to learn what had +happened. Leila white to the lips was leaning against a pillar. John +called out, "I'm all right, aunt. I had a fall--and Billy, do hold your +tongue." + +Billy cried, "He's not dead!" and fled as he had come. + +"My poor boy," said Mrs. Ann, "sit down." He gladly obeyed. + +At this moment James Penhallow came downstairs. "What's all this row +about, Ann? I heard Billy--Oh, so you're the dead man, John. How did you +happen to die?" + +"I fell off the stable roof, sir." + +"Well, you got off easily." He asked no other questions, to John's +relief, but said, "Your hands look as if you had fought our big tom-cat." + +John had risen on his uncle's approach. Now Penhallow said, "Sit +down. Put some court-plaster on those scratches, Ann, or a postage +stamp--or--so--Come, Leila, the horses are here. Run upstairs and get +my riding-whip. That fool brought me down in a hurry. When the chimney +took fire last year he ran through the village yelling that the house +was burned down. Don't let your aunt coddle you, John." + +"Do let the boy alone, James." + +"Come, Leila," he said. + +"I think I won't ride to-day, Uncle Jim." + +A faint signal from his wife sent him on his way alone with, "All right, +Leila. Any errands, my dear?" + +"No--but please call at the grocer's and ask him why he has sent no +sugar--and tell Mrs. Saul I want her. If Pole is in, you might mention +that when I order beef I do not want veal." + +While John was being plastered and in dread of the further questions +which were not asked, Leila went upstairs, and the Squire rode away to +the iron-works smiling and pleased. "He'll do," he murmured, "but what +the deuce was my young dandy doing on the roof?" The Captain had learned +in the army the wisdom of asking no needless questions. "Leila must have +been a pretty lively instructor in mischief. By and by, Ann will have it +out of the boy, and--I must stop that. Now she will be too full of +surgery. She is sure to think Leila had something to do with it." He saw +of late that Ann was resolute as to what to him would be a sad loss. +Leila was to be sent to school before long--accomplishments! "Damn +accomplishments! I have tried to make a boy out of her--now the +inevitable feminine appears--she was scared white--and the boy was pretty +shaky. I am sure Leila will know all about it." That school business had +already been discussed with his wife, and then, he thought, "There is to +come a winter in the city, society, and--some nice young man, and so +good-bye, my dear comrade. Get up, Brutus." He dismissed his cares as the +big bay stretched out in a gallop. + +After some surgical care, John was told to go to his room and lie down. +He protested that he was in no need of rest, but Ann Penhallow, positive +in small ways with every one, including her husband, sent John away with +an imperative order, nor on the whole was he sorry to be alone. No one +had been too curious. He recognized this as a reasonable habit of the +family. And Leila? He was of no mind to be frank with her; and this he +had done was a debt paid to John Penhallow! He may not have so put it, +but he would not admit to himself that Leila's contemptuous epithet had +had any influence on his action. The outcome was a keen sense of happy +self-approval. When he had dressed for dinner, feeling pretty sore all +over, he found Leila waiting at the head of the stairs. + +"John Penhallow, you threw your cap on the roof and went up to get it, +you did." + +"I did, Leila, but how did you know?" + +She smiled and replied, "I--I don't know, John. I am sorry for what I +said, and oh! John, Uncle Jim, he was pleased!" + +"Do you think so?" + +"Yes." She caught his hand and at the last landing let it fall. At +dinner, the Squire asked kindly: "Are you all right, my boy?" + +"Yes, sir," and that was all. + +Mark Rivers, who had heard of this incident from Mrs. Penhallow, and at +last from Leila, was alone in a position to comprehend the motives which +combined to bring about an act of rashness. The rector had some sympathy +with the boy and liked him for choosing a time when no one was present +to witness his trial of himself. He too had the good sense like the +Squire to ask no questions. + +Meanwhile, Tom McGregor came no more, feeling the wound to his pride, but +without the urgent need felt by John to set himself in a better position +with himself. He would have thought nothing of accepting Leila's +challenge, but very much wanted to see the polite girl-boy brought to +shame. In fact, even the straightforward Squire, with all his ready +cordiality, at times found John's extreme politeness ridiculous at his +age, but knew it to be the result of absurd training and the absence +of natural association with other and manly boys. To Tom it was +unexplained and caused that very common feeling of vague suspicion of +some claim to superiority which refined manners imply to those who lack +manners altogether. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +April passed, the arbutus fragrance was gone, while the maples were +putting forth ruddy buds which looked like a prophecy of the distant +autumn and made gay with colour the young greenery of spring. Meanwhile, +school went on, and John grew stronger and broader in this altogether +wholesome atmosphere of outdoor activity and indoor life of kindness and +apparently inattentive indifference on the part of his busy uncle. + +On an evening late in May, 1856 (John long remembered it), the Squire as +usual left their little circle and retired to the library, where he +busied himself over matters involving business letters, and then fell to +reading in the _Tribune_ the bitter politics of Fremont's contest with +Buchanan and the still angry talk over Brooks's assault on Senator +Sumner. He foresaw defeat and was with cool judgment aware of what the +formation of the Republican Party indicated in the way of trouble to +come. The repeal of the Missouri Compromise had years before disturbed +his party allegiance, and now no longer had he been able to see the grave +question of slavery as Ann his wife saw it. He threw aside the papers, +set his table in order, and opening the door called John to come in and +pay him a visit. The boy rose surprised. Never once had this +over-occupied man talked to him at length and he had never been set free +to wander in the tempting wilderness of books, which now and then when +James Penhallow was absent were remorselessly dusted by Mrs. Ann and the +maid, with dislocating consequences over which James Penhallow growled in +belated protest. + +John went in, glanced up at the Captain's sword over the mantelpiece, and +sat down as desired by the still-needed fire. + +"John," said his uncle in his usual direct way, "have you ever been on +the back of a horse?" + +"Yes, sir, once--in Paris at a riding-school." + +"Once! You said 'once'--well?" + +"I fell off--mother was with me." + +"And you got on again?" + +"No, sir." + +"Why not?" + +John flushed and hesitated, watched by the dark-eyed Squire. "I was +afraid!" He would not say that his mother forbade it. + +"What is your name?" + +"John, sir," he returned astonished. + +"And the rest--the rest, sir," added his uncle abruptly. + +John troubled by the soldier's impatient tones said: "Penhallow, sir." He +was near to a too emotional display. + +"And you, John Penhallow, my brother's son, were afraid?" + +"I was." It was only in part true. His mother had forbidden the master to +remount him. + +"By George!" said Penhallow angrily, "I don't believe you, I can't!" + +John rose, "I may be a coward, Uncle James, but I never lie." + +Penhallow stood up, "I beg your pardon, John." + +"Oh! no, Uncle James. I--please not." He felt as if the tall soldier was +humiliating himself, but could not have put it in words. + +"I was hasty, my boy. You must, of course, learn to ride. By the way, do +you ever read the papers?" + +"Not often, sir--hardly ever. They are kept in your library or Aunt +Ann's." + +"Well, it is time you did read them. Come in here when you want to be +alone--or any time. You won't bother me. Take what books you want, and +ask me about the politics of the day. The country is going to the devil, +but don't discuss this election with your aunt." + +"No, sir." He had gathered from the rector enough to make him understand +the warning. + +John went out with the idea that this business of learning to ride was +somewhere in the future. He was a little disturbed when the next day +after breakfast his uncle said, "Come, John, the horses are in the +training-ring." + +Mrs. Ann said, "James, if you are going to apply West Point riding-school +methods to John, I protest." + +"Then protest, my dear," he said. + +"You will kill him," she returned. + +"My dear Ann, I am not going to kill him, I am going to teach him to +live. Come, John. I am going to teach him to ride." Raising horses was +one of the Squire's amusements, and the training-course where young +horses were broken usually got an hour of his busy day. + +"May I come?" asked Leila. + +"Please, not," said John, anticipating disaster and desiring no amused +spectators. + +"In a week or so, yes, Leila," said Penhallow, "not now." + +There were two stable-boys waiting and a pony long retired on grassy +pension. "Now," said Penhallow, "put a foot on my knee and up you go." + +"But, there's no saddle." + +"There are two. The Lord of horses put one on the back of a horse and +another under a man. Up! sir." John got on. "Grip him with your legs, +hold on to the mane if you like, but not by the reins." The pony feeling +no urgency to move stood still and nibbled the young grass. A smart tap +of the Squire's whip started him, and John rolled off. + +"Come, sir, get on." The boys from the stable grinned. John set his +teeth. "Don't stiffen yourself. That's better." + +He fell once again, and at the close of an hour his uncle said, "There +that will do for to-day, and not so bad either." + +"I'd like to try it again, sir," gasped John. + +"You young humbug," laughed Penhallow. "Go and console your distracted +aunt. I am off to the mills." + +The ex-captain was merciless enough, and day after day John was so stiff +that, as he confessed to Leila, a jointed doll was a trifle to his +condition. She laughed, "I went through it once, but one day it came." + +"What came, Leila?" + +"Oh! the joy of the horse!" + +"I shall never get to that." But he did, for the hard riding-master +scolded, smiled, praised, and when at last John sat in the saddle the +bareback lessons gave him a certain confidence. The training went on day +after day, under the rule of patient but relentless efficiency. It was +far into June when, having backed without serious misadventures two or +three well-broken horses, Penhallow mounted him on Leila's mare, Lucy, +and set out to ride with him. + +"Let us ride to the mills, John." The mare was perfectly gaited and easy. +They rode on, talking horses. + +"You will have to manage the mills some day," said Penhallow. "You own +quite a fifth of them. Now I have three partners, but some day you and I +will run them." The boy had been there before with Rivers, but now the +Squire presented him to the foreman and as they moved about explained the +machinery. It was altogether delightful, and this was a newly discovered +uncle. On the way home the Squire talked of the momentous November +elections and of his dread of the future with Buchanan in power, while he +led the way through lanes and woods until they came to the farm. + +"We will cross the fields," he said, and dismounting took down the upper +bars of a fence. Then he rode back a little, and returning took the low +fence, crying, "Now, John, sit like a sack--loosely. The mare jumps like +a frog; go back a bit. Now, then, give her her head!" For a moment he was +in the air as his uncle cried, "You lost a stirrup. Try it again. Oh! +that was better. Now, once more, come," and he was over at Penhallow's +side. He had found the joy of the horse! "A bit more confidence and +practice and you will do. I want you to ride Venus. She shies at a +shadow--at anything black. Don't forget that." + +"Oh, thank you, Uncle James!" + +"It is Uncle Jim now, my boy. I knew from the first you would come out +all right. I believe in blood--horses and men. I believe in blood." This +was James Penhallow all over. A reticent man, almost as tenderly trustful +as a woman, of those who came up to his standards of honour, truth and +the courage which rightly seemed to him the backbone of all the virtues. + +What John thought may be readily imagined. Accustomed to be considered +and flattered, his uncle's quiet reserve had seemed to him disappointing, +and now of late this abrupt praise and accepting comradeship left the +sensitive lad too grateful for words. The man at his side was wise enough +to say no more, and they rode home and dismounted without further speech. + +After dinner John sought a corner with Leila, where he could share with +her his new-born enthusiasm about horses. The Squire called to the rector +and Mrs. Ann to come into his library. "Sit down, Mark," he said, "I am +rash to invite you; both you and Ann bore me to death with your Sunday +schools and the mill men who won't come to church. I don't hear our +Baptist friend complain." + +"But he does," said Rivers. + +"I do not wonder," said Ann, "that they will not attend the chapel." + +"If," said Penhallow, "you were to swap pulpits, Mark, it would draw. +There are many ways--oh, I am quite in earnest, Ann. Don't put on one of +your excommunicating looks. I remember once in Idaho at dusk, I had two +guides. They were positive, each of them, that certain trails would lead +to the top. I tossed up which to go with. It was pretty serious--Indians +and so on--I'll tell you about it some time, rector. Well, we met at dawn +on the summit. How about the moral, Ann?" + +Ann Penhallow laughed. In politics, morals and religion, she held +unchanging sentiments. "My dear James, people who make fables supply the +morals. I decline." + +"Very good, but you see mine." + +"I never see what I do not want to see," which was pretty close to the +truth. + +"The fact is," said Rivers, "I have preaccepted the Squire's hint. Grace +is sick again. I tell him it is that last immersion business. I have +promised to preach for him next Sunday, as your young curate at the mills +wants to air his eloquence here." + +"Not really!" said Mrs. Ann, "at his chapel?" + +"Yes, and I mean to use a part of our service." + +"If the Bishop knew it." + +"If! he would possibly forbid it, or be glad I did it." + +Mrs. Ann totally disapproved. She took up her knitting and said no more, +while Rivers and Penhallow talked of a disturbance at the works of no +great moment. The rector noticed Mrs. Penhallow's sudden loss of interest +in their talk and her failure to comment on his statement, an unusual +thing with this woman, who, busy-minded as the bee, gathered honey of +interest from most of the affairs of life. In a pause of the talk he +turned to her, "I am sorry to have annoyed you," he said--"I mean about +preaching for Grace." + +"But why do you do it?" + +"Because," he returned, "my Master bids me. Over and over one finds in +His Word that he foreknew how men would differ and come to worship Him +and use His revelations in ways which would depend on diversity of +temperaments, or under the leadership of individual minds of great force. +It may be that it was meant that we should disagree, and yet--I--yet +as to essentials we are one. That I never can forget." + +"Then," she said quickly, "you are of many creeds." + +"No and yes," he returned smiling. "In essentials yes, in ceremonial +usage no; in some other morsels of belief held by others charitably +dubious--I dislike argument about religion in the brief inadequateness of +talk--especially with you from whom I am apt to differ and to whom I owe +so much--so very much." + +She took up her knitting again as she said, "I am afraid the balance of +debt is on our side." + +"Then," said Penhallow, who, too, disliked argument on religion, "if you +have got through with additions to the useless squabbles of centuries, +which hurt and never help, I--" + +"But," broke in his wife, "I have had no answer." + +"Oh, but you have, Ann; for me, Rivers is right." + +"Then I am in a minority of one," she returned, "but I have not had my +say." + +"Well, dear, keep it for next time. Now I want, as I said, a little +counsel about John." + +"And about Leila, James. Something has got to be done." + +The Squire said ruefully, "Yes, I suppose so. I do not know that anything +needs to be done. You saw John's condition before dinner. He had a +swollen nose and fair promise of a black eye. I asked you to take no +notice of it. I wanted first to hear what had happened. I got Leila on +the porch and extracted it by bits. It seems that Tom was rude to Leila." + +"I never liked your allowing him to play with the children, James." + +"But the boy needs boy-company." + +"And what of Leila? She needs girl-company." + +"I fear," said Rivers, "that may be the case." + +"It is so," said Mrs. Ann decisively, pleased with his support. "What +happened, James?" + +"I did not push Leila about what Tom did. John slapped his face and got +knocked down. He got up and went at Tom like a wildcat. Tom knocked him +down again and held him. He said that John must say he had had enough." + +"He didn't," said Rivers, "I am sure he didn't." + +"No, Mark, he said he would die first, which was what he should have +said. Then Billy had the sense to pull the big boy off, and as Leila was +near tears I asked no more questions. It was really most satisfactory." + +"How can you say that?" said his wife. "It was brutal." + +"You do not often misunderstand me, Ann. I mean, of course, that our boy +did the right thing. How does it strike you, Mark?" + +He had a distinct intention to get the rector into trouble. "Not this +time, Squire," and he laughed. "The boy did what his nature bade him. Of +course, being a nice little boy, he should have remonstrated. There are +several ways--" + +"Thanks," said Penhallow. "Of course, Ann, the playing with Tom will end. +I fancy there is no need to interfere." + +"He should be punished for rudeness to Leila," said Mrs. Penhallow. + +"Oh, well, he's a rough lad and like enough sorry. How can I punish him +without making too much of a row." + +"You are quite right, as I see it," said Rivers. "Let it drop; but, +indeed, it is true that Leila should have other than rough lads as +school-companions." + +"Oh, Lord! Rivers." + +"I am glad to agree with you at least about one thing," said Mrs. +Penhallow. "In September John will be sixteen, and Leila a year or so +younger. She is now simply a big, daring, strong boy." + +"If you think that, Ann, you are oddly mistaken." + +"I am," she said; "I was. It was only one end of my reasons why she must +go to school. Before John came and when we had cousins here--girls, she +simply despised them or led them into dreadful scrapes." + +"Well, Ann, we will talk it over another time." + +Rivers smiled and Ann Penhallow went out, longing to attend to the +swollen face now bent low over a book. The two men she left smoked in +such silence as is one of the privileges of friendship. At last Penhallow +said, "Of course, Mark, my wife is right, but I shall miss the girl. My +wife cannot ride with me, and now I am to lose Leila. After school come +young men. Confound it, rector, I wish the girl had less promise of +beauty--of--well, all the Greys have it--attractiveness for our sex. Some +of them are fools, but they have it all the same, and they keep it to the +end. What is most queer about it is that they are not easily won. The men +who trouble hearts for a game do not win these women." + +"Some one will suffer," said Rivers reflectively. He wondered if the +wooing of Ann Grey by this masterful man had been a long one. A moment he +gave to remembrance of his own long and tender care of the very young +wife he had won easily and seen fade with terrible slowness as her life +let fall its joys as it were leaf by leaf, with bitter sense of losing +the fair heritage of youth. Now he said, "Were all these women, Squire, +who had the gift of bewitchment, good?" + +"No, now and then hurtful, or honest gentlewomen, or like Ann Grey too +entirely good for this wicked world--" + +"As Westways knows," said Rivers, thinking how the serene beauty of a +life of noble ways had contributed spiritual charm to whatever Ann +Penhallow had of attractiveness. "But," he went on, "Leila cannot go +until the fall, and you will still have the boy. I had my doubts of your +method of education, but it has worked well. He has a good mind and is so +far ahead of his years in education that he will be ready for college too +early." + +"Well, I hate to think of these changes. He must learn to box." + +"Another physical virtue to be added," laughed Rivers. + +"Yes, he must learn to face these young country fellows." After a brief +pause he added, "I am looking forward to Buchanan's nomination and +election, Mark, with anxiety. Both North and South are losing temper." + +"Yes, but shall you vote for him? I presume you have always been a +Democrat, more or less--less of late." + +"I shall vote for Fremont if he is nominated; not wholly a wise choice. I +am tired of what seems like an endless effort North and South, to add +more exasperations. It will go on and on. Each section seems to want to +make the other angry." + +"It is not Mrs. Penhallow's opinion, I fear. The wrongdoing is all on our +side." + +Said the Squire gravely, "That is a matter, Mark, we never now +discuss--the one matter. Her brothers in Maryland, are at odds. One at +least is bitter, as I gather from their letters." + +"Well, after the election things will quiet down, as usual." + +"They will not, Mark. I know the South. Unhappily they think we live by +the creed of day-book and ledger. We as surely misunderstand them, and +God alone knows what the future holds for us." + +This was unusual talk for Penhallow. He thought much, but talked little, +and his wife's resolute attitude of opinions held from youth was the one +trouble of an unusually happy life. + +"We can only hope for the best," said Rivers. "Time is a great +peacemaker." + +"Or not," returned his host as Rivers rose. "Just a word, Mark, before +you go. I am desirous that you should not misunderstand me in regard to +my politics. I see that slavery is to be more and more in question. My +own creed is, 'let it alone, obey the laws, return the runaways,--oh! +whether you like it or not,--but no more slave territory.' And for me, my +friend, the States are one country and above all else, above slave +questions, is that of an unbroken union. I shall vote for Fremont. I +cannot go to party meetings and speak for him because, Mark, I am in +doubt about the man, and because--oh! you know." + +Yes, he knew more or less, but knowing did not quite approve. The Squire +of Grey Pine rarely spoke at length, but now he longed, as he gave some +further clue to his reticence, to make public a political creed which was +not yet so fortified by the logic of events as to be fully capable of +defence. + +"The humorous side of it," he said, "is that my very good wife has been +doing some pretty ardent electioneering while I am sitting still, because +to throw my weight into the local contest would oblige me to speak out +and declare my whole political religion of which I am not quite secure +enough to talk freely." + +The young rector looked at his older friend, who was uneasy between his +uncertain sense of duty and his desire not to go among people at the +mills and in the town and struggle with his wife for votes. + +"I may, Mark, I may do no more than let it be known how I shall vote. +That is all. It will be of use. I could wish to do more. I think that +here and at the mills the feeling is rather strong for Buchanan, but why +I cannot see." + +Mrs. Ann had been really active, and her constant kindness at the mills +and in the little town gave to her wishes a certain influential force +among these isolated groups of people who in their remoteness had not +been disturbed by the aggressive policy of the South. + +"Of course, Mark, my change of opinion will excite remark. Whoever wins, +I shall be uneasy about the future. Must you go? Good-night." + +He went to the hall door with the rector, and then back to his pipe, +dismissing the subject for the time. On his return, he found John in the +library looking at the sword hanging over the mantelpiece. "Well, Jack," +he said, "a penny for your thoughts." + +"Oh; I was thinking what the sword had seen." + +"I hope it will see no more, but it may--it may. Now I want to say a word +to you. You had a fight with Tom McGregor and got the worst of it." + +"I did." + +"I do not ask why. You seem to have shown some pluck." + +"I don't know, uncle. I was angry, and I just slapped his face. He +deserved it." + +"Very well, but never slap. I suppose that is the French schoolboy way of +fighting. Hit hard--get in the first blow." + +"Yes, sir. I hadn't a chance." + +"You must take my old cadet boxing-gloves from under the sword. I have +spoken to Sam, the groom. I saw him last year in a bout with the +butcher's boy. After he has knocked you about for a month, you will be +better able to take care of the Penhallow nose." + +"I shall like that." + +"You won't, but it will help to fill out your chest." Then he laughed, +"Did you ever get that cane?" + +"No, sir. Billy found it. Leila gave him twenty-five cents for it, and +now she won't give it to me." + +"Well, well, is that so? The ways of women are strange." + +"I don't see why she keeps it, uncle." + +"Nor I. Now go to bed, it is late. She is a bit of a tease, John. Mark +Rivers says she is now just one half of the riddle called woman." + +John understood well enough that he was some day expected by his uncle to +have it out with Tom. He got two other bits of advice on this matter. The +rector detained him after school, a few days later. "How goes the +swimming, John?" he asked. + +The Squire early in the summer had taken this matter in hand, and as Ann +Penhallow said, with the West Point methods of kill or cure. John replied +to the rector that he was now given leave to swim with the Westways boys. +The pool was an old river-channel, now closed above, and making a quiet +deep pool such as in England is called a "backwater" and in Canada +a "bogan." The only access was through the Penhallow grounds, but this +was never denied. + +"Does Tom McGregor swim there?" asked Rivers. + +"Yes, and the other boys. It is great fun now; it was not at first." + +"About Tom, John. I hope you have made friends with him." + +Said John, with something of his former grown-up manner, "It appears to +me that we never were friends. I regret, sir, that it seems to you +desirable." + +"But, John, it is. For two Christian lads like you to keep up a +quarrel--" + +"He's a heathen, sir. I told him yesterday that he ought to apologize to +Leila." + +"And what did he say?" + +"He said, he guessed I wanted another licking. That's the kind of +Christian he is." + +"I must speak to him." + +"Oh, please not to do that! He will think I am afraid." Here were the +Squire and Rivers on two sides of this question. + +"Are you afraid, John? You were once frank with me about it." + +"I do not think, Mr. Rivers, you ought to ask me that." He drew up his +figure as he spoke. + +The rector would have liked to have whistled--a rare habit with him when +alone and not in one of his moods of depression. He said, "I beg your +pardon, John," and felt that he had not only done no good, but had made a +mistake. + +John said, "I am greatly obliged, sir." When half-way home he went back +and met Rivers at his gate. + +"Well," said the rector, "left anything?" + +"No, sir," said the boy, his young figure stiffening, his head up. +"I wasn't honest, sir." And again with his old half-lost formal way, +"I--I--you might have thought--I wasn't--quite honourable. I mean--I'll +never be able to forgive that blackguard until I can--can get even with +him. You see, sir?" + +"Yes, I see," said Rivers, who did not see, or know for a moment what +to say. "Well, think it over, John. He is more a rough cub than a +blackguard. Think it over." + +"Yes, sir," and John walked away. + +The rector looked after the boy thinking--he's the Squire all over, with +more imagination, a gentleman to the core. But how wonderfully changed, +and in only eight months. + +John was now, this July, allowed to ride with Leila when his uncle was +otherwise occupied. He had been mounted on a safe old horse and was not +spared advice from Leila, who enjoyed a little the position of mistress +of equestrianism. She was slyly conscious of her comrade's mildly +resentful state of mind. + +"Don't pull on him so hard, John. The great thing is to get intimate with +a horse's mouth. He's pretty rough, but if you wouldn't keep so stiff, +you wouldn't feel it." + +John began to be a little impatient. "Let us talk of something else than +horses. I got a good dose of advice yesterday from Uncle Jim. I am afraid +that you will be sent to school in the fall. I hate schools. You'll have +no riding and snowballing, and I shall miss you. You see, I was never +friends with a girl before." + +"Uncle Jim would never let me go." + +"But Aunt Ann?" he queried. "I heard her tell Mr. Rivers that you must +go. She said that you were too old, or would be, for snowballing and +rough games and needed the society of young ladies." + +"Young ladies!" said Leila scornfully. "We had two from Baltimore year +before last. I happened to hit one of them in the eye with a snowball, +and she howled worse than Billy when he plays bear." + +"Oh, you'll like it after a while," he said, with anticipative wisdom, +"but I shall be left to play with Tom. I want you to miss me. It is too +horrid." + +"I shall miss you; indeed, I shall. I suppose I am only a girl, but I +won't forget what you did when that boy was rude. I used to think once +you were like a girl and just afraid. I never yet thanked you," and she +leaned over and laid a hand for a moment on his. "I believe you wouldn't +be afraid now to do what I dared you to do." + +He laughed. There had been many such dares. "Which dare was it, Leila?" + +"Oh, to go at night--at night to the Indian graves. I tried it once and +got half way--" + +"And was scalped all the way back, I suppose." + +"I was, John. Try it yourself." + +"I did, a month after I came." + +"Oh! and you never told me." + +"No, why should I?" + +It had not had for him the quality of bodily peril. It was somehow far +less alarming. He had started with fear, but was of no mind to confess. +They rode on in silence, until at last she said. "I hope you won't fight +that boy again." + +"Oh," he said, "I didn't mind it so very much." + +She was hinting that he would again be beaten. "But I minded, John. I +hated it." + +He would say no more. He had now had, as concerned Tom, three advisers. +He kept his own counsel, with the not unusual reticence of a boy. He did +not wish to be pitied on account of what he did not consider defeat, and +wanted no one to discuss it. He was better pleased when a week later the +English groom talked to him after the boxing-lesson. "That fellow, Tom, +told me about your slapping him. He said that he didn't want to lick you +if you hadn't hit him." + +"It's not a thing I want to talk about, Sam. I had to hit him and I +didn't know how; that's all. Put on the gloves again." + +"There, that'll do, sir. You're light on your pins, and he's sort of +slow. If you ever have to fight him, just remember that and keep cool and +keep moving." + +The young boxing-tutor was silently of opinion that John Penhallow would +not be satisfied until he had faced Tom again. John made believe, as we +say, that he had no such desire. He had, however, long been caressed and +flattered into the belief that he was important, and was, in his uncle's +army phrase, to be obeyed and respected accordingly by inferiors. His +whole life now for many months had, however, contributed experiences +contradictory to his tacitly accepted boy-views. Sometimes in youth the +mental development and conceptions of what seem desirable in life appear +to make abrupt advances without apparent bodily changes. More wholesomely +and more rarely at the plastic age characteristics strengthen and mind +and body both gather virile capacity. When John Penhallow met his cousin +on his first arrival, he was in enterprise, vigour, general good sense +and normal relation to life, really far younger than Leila. In knowledge, +mind and imagination, he was far in advance. In these months he had +passed her in the race of life. He felt it, but in many ways was also +dimly aware that Leila was less expressively free in word and action, +sometimes to his surprise liking to be alone at the age when rare moods +of mild melancholy trouble the time of rapid female florescence. There +was still between them acceptance of equality, with on his part a certain +growth of respectful consideration, on hers a gentle perception of his +gain in manliness and of deference to his experience of a world of which +she knew as yet nothing, but with some occasional resentment when the +dominating man in the boy came to the surface. When his aunt praised his +manners, Leila said, "He isn't always so very gentle." When his uncle +laughed at his awkward horsemanship, she defended him, reminding her +uncle, to his amusement, of her own early mishaps. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +John's intimacy with the Squire prospered. Leila had been a gay comrade, +but not as yet so interested as to tempt him to discussion of the +confusing politics of the day. "She has not as yet a seeking mind," said +the rector, who in the confessional of the evening pipe saw more and more +plainly that this was a divided house. The Squire could not talk politics +with Ann, his wife. She held a changeless belief in regard to slavery, a +conviction of its value to owner and owned too positive to be tempted +into discussing it with people who knew so little of it and did not +agree with her. James Penhallow, like thousands in that day of grim +self-questioning, had been forced to reconsider opinions long held, and +was reaching conclusions which he learned by degrees made argument with +the simplicity of his wife's political creed more and more undesirable. +Leila was too young to be interested. The rector was intensely +anti-slavery and saw but one side of the ominous questions which were +bewildering the largest minds. The increasing interest in his nephew was, +therefore, a source of real relief to the uncle. Meanwhile, the financial +difficulties of the period demanded constant thought of the affairs of +the mills and took him away at times to Philadelphia or Pittsburgh. Thus +the summer ran on to an end. Buchanan and Breckenridge had been nominated +and the Republicans had accepted Fremont and Dayton. + +Birthdays were always pleasantly remembered at Grey Pine, and on +September 20th, when John, aged sixteen, came down to breakfast, as he +took his seat Ann came behind him and said as she kissed him, "You are +sixteen to-day; here is my present." + +The boy flushed with pleasure as he received a pair of silver spurs. "Oh! +thank you, Aunt Ann," he cried as he rose. + +"And here is mine," said Leila, and laughing asked with both hands behind +her back, "Which hand, John?" + +"Oh! both--both." + +"No." + +"Then the one nearest the heart." Some quick reflection passed through +Ann Penhallow's mind of this being like an older man's humour. + +Leila gave him a riding-whip. He had a moment's return of the grown-up +courtesies he had been taught, and bowed as he thanked her, saying, "Now, +I suppose, I am your knight, Aunt Ann." + +"And mine," said Leila. + +"I do not divide with any one," said Mrs. Ann. "Where is your present, +James?" + +He had kept his secret. "Come and see," he cried. He led them to the +porch. "That is mine, John." A thorough-bred horse stood at the door, +saddled and bridled. Ann thought the gift extravagant, but held her +tongue. + +"Oh, Uncle Jim," said John. His heart was too full for the words he +wanted to say. "For me--for me." He knew what the gift meant. + +"You must name him," said Leila. "I rode him once, John. He has no name. +Uncle Jim said he should have no name until he had an owner. Now I know." + +John stood patting the horse's neck. "Wasn't his mother a Virginia mare, +James?" said Ann. + +"Yes." + +"Oh, then call him Dixy." + +For a moment the Squire was of a mind to object, but said gaily, "By all +means, Ann, call him Dixy if you like, and now breakfast, please." Here +they heard Dixy's pedigree at length. + +"Above all, Jack, remember that Dixy is of gentle birth; make friends +with him. He may misbehave; never, sir, lose your temper with him. Be +wary of use of whip or spur." + +There was more of it, until Mrs. Ann said, "Your coffee will be cold. It +is one of your uncle's horse-sermons." + +John laughed. How delightful it all was! "May I ride today with you, +uncle?" + +"Yes, I want to introduce you to--Dixy--yes--" + +"And may I ride with you?" asked Leila. + +"No, my dear," said the aunt, "I want you at home. There is the raspberry +jam and currant jelly and tomato figs." + +"Gracious, Leila, we shall not have a ride for a week." + +"Oh, not that bad, John," said Mrs. Ann, "only two days and--and Sunday. +After that you may have her, and I shall be glad to be rid of her. She +eats as much as she preserves." + +"Oh! Aunt Ann." + +A few days went by, and as it rained in the afternoon there was no +riding, but there was the swimming-pool, and for rain John now cared very +little. On his way he met a half dozen village lads. They swam, and +hatched (it was John's device) a bit of mischief involving Billy, who was +fond of watching their sports when he was tired of doing chores about the +stable. John heard of it later. The likelihood of unpleasant results from +their mischief was discussed as they walked homeward. There were in all +five boys from the village, with whom by this time John had formed +democratic intimacies and moderate likings which would have shocked his +mother. He had had no quarrels since long ago he had resented Tom +McGregor's rudeness to Leila and had suffered the humiliation of defeat +in his brief battle with the bigger boy. The easy victor, Tom, had half +forgotten or ignored it, as boys do. Now as they considered an unpleasant +situation, Joe Grace, the son of the Baptist preacher, broke the silence. +He announced what was the general conclusion, halting for emphasis as he +spoke. + +"I say, fellows, there will be an awful row." + +"That's so," said William, the butcher's son. + +"Anyhow," remarked Ashton, whose father was a foreman at the mills, "it +was great fun; didn't think Billy could run like that." + +It will be observed that the young gentleman of ten months ago had become +comfortably democratic in his associations and had shed much of his +too-fine manners as the herding instincts of the boy made the society of +comrades desirable when Leila's company was not attainable. + +"Oh!" he said, "Billy can run, but I had none of the fun." Then he asked +anxiously, "Did Billy get as far as the house?" + +"You bet," said Baynton, the son of the carpenter, "I saw him, heard him +shout to the Squire. Guess it's all over town by this time." + +"Anyhow it was you, John, set it up," said a timid little boy, the child +of the blacksmith. + +"That's so," said Grace, "guess you'll catch it hot." + +John considered the last spokesman with scorn as Tom, his former foe, +said, "Shut up, Joe Grace, you were quick enough to go into it--and me +too." + +"Thanks," said John, reluctantly acknowledging the confession of +partnership in the mischief, "I am glad one of you has a little--well, +honour." + +They went on their way in silence and left him alone. Nothing was said of +the matter at the dinner-table, where to John's relief Mr. Rivers was a +guest. John observed, however, that Mrs. Ann had less of her usual +gaiety, and he was not much surprised when his uncle leaving the table +said, "Come into the library, John." The Captain lighted his pipe and sat +down. + +"Now, sir," he said, "Billy is a poor witness. I desire to hear what +happened." + +The stiffened hardness of the speaker in a measure affected the boy. He +stood for a moment silent. The Captain, impatient, exclaimed, "Now, I +want the simple truth and nothing else." + +The boy felt himself flush. "I do not lie, sir. I always tell the truth." + +"Of course--of course," returned Penhallow. "This thing has annoyed me. +Sit down and tell me all about it." + +Rather more at his ease John said, "I went to swim with some of the +village boys, sir. We played tag in the water--" + +The Squire had at once a divergent interest, "Tag--tag--swimming? Who +invented that game? Good idea--how do you play it?" + +John a little relieved continued, "You see, uncle, you can dive to escape +or come up under a fellow to tag him. It's just splendid!" he concluded +with enthusiasm. + +Then the Captain remembered that this was a domestic court-martial, +and self-reminded said, "The tag has nothing to do with the matter in +question; go on." + +"We got tired and sat on the bank. Billy was wandering about. He never +can keep still. I proposed that I should hide in the bushes and the boys +should tell Billy I was drowned." + +"Indeed!" + +"We went into the water; I hid in the bushes and the boys called out I +was drowned. When Billy heard it, he gathered up all my clothes and my +shoes, and before I could get out he just yelled, 'John's drowned, I must +take his clothes home to his poor aunt.' Then he ran. The last I heard +was, 'He's drowned, he's drowned!'" + +"And then?" + +"Well, the other fellows put on something and went after him; they caught +him in the cornfield and took away my clothes. Then Billy ran to the +house. That is all I know." + +The Squire was suppressing his mirth. "Aren't you ashamed?" + +"No, sir, but I am sorry." + +"I don't like practical jokes. Billy kept on lamenting your fate. He +might have told Leila or your aunt. Luckily I received his news, and no +one else. You will go to Westways and say there is to be no swimming for +a week in my pool." + +"Yes, sir." + +"You are not to ride Dixy or any other horse for ten days." This was +terrible. "Now, be off with you, and tell Mr. Rivers to come in." + +"Yes, sir." + +When Rivers sat down, the Squire suppressing his laughter related the +story. "The boy's coming on, Mark. He's Penhallow all over." + +"But, Squire, by the boy's looks I infer you did not tell him that." + +"Oh, hardly. I hate practical jokes, and I have stopped his riding for +ten days." + +"I suppose you are right," and they fell to talking politics and of the +confusion of parties with three candidates in the field. + +Mrs. Ann who suspected what had been the result of this court-martial +was disposed towards pity, but John retired to a corner and a book and +slipped away to bed early. Penalties he had suffered at school, but this +was a terrible experience, and now he was to let the other boys know that +the swimming-pool was closed for a week. At breakfast he made believe to +be contented in mind, and asked in his best manner if his uncle had any +errands for him in Westways or at the mills. When the Captain said no and +remarked further that if he wished to walk, he would find the wood-roads +cooler than the highway John expressed himself grateful for his advice +with such a complete return of his formal manner as came near to +unmasking the inner amusement which the Squire was getting from the +evident annoyance he was giving Mrs. Ann, who thought that he was +needlessly irritating a boy who to her mind was hurt and sore. + +"Come, Leila," she said rising. "We may meet you in the village, John; +and do get your hair cut, and see Mr. Spooner and tell him--no, I will +write it." + +John was pleased to feel that he had other reasons for visiting Westways +than his uncle's order. He went down the avenue whistling, and in no +hurry. + +Leila had some dim comprehension of John's state of mind. Of Billy and of +the Squire's court-martial she had heard from Mrs. Ann, and although that +lady said little, the girl very well knew that her aunt thought her +husband had been too severe. She stood on the porch, vaguely troubled for +this comrade, and watched him as he passed from view, taking a short cut +through the trees. The girl checked something like a sob as she went +into the house. + +It was the opinion of the county that Mrs. Penhallow was a right good +woman and masterful; but of Leila the judgment of the village was that +she was just sweet through and through. The rector said she radiated the +good-nature of perfect health. What more there was time would show. +Westways knew well these two young people, and Leila was simply Leila to +nearly every one. "Quite time," reflected Mrs. Ann, "that she was Miss +Leila." As she went with her through the town there were pleasant +greetings, until at last they came to the butcher's. Mr. Pole, large +after the way of his craft, appeared in a white apron. "Well, now, how +you do grow, Leila." + +"Not enough yet," said Leila. + +"Fine day, Mrs. Penhallow." He was a little uneasy, divining her errand. + +"Now, Pole, before I make a permanent change to the butcher at the mills, +I wish to say that it is because a pound of beef weighs less at Grey Pine +than in your shop." + +At this time John was added to the hearers, being in search of William +Pole with the Squire's order about the swimming. He waited until his aunt +should be through. He was a little amused, which on the whole was, just +then, good for him. + +"Now ma'am, after all these years you won't drop me like that." + +"Short weights are reason enough." + +Leila listened, sorry for Pole, who reddened and replied, "Fact is, +ma'am, I don't always do the weighing myself, and the boys they are real +careless. What with Hannah's asthma keeping me awake and a lot of fools +loafing around and talking politics, I do wonder I ever get things right. +It's Fremont and it's Buchanan--a man can't tell what to do." + +Mrs. Penhallow was not usually to be turned aside, and meant now to deal +out even justice. But if the butcher knew it or not, she was offered what +she liked and at home could not have. "I hope, Pole, you are not going to +vote for Fremont." + +"Well, ma'am, it ain't easy to decide. I've always followed the Squire." +Ann Penhallow knew, alas! what this would mean. + +"I've been thinking I'll stand to vote for Buchanan. Was you wanting a +saddle of lamb to-day? I have one here, and a finer I never saw." + +"Well, Pole, keep your politics and your weights in order. Send me the +lamb." + +The butcher smiled as Mrs. Ann turned away. Whether the lady of Grey Pine +was conscious of having bought a vote or not, it was pretty clear to her +nephew that Peter Pole's weights would not be further questioned as long +as his politics were Democratic. + +When his aunt had gone, John called Bill Pole out of the shop and said, +"There's to be no swimming for a week, for any of us. Where are the other +fellows?" + +"Guessed we would catch it. They're playing ball back of the church. I'll +go along with you." + +He was pleased to see how the others would take their deprivation of a +swim in the September heat. They came on the other culprit's, who called +to John to come and play. He was not so minded, and was in haste to get +through with a disagreeable errand. As he hesitated, Pole eager to +distribute the unpleasant news cried out, "The Squire says that we can't +swim in the pool for a week--none of us. How do you fellows like that?" + +"It's mighty mean of him." + +"What's that?" said John. "He was right and you know it. I don't like it +any better than you do--but--" + +Bill Baynton, the youngest boy, broke in, "Who told the Squire what +fellows was in it?" + +"It wasn't Billy," said another lad; "he just kept on yelling you was +dead." + +"Look here," said Tom McGregor turning to John, "did you tell the Squire +we fellows set it up?" + +John was insulted. He knew well the playground code of honour, but +remembered in time his boxing-master's advice, the more mad you are the +cooler you keep yourself. He replied in his old formal way, "The question +is one you have no right to ask; it is an insult." + +To the boys the failure to say "no" meant evasion. "Then, of course, you +told," returned the older lad. "If I wasn't afraid you'd run home and +complain, I'd spank you." + +It had been impossible for John to be angry with his uncle, although the +punishment and the shame of carrying the news to the other boys he felt +to be a too severe penalty. But here was cause for letting loose +righteous anger. He had meant to wait, having been wisely counselled by +his boxing-master to be in no haste to challenge his enemy, until further +practice had made success possible; but now his rising wrath overcame his +prudence, "Well, try it," he said. "You beat me once. If you think I'll +tell if I am licked, I assure you, you are safe. I took the whole blame +about Billy and I was asked no names." + +Tom hesitated and said, "I never heard that." + +"I will accept an apology," said John in his most dignified way. The boys +laughed. John flushed a little, and as Tom remained silent added, "If you +won't, then lick me if you can." + +As he spoke, he slipped off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. The long +lessons in self-defence had given him some confidence and, what was as +useful, had developed chest and arms. + +"Hit him, Tom," said the small boy. In a moment the fight was on, the +non-combatants delighted. + +To Tom's surprise his wild blows somehow failed to get home. It was +characteristic of John then as in later days that he became cool as he +realized his danger, while Tom quite lost his head as the success of the +defence disappointed his attack. To hit hard, to rush in and throw his +enemy, was all he had of the tactics of offence. The younger lad, +untouched, light on his feet, was continually shifting his ground; then +at last he struck right and left. He had not weight enough to knock down +his foe, but as Tom staggered, John leaped aside and felt the joy of +battle as he got in a blow under the ear and Tom fell. + +"Get on him--hit him," cried the boys. "By George, if he ain't licked!" + +John stood still. Tom rose, and as he made a furious rush at the victor, +a loud voice called out, "Halloa! quit that." + +Both boys stood still as Mark Rivers climbed over the fence and stood +between them. John was not sorry for the interruption. He was well aware +that in the rough and tumble of a close he had not weight enough to +encounter what would have lost him the fight he had so far won. He stood +still panting, smiling, and happy. + +"Hadn't you boys better shake hands?" said the rector. Tom, furious, was +collecting blood from his nose on his handkerchief. Neither boy spoke. +"Well, John," said Rivers waiting. + +"I'll shake hands, sir, when Tom apologizes." + +The rector smiled. Apologies were hardly understood as endings to village +fights. "He won't do it," said John with a glance at the swollen face; +"another time I'll make him." + +"Will you!" exclaimed Tom. + +The rector felt that on the whole it might have been better had they +fought it out. Now the peacemaking business was clearly not blessed. "You +are a nice pair of young Christians," he said. "At all events, you shall +not fight any more to-day. Come, John." + +The boy put on his jacket and went away with Rivers, who asked presently +what was this about. "Mr. Rivers, soon after I came that fellow was rough +to Leila; I hit him, and he beat me like--like a dog." + +"And you let all these suns go down upon your wrath?" + +"There wasn't any wrath, sir. He wouldn't apologize to Leila; he wouldn't +do it." + +"Oh! indeed." + +"Then he said something to-day about Uncle Jim." + +"Anything else?" + +"Yes, he made it pretty clear that he thought me a liar." + +"Well, but you knew you were not." + +"Yes, sir, but he didn't appear to know." + +"Do you think you convinced him?" + +"No, sir, but I feel better." + +"Ah! is that so? Morally better, John?" and he laughed as he bade him +good-bye. + +The lad who left him was tired, but entirely satisfied with John +Penhallow. He went to the stable and had a technical talk with the +English groom, who deeply regretted not to have seen the fight. + +There being no riding or swimming to fill the time, he took a net, some +tackle and a bucket, and went down to the river and netted a +"hellbender." He put him in a bucket of water and carried him to the +stable, where he was visited by Leila and Rivers, and later departed this +life, much lamented. In the afternoon, being in a happy mood, John easily +persuaded Leila to abandon her ride, and walk with him. + +When they sat down beside the Indian graves, to his surprise she suddenly +shifted the talk and said, "John, who would you vote for? I asked Aunt +Ann, and she said, 'Buchanan, of course'; and when I asked Uncle Jim, he +said, 'Fremont'; but I want to understand. I saw in the paper that it was +wicked to keep slaves, but my cousins in Maryland have slaves; it can't +be wicked." + +"Would you like to be bought and sold?" he said. + +"But, I am not black, John." + +"I believe old Josiah was a slave." + +"Every one knows that. Why did he run away, John?" + +"Because he wanted to be free, I suppose, and not have to work without +pay." + +"And don't they pay slaves?" asked Leila. + +"No, they don't." John felt unable to make clear to her why the two +people they respected and loved never discussed what the village talked +about so freely. These intelligent children were in the toils of a +question which was disturbing the consciences and the interests of a +continent. The simpler side was clear to both of them. The idea of +selling the industrious old barber was as yet enough to settle their +politics. + +"Aunt Ann must have good reasons," said John. "Mr. Rivers says she is the +most just woman he ever knew." It puzzled him. "I suppose we are too +young to understand." + +"Aunt Ann will never talk about slaves. I asked her last week." + +"But Uncle Jim will talk, and he likes to be asked when we are alone. I +don't believe in slavery." + +"It seems so queer, John, to own a man." + +John grinned, "Or a girl, Leila." + +"Well, no one owns me, I tell you; they'd have a hard time." + +She shook what Rivers called her free-flowing cascade of hair in the +pride of conscious freedom. The talk ran on. At last she said, "I'll tell +you a queer thing. I heard Mr. Rivers say to uncle--I heard him say, we +were all slaves. He said that no one owns himself. I think that's silly," +said the young philosopher, "don't you, John?" + +"I don't know," returned John; "I think it's a big puzzle. Let's go." + +No word reached the Squire of the battle behind the church until four +days later, when Rivers came in after dinner and found Penhallow in his +library deep in thought. + +"Worried, Squire?" he asked. + +"Yes, affairs are in a bad way and will be until the election is over. It +always disturbs commerce. The town will go Democratic, I suppose." + +"Yes, as I told you, unless you take a hand and are in earnest and +outspoken." + +"I could be, but it has not yet the force of imperative duty, and it +would hurt Ann more than I feel willing to do. Talk of something else. +She would cease her mild canvass if she thought it annoyed me." + +"I see--sir. I think I ought to tell you that John has had another battle +with Tom McGregor." + +"Indeed?" The Squire sat up, all attention. "He does not show any marks +of it." + +"No, but Tom does." + +"Indeed! What happened?" + +"Well, I believe, Tom thought John told you what boys were in that joke +on Billy. I fancy something was said about you--something personal, which +John resented." + +"That is of no moment. What else? I ought to be clear about it." + +"Well, Squire, Tom was badly mauled and John was tired when I arrived as +peacemaker. I stopped the battle, but he was not at all disposed to talk +about it. I am sure of one thing--he has had a grudge against Tom--since +he was rude to Leila." + +The Squire rose and walked about the room. "H'm! very strange that--what +a mere child he was when he got licked--boys don't remember injuries that +way." Then seeming to become conscious of Rivers' presence, he stopped +beside him and added, "What with my education and Leila's, he has grown +amazingly. He was as timid as a foal." + +"He is not now, Squire, and John has been as useful mentally to Leila. +She is learning to think." + +"Sorry for it, Mark, women ought not to think. Now if my good Ann +wouldn't think, I should be the happier." + +"My dear Squire," said Rivers, setting an affectionate hand on his arm, +"my dear Mrs. Penhallow doesn't think, except about the every-day things +of life. Her politics and religion are sacred beliefs not to be rudely +jostled by the disturbance of thinking. If there is illness, debt or +trouble, at the mills or in Westways, she becomes seraphic and +intelligent enough." + +"Yes, Rivers, and if I put before her, as I sometimes do, a perplexing +business matter, I am surprised at her competence. Of course, she is as +able as you or I to reason, but on one subject she does not reason or +believe that it admits of discussion; and by Heaven! my friend, I am +sometimes ashamed to keep out of this business. So far as this State is +concerned, it is hopeless. You know, dear friend, what you have been to +us, and that to no other man on earth could I speak as I have done to +you; but Mark, if things get worse--and they will--what then? John +asked me what we should do if the Southern States did really secede. +Things seem to stick in his mind like burrs--he was at it again next +day." + +Rivers smiled. "Like me, I suppose." + +"Yes, Mark. He is persistent about everything--lessons, sports, oh! +everything; an uncomfortably curious lad, too. These Southern opinions +about reclaiming a man's slaves bother the boy. He reads my papers, and +how can I stop him? I don't want to. There! we are at it again." + +"Yes, there is no escape from these questions." + +"And he has even got Leila excited and she wants to know--I told her to +ask Ann Penhallow--I have not heard of the result. Well, you are going. +Good-night." + +The Squire sat still in the not very agreeable company of his thoughts. +Leila was to go to school this September, Buchanan's election in November +was sure, and John--He had come to love the lad, and perhaps he had been +too severe. Then he thought of the boy's fight and smiled. The rector and +he had disagreed. Was it better for boys to abuse one another or to +settle things by a fight? The rector had urged that his argument for the +ordeal of battle would apply with equal force to the duel of men. He had +said, "No, boys do not kill; and after all even the duel has its values." +Then the rector said he was past praying for and had better read the +Decalogue. + +When next day Mark Rivers was being shaved by the skilled hand of Josiah, +he heard the voice of his friend and fishing-companion, the Rev. Isaac +Grace, "What about the trout-brook this afternoon?" + +"Of course," said Mark, moveless under the razor. "Call for me at five." + +"Seen yesterday's _Press_?" + +"No. I can't talk, Grace." + +"This town's all for Buchanan and Breckenridge. How will the Squire +vote?" + +"Ask him. Take care, Josiah." + +"If the Squire isn't taking any active part, Mrs. Penhallow is. She is +taking a good deal of interest in the roof of my chapel and--and--other +things." + +The rector did not like it. "I can't talk, Grace." + +"But I can."--"Well," thought the rector, "for an intelligent man you are +slow at taking hints." The good-natured rotund preacher went on, amazing +his helpless friend, "I wonder if the Squire would like her canvassing--" + +"Ask him." + +"Guess not. She's a good woman, but not just after the fashion of St. +Paul's women." + +"She hasn't done no talking to me," said Josiah, chuckling. "There, sir, +I'm through." + +Then the released rector said, "If you talk politics again to me for the +next two months, Grace, I will never tie for you another trout-fly. Your +turn," and he left the chair to Grace, who sat down saying with the +persistency of the good-humoured and tactless, "If I want a roof to my +chapel, I've got to keep out of talking Republican polities, that's +clear--" + +"And several other things," returned Mark sharply. + +"Such as," said Grace, but the rector had gone and Josiah was lathering +the big red face. + +"Got to make believe sometimes, sir," said Josiah. "She's an uncommon +kind lady, and the pumpkins she gives me are fine. A fellow's got time to +think between this and November. Pumpkins and leaky roofs do make a man +kind of thoughtful." He grinned approval of his own wisdom. "Now don't +talk, sir. Might chance to cut you." + +This sly unmasking of motives, his own and those of others, was +disagreeable to the good little man who was eager to get his chapel +roofed and no more willing than Mrs. Penhallow to admit that how he would +vote had anything to do with the much needed repairs. His people were +poor and the leaks were becoming worse and worse. He kept his peace, and +the barber smiling plied the razor. + +Now the Squire paused at the open door, where he met his nephew. "Come to +get those scalp-locks trimmed, John? They are perilously long. If you +were to get into a fight and a fellow got hold of them, you would have a +bad time." Then as his uncle went away laughing, John knew that the +Squire must have heard of his battle from Mark Rivers. He did not like +it. Why he did not know or ask himself, being as yet too immature for +such self-analysis. + +Mr. Grace got up clean-shaven, adjusted a soiled paper-collar, and said, +"Good-morning, John. I am sorry to hear that a Christian lad like you +should be fighting. I am sure that neither Mr. Rivers nor your aunt would +approve of it. My son told me about it, and I think it my duty--" + +John broke in, "Then your son is a tell-tale, Mr. Grace, and allow me to +say that this is none of his business. When I am insulted, I resent it." +To be chaffed by his own uncle when under sentence of a court-martial had +not been agreeable, but this admonition was unendurable. He entered the +shop. + +"Well, I never," exclaimed the preacher, as John went by him. + +The barber was laughing. "Set down, Mr. John." + +"I suppose the whole of Westways knows it, Mr. Josiah?" + +"They do, sir. Wish I'd seen it." + +"Damn!" exclaimed John, swearing for the first time in his life. "Cut my +hair short, please, and don't talk." + +"No, sir. You ain't even got a scratch." + +"Oh, do shut up," said John. There was a long silence while the curly +locks fell. + +"You gave it to the Baptist man hot. I don't like him. He calls me Joe. +It isn't respectable. My name's Josiah." + +"Haven't you any other name?" said John, having recovered his +good-humour. + +"Yes, sir, but I keeps that to myself." + +"But why?" urged John. + +Josiah hesitated. "Well, Mr. John, I ran away, and--so it was best to get +a new name." + +"Indeed! Of course, every one knows you must have run away--but no one +cares." + +"Might say I was run away with--can't always hold a horse," he laughed +aloud in a leisurely way. "When he took me over the State-line, I didn't +go back." + +"I see," said John laughing, as he rose and paid the barber. The cracked +mirror satisfied him that he was well shorn. + +"You looks a heap older now you're shorn. Makes old fellows look +younger--ever notice that?" + +"No." + +Then Josiah, of a sudden wisely cautious, said, "You won't tell Mrs. +Penhallow, nor no one, about me, what I said?" + +"Of course not; but why my aunt, Mr. Josiah? She, like my uncle, must +know you ran away." + +When John first arrived the black barber's appearance so impressed the +lad that he spoke to him as Mr. Josiah, and seeing later how much this +pleased him continued in his quite courteous way to address him now and +then as Mr. Josiah. The barber liked it. He hesitated a moment before +answering. + +"You needn't talk about it if you don't want to," said John. + +"Guess whole truth's better than half truth--nothin' makes folk curious +like knowin' half. When I first came here, I guessed I'd best change my +name, so I said I was Josiah. Fact is, Mr. John, I didn't know Mrs. +Penhallow came from Maryland till I had been here quite a while and got +to like the folks and the Captain." + +John's experience was enlarging. He could hardly have realized the +strange comfort the black felt in his confession. What it all summed up +for Josiah in the way of possible peril of loss of liberty John presently +had made plain to him. He was increasingly urgent in his demand for +answers to the many questions life was bringing. The papers he read had +been sharp schoolmasters, and of slave life he knew nothing except from +his aunt's pleasant memories of plantation life when a girl on a great +Maryland manor. That she could betray to servitude the years of +grey-haired freedom seemed to John incredible of the angel of kindly +helpfulness. He stood still in thought, troubled by his boy-share of +puzzle over a too mighty problem. + +Josiah, a little uneasy, said, "What was you thinkin', Mr. John?" + +The young fellow replied smiling, "Do you think Aunt Ann would hurt +anybody? Do you think she would send word to some one--to take you back? +Anyhow she can't know who was your master." + +The old black nodded slowly, "Mr. John, she born mistress and I born +slave; she can't help it--and they was good people too--all the people +that owned me. They liked me too. I didn't have to work except holdin' +horses and trainin' colts--and housework. They was always kind to me." + +"But why did you run away?" + +"Well, Mr. John, it was sort of sudden. You see ever since I could +remember there was some one to say, Caesar you do this, or you go there. +One day when I was breakin' a colt, Mr. Woodburn says to me--I was +leanin' against a stump--how will that colt turn out? I said, I don't +know, but I did. It wasn't any good. My mind was took up watchin' a hawk +goin' here and there over head like he was enjoyin' hisself. Then--then +it come over me--that he'd got no boss but God. It got a grip on me +like--" The lad listened intently. + +"You wanted to be free like the hawk." + +"I don't quite know--never thought of it before--might have seen lots of +hawks. I ain't never told any one." + +"Are you glad to be free?" + +"Ah, kind of half glad, sir. I ain't altogether broke in to it. You see +I'm old for change." + +As he ended, James Penhallow reappeared. "Got through, John? You look +years older. Your aunt will miss those curly locks." He went into the +shop as John walked away, leaving Josiah who would have liked to add a +word more of caution and who nevertheless felt somehow a sense of relief +in having made a confession the motive force of which he would have found +it impossible to explain. + +John asked himself no such question as he wandered deep in boy-thought +along the broken line of the village houses. Josiah's confidence troubled +and yet flattered him. His imagination was captured by the suggested idea +of the wild freedom of the hawk. He resolved to be careful, and felt more +and more that he had been trusted with a secret involving danger. + +While John wandered away, the barber cut the Squire's hair, and to his +surprise Josiah did not as usual pour out his supply of village gossip. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +It was now four days since John's sentence had been pronounced, and not +to be allowed to swim in the heat of a hot September added to the +severity of the penalty. The heat as usual made tempers hot and +circumstances variously disturbed the household of Grey Pine. Politics +vexed and business troubled the master. Of the one he could not talk to +his wife--of the other he would not at present, hoping for better +business conditions, and feeling that politics and business were now +too nearly related to keep them apart. Ann, his wife, thought him +depressed--a rare mood for him. Perhaps it was the unusual moist heat. He +said, "Yes, yes, dear, one does feel it." She did not guess that the +obvious unhappiness of the lad who had won the soldier's heart was being +felt by Penhallow without his seeing how he could end it and yet not +lessen the value of a just verdict. + +Of all those concerned Leila was the one most troubled. On this hot +afternoon she saw John disappear into the forest. When Mrs. Ann came out +on the porch where she had for a minute left the girl, she saw her +sewing-bag on a chair and caught sight of the flowing hair and agile +young figure as she set a hand on the low stone wall of the garden and +was over and lost among the trees. "Leila, Leila," cried Mrs. Ann, "I +told you to finish--" It was useless. "Everything goes wrong to-day," +she murmured. "Well, school will civilize that young barbarian, and she +must have longer skirts." This was a sore subject and Leila had been +vainly rebellious. + +Meanwhile the flying girl overtook John, who had things to think about +and wished to be alone. "Well," he said, with some impatience, "what is +it?" + +"Oh, I just wanted a walk, and don't be cross, John." + +He looked at her, and perhaps for the first time had the male perception +of the beauty of the disordered hair, the pleading look of the blue eyes, +and the brilliant colour of the eager flushed face. It was the hair--the +wonderful hair. She threw it back as she stood. No one could long be +cross to Leila. Even her resolute aunt was sometimes defeated by her +unconquerable sweetness. + +"I am so sorry for you, John," she said. + +"Well, I am not, Leila, if you mean that Uncle Jim was hard on me." + +"Yes, he was, and I mean to tell him--I do." + +"Please not." She said nothing in the way of reply, but only, "Let us go +and see the spring." + +"Well, come along." + +They wandered far into the untouched forest. "Ah! here it is," she cried. +A spring of water ran out from among the anchoring roots of a huge black +spruce. He stood gazing down at it. + +"Oh, Leila, isn't it wonderful?" + +"Were you never here before, John?" + +"No, never. It seems as if it was born out of the tree. No wonder this +spruce grew so tall and strong. How cold it must keep the old fellow's +toes." + +"What queer ideas you have, John." She had not yet the gift of fancy, +long denied to some in the emergent years of approaching womanhood. "I am +tired, John," she said, as she dropped with hands clasped behind her head +and hidden in the glorious abundance of darkening red hair, which lay +around her on the brown pine-needles like the disordered aureole of some +careless-minded saint. + +John said, "It is this terrible heat. I never before heard you complain +of being tired." + +"Oh, it's just nice tired." She lay still, comfortable, with open eyes +staring up at the intense blue of the September sky seen through the +wide-east limbs of pine and spruce. The little rill, scarce a finger +thickness of water, crawled out lazily between the roots and trickled +away. The girl was in empty-minded enjoyment of the luxury of complete +relaxation of every muscle of her strong young body. The spring was +noiseless, no leaf was astir in all the forest around them. The girl lay +still, a part of the vast quietness. + +John Penhallow stood a moment, and then said, "Good gracious! Leila, your +eyes are blue." It was true. When big eyes are wide open staring up at +the comrade blue of the deep blue sky, they win a certain beauty of added +colour like little quiet lakelets under the azure sky when no wind +disturbs their power of reflecting capture. + +"Oh, John, and didn't you know my eyes were blue?" She spoke with languid +interest in the fact he announced. + +"But," he said, looking down at her as he stood, "they're so--so +very blue." + +"Oh, all the Greys have blue eyes." + +He laughed gentle laughter and dropped on the pine-needles of the forest +floor. The spring lay between them. He felt, as she did not, the charm of +the stillness. He wanted to find words in which to put his desire for +expression. She broke into his mood of imaginative seekings. + +"How cold it is," she said, gathering the water in the cup of her hand, +and then with both hands did better and got a refreshing drink. + +"That makes a better cup," he said. "Let us follow the water to the +river." + +"It never gets there. It runs into Lonesome Man's swamp, and that's the +end of him." + +"Who, Lonesome Man or the spring? And who was Lonesome Man?" + +"Nobody knows. What does it matter?" + +He watched her toy with the new-born rill, a mere thread of water, build +a Lilliputian dam, and muddle the clear outflow as it broke, and then +build again. He had the thought that she had suddenly become younger, +more like a child, and he himself older. + +"Why don't you talk, John?" she said. + +"I can't. I am wondering about that Lonesome Man and what the trees are +thinking. Don't you feel how still it is? It's disrespectful to gabble +before your betters." He felt it and said it without affectation, but as +usual his mood of wandering thought failed to interest Leila. + +"I hate it when it's quiet! I like to hear the wind howl in the pines--" + +He expressed his annoyance. "You never want to talk anything but horses +and swimming. Wait till you come back next spring with long skirts--such +a nice well-behaved Miss Grey." He was, in familiar phrase, out of sorts, +with a bit of will to annoy a disappointing companion. His mild effort +had no success. + +"Oh, John, it's awful! You ought to be sorry for me. The more you grow up +the more your skirts grow down. Bother their manners! Who cares! Let's go +home. It feels just as if it was Sunday." + +"It is, in the woods. Well, come along." He walked on in the silence, she +thinking of that alarming prospect of school, and he of the escaped +slave's secret and, what struck the boy most--the hawk. Never before had +he been told anything which was to be sacredly guarded from others. It +gave him now a pleasant feeling of having been trusted. Suppose Leila had +been told such a thing, how would she feel, and Aunt Ann? He was like a +man who has too large a deposit in a doubtful bank. He was vaguely uneasy +lest he might tell or in some way betray his sense of possessing a +person's confidence. + +As they came near the house, Leila said, "Catch me, I'll run you home." + +"Tag," he cried. + +As they came to the side porch, Ann Penhallow said, "Finish that +handkerchief--now, at once. It is time you were taught other than tom-boy +ways." + +John went by into the house. After dinner the Squire had his usual game +of whist, always to the dissatisfaction of Leila, whose thoughts wandered +like birds on the wing, from twig to twig. John usually played far +better, but just now worse than his cousin, and forgot or revoked, to his +uncle's disgust. A man of rather settled habits, now as usual Penhallow +went to his library for the company of the pipe, which Ann disliked, and +the _Tribune_, which she regarded as the organ of Satanic politics. +Seeing both John and her aunt absorbed in their books, Leila passed +quickly back of them, opened the library door, and said softly, "May I +come in, Uncle Jim?" + +During the last few days he had missed, and he well knew why, John's +visits and intelligent questions. Leila was welcome. "Why, of course, +pussy cat. Come in. Shut the door; your aunt dislikes the pipe smoke. Sit +down." For some reason she desired to stand. "Don't stand," he said, "sit +down on my knee." She obeyed. "There," he said, "that's comfy. How heavy +you are. Good gracious, child! what am I to do without you?" + +"Isn't it awful, Uncle Jim." + +"It is--it is. What do you want, my dear? Anything wrong with the +horses?" + +"No, sir. It's--John--" + +"Oh! it's John. Well, what is it?" + +"It isn't John--it's John and the horses--I mean John and Dixy. Patrick +rides Dixy for exercise every day." + +"Well, what's the matter? First it's John, then Dixy, then John and Dixy, +and then John and Dixy and Pat." + +The girl saw through the amusement he had in teasing her and said with +gravity, "I wish you would be serious, Uncle Jim. I want five minutes of +uninterrupted attention." + +The Squire exploded, "Good gracious! that is Ann Grey all over. You must +have heard her say it." + +"I did, and you listen, too. Sometimes you don't, Uncle Jim. I guess you +weren't well broke when you were young." + +"Great Scott! you minx! Some day a girl I know will have to stand at +attention. Go ahead." + +"Pat's ruining Dixy's mouth. You ought to see him sawing at the curb. You +always rode him on the snaffle." + +"That boy Pat needs a good licking, Leila." + +"But Dixy don't. The fact is, Uncle Jim, you're neglecting the stables +for politics." + +"Is that your own wisdom, Miss Grey? What with the weight of wisdom and +years, you're getting heavy. Try a chair." + +"No, I'm quite comfy. It was Josiah who told me. He often comes up to +look over the colts, of a Sunday--" + +"Nice work for Sunday, Miss Grey." + +She made no direct reply. "He told me that horse ought to be ridden +by--by John or you, and no one else. He says the way to ruin a horse is +to have a lot of people ride him like Pat--they're just spoiling Dixy--" + +"What! in four days? Nonsense." + +"But," said the counsel in the case, "it's to be ten. It isn't about +John, it's Dixy's mouth, uncle." + +"Oh, you darling little liar!" Here she kissed him and was silent. "It +won't do," he said. "There's no logic in a kiss, Miss Grey. First comes +Ann Grey and says, too much army discipline; and then you tell me what +that gossiping old darkey says, and then you try the final argument--a +kiss. Can't do it. There will be an end of all discipline. I hate +practical jokes. There!" + +If he thought to finish the matter thus, he much undervalued the +ingenuity and persistency of the young Portia who was now conducting the +case. + +"Suppose you take a chair, Miss Grey. It is rather warm to provide +permanent human seats for stout young women--" + +"I'm not stout," said Leila with emphasis, accepting the hint by dropping +with coiled legs upon a cushion at his feet. "I'm not stout. I weigh one +hundred and thirty and a half pounds. And oh! isn't it hot. I haven't had +a swim for--oh, at least five days counting Sunday." The pool was kept +free until noon for Leila and her aunt. + +"Why didn't you swim?" he asked lightly, being too intellectually busy +clearing his pipe to see where the leading counsel was conducting him. + +"Why, Uncle Jim, I wouldn't swim if John wasn't allowed too; I just +couldn't. I'm going to bed--but, please, don't let Pat ride Dixy." + +"I can attend to my stables, Miss Grey. John won't die of heat for want +of a swim. You don't seem to concern yourself with those equally +overbaked young scamps in Westways." + +"Uncle Jim, you're just real mean to-night. Josiah told me yesterday that +my cousin beat Tom McGregor because he said it was mean of you to stop +the swimming. John said it was just, and Tom said he was a liar, and--oh, +my! John licked him--wish I'd seen it." + +This was news quite to his liking. He made no reply, lost in wonder over +the ways of the mind male and female. + +"You ought to be ashamed, you a girl, to want to see a fight. It's time +you went to school. Isn't the rector on the porch? I thought I heard +him." + +Now, of late Leila had got to that stage of the game of +thought-interchange when the young proudly use newly acquired +word-counters. "I think, Uncle Jim, you're--you're irreverent." + +The Squire shut the door on all outward show of mirth, and said gravely, +"Isn't it pronounced irrelevant, my dear Miss Malaprop?" + +"Yes--yes," said Leila. "That's a word John uses. It's just short for +'flying the track'!" + +"Any other stable slang, Leila?" + +He was by habit averse to changing his decisions, and outside of Ann +Penhallow's range of authority the Squire's discipline was undisputed and +his decrees obeyed. He had been pleased and gaily amused for this half +hour, but was of a mind to leave unchanged the penalties he had +inflicted. + +"Are you through, with this nonsense, Leila?" he said as he rose. "Is +this an ingenious little game set up between you and John?" To his utter +amazement she began to cry. + +"By George!" he said, "don't cry," which is what a kind man always says +when presented with the riddle of tears. + +She drew a brown fist across her wet cheeks and said indignantly, "My +cousin is a gentleman." + +She turned to go by him. "No, dear, wait a moment." He held her arm. + +"Please, let me go. When John first came, you said he was a prig--and +if he would just do some boy-mischief and kick up his heels like a +two-year-old with some fun in him--you said he was a sort of +girl-boy--" There were for punctuation sobs and silences. + +"And where did you get all this about a prig?" he broke in, amazed. + +"Oh, I heard you tell Aunt Ann. And now," said Portia, "the first time he +does a real nice jolly piece of mischief you come down on him like--like +a thousand of bricks." Her slang was reserved for the Squire, as he well +knew. + +The blue eyes shining with tears looked up from under the glorious +disorder of the mass of hair. It was too much for the man. + +"How darned logical you are!" He acknowledged some consciousness of +having been inconsistent. He had said one thing and done another. "You +are worse than your aunt." Then Leila knew that Ann Penhallow had talked +to the Squire. "Well," he said, "what's your opinion, Miss Grey?" + +"I think you're distanced." + +"What--what! Wait a little. You may tell that young man to ride when he +pleases and to swim, and to tell those scamps it's too hot to deprive +them of the use of the pool. There, now get out!" + +"But--Uncle Jim--I--can't. Oh, I really can't. You've got to do it +yourself." This he much disliked to do. + +"I hear your aunt calling. Mr. Rivers is going." + +She kissed him. "Now, don't wait, Uncle Jim, and don't scold John. He's +been no use for these four days. Goodnight," and she left him. + +"Well, well," he said, "I suppose I've got to do it." + +He found Ann alone. + +"About John! I can't stand up against you two. He is to be let off about +the riding and swimming. I think you may find it pleasant to tell him, my +dear." + +She said gravely, "It will come with more propriety from you; but I do +think you are right." Then he knew that he had to do it himself. + +"Very well, dear," he said. "How that girl is developing. It is time she +had other company than John, but Lord! how I shall miss her--" + +"And I, James." + +He went out for the walk he generally took before bed-time. She lingered, +putting things in order on her work-table, wondering what Leila could +have said to thus influence a man the village described as "set in his +ways." She was curious to know, but not of a mind to question Leila. +Before going to bed, she went to her own sitting-room on the left of the +hall. It was sacred to domestic and church business. It held a few books +and was secured by long custom from men's tobacco smoke. She sat down and +wrote to her cousin, George Grey. + +"DEAR GEORGE: If politics do not keep you, we shall look for you this +month. There are colts to criticize and talk over, Leila is eager to see +her unknown cousin before she goes to school near Baltimore this +September. + +"I believe this town will go for Buchanan, but I am not sure. James and +I, as you know, never talk politics. I am distressed to believe as I do +that he will vote for Fremont; that 'the great, the appalling issue,' as +Mr. Buchanan says, 'is union or disunion' does not seem to affect him. I +read Forney's paper, and James reads that wild abolition _Tribune_. It is +very dreadful, and I am without any one I can talk to. My much loved +rector is an extreme antislavery man. + +"Yours always, +ANN PENHALLOW. + +"I am not at all sure of you. Be certain to let us know when to expect +you. You know you are--well, I leave your social conscience to say what. + +"Yours sincerely, +ANN PENHALLOW." + +At breakfast Ann Penhallow sat down to the coffee-urn distributing +cheerful good-mornings. The Squire murmured absently over his napkin, +"May the Lord make us thankful for this and all the blessings of life." +He occasionally varied his grace, and sometimes to Ann's amazement. Why +should he ask to be made thankful, she reflected. These occasional slips +and variations on the simple phrase of gratitude she had come to +recognize as signs of preoccupation, and now glanced at her husband, +anxious always when he was concerned. Then, as he turned to John, she +understood that between his trained belief in the usefulness of +inexorable discipline and an almost womanly tenderness of affection the +heart had somehow won. She knew him well and at times read with ease the +signs of distress and annoyance or resolute decision. Usually he was gay +and merry at breakfast, chaffing the children and eating with the +appetite of a man who was using and renewing his tissues in a wholesome +way. Now he was silent, absent, and ate little. He was the victim of a +combination of annoyances. Had he been wise to commit himself to a +reversal of his sentence? Other and more important matters troubled him, +but as usual where bothers come in battalions it is the lesser +skirmishers who are felt for the moment. + +"I see in the hall, Ann," he said, "a letter for George Grey--I will mail +it. When does he come?" + +"I do not know." + +"John," he said, "you will oblige me by riding to the mill and asking Dr. +McGregor to come to Westways and see old Josiah. Of course, he will +charge it to me." The Squire was a little ashamed of this indirect +confession of retreat. + +John looked up, hesitated a moment, and said, "What horse, sir?" + +"Dixy, of course." + +"Another cup, James," said Mrs. Ann tranquilly amused. + +John rose, went around the table to his uncle, and said in his finest +manner, "I am greatly obliged, sir." + +"Oh, nonsense! He's rather fresh, take care." + +Then Leila said, "It's very hot, Uncle Jim." + +"You small fiend," said Penhallow. "Hot! On your way, John, tell those +rascals at Westways they may use the pond." The faint smile on Ann +Penhallow's face somehow set the whole business in an agreeably humorous +light. The Squire broke into the relief of laughter and rose saying, "Get +out of this, all of you, if you want to keep your scalps." + +John went to the stable not quite pleased. He had felt that his +punishment for a boy-frolic and the unexpected results of Billy's alarm +had been pretty large. His aunt had not said so to him, but had made it +clear to her husband that the penalty was quite disproportioned to the +size of the offence; a remark which had made him the more resolute not to +disturb the course of justice; and now this chit of a girl had made him +seem like an irresolute fool, and he would have to explain to Rivers, who +would laugh. As he went out of the hall-door, he felt a pretty rough +little paw in his hand and heard a whisper. "You're just the dearest +thing ever was." + +Concerning John Penhallow, it is to be said that he did not understand +why he was let off so easily. He had a suspicion that Leila was +somehow concerned, and also the feeling that he would rather have +suffered to the end. However, it would be rather good fun to announce +this swimming-permit to the boys. + +Seeing from his shop door John riding down the avenue, Josiah came +limping across the road. He leaned on the gate facing the boy and looking +over the horse and rider with the pleasure of one who, as the Squire +liked to say, knew when horse-flesh and man-flesh were suitably matched. + +"Girth's a bit slack, Master John. Always look it over, sir, before you +mount." + +"Thanks, Josiah. Open the gate, please. How lame you are. I am to send +the doctor to look after you and Peter Lamb." + +The big black man opened the gate and adjusted the girth. "That's right +now. I've got the worst rheumatics I ever did have. Peter Lamb's sick +too. That's apple-whisky. The Squire's mighty patient with that man, +because his mother nursed the Squire when he was a baby. They're near of +an age, but you wouldn't think it to look at Peter and the Captain; +whisky does hurry up Old Time a lot." And so John got the town gossip. +"I ain't no faith in doctorin' rheumatics; wouldn't have him now if I +hadn't lost my old buck-eye. My rabbit-foot's turned grey this week. +That's a sign of trouble." + +John laughed and rode from the gate on which Leila had invited him to +indulge in the luxury of swinging. It seemed years ago since she had sung +to his astonishment the lyric of the gate. She appeared to him now not +much older. And how completely he felt at home. He rode along the old +pike through Westways, nodding to Mrs. Lamb, the mother of the scamp whom +the Squire was every now and then saving from the consequences of the +combination of a revengeful nature and bad whisky. Then Billy hailed John +with malicious simplicity. + +"Halloa!--John--can't swim--can't swim--ho, ho!" + +The butcher's small boy was loading meat on a cart. John stayed to say a +word to him, pleased to have the chance, as the boy grinned at Billy's +mocking malice. "Halloa! Pole," he called. "My uncle says we fellows may +swim. Tell the other fellows." + +"Gosh! but that's good--John. I'll tell 'em." + +John rode on and fell to thinking of Leila, with some humiliating +suspicion in regard to her share in the Squire's change of mind; or was +it Aunt Ann's influence? And why did he himself not altogether like it? +Why should his aunt and Leila interfere? He wished they had let the +matter alone. What had a girl to do with it? He was again conscious that +he felt of a sudden older than Leila, and did not fully realize that in +the race of life he had gone swiftly past her during these few months, +and that in the next year she in turn would sweep past him in the +developmental changes of life. Now she seemed to him more timid, more +childlike than usual; but long thinkings are not of the psychic habits of +normal youth, and Dixy recovered his attention. + +He satisfied the well-bred horse, who of late had been losing his temper +in the society of a rough groom, ignorant of the necessity for good +manners with horses. Neither strange noises nor machines disturbed Dixy +as John rode through the busy iron-mills to the door of a small brick +house, so well known that no sign announced it as the home of the only +medical man available at the mills or in Westways. John tied Dixy to the +hitching-post, gnawed by the doctor's horse during long hours of waiting +on an unpunctual man. + +The doors were open, and as John entered he was aware of an odour of +drugs and saw Dr. McGregor sound asleep in an armchair, a red silk +handkerchief over his bald head, and a swarm of disappointed flies +hovering above him. In the back room the clink and rattle of a pestle and +mortar ceased as Tom appeared. + +John, in high good-humour, said, "Good afternoon, Tom. My uncle has let +up on the swimming. He asked me to let you fellows know." + +"It's about time," said Tom crossly. "After all it was your fault and we +had to pay for it." + +"Now, Tom, you made me pretty angry when you talked to me the other day, +and if you want to get me into another row, I won't object; but I was not +asked for any names, and I did not put the blame on any one. Can't you +believe a fellow?" + +"No, I can't. If that parson hadn't come, I'd have licked you." + +"Perhaps," said John. + +"Isn't any perhaps about it. You look out, that's all." + +John laughed. He was just now what the Squire described as horse-happy +and indisposed to quarrel. "Suppose you wake up the old gentleman. He +_can_ snore." + +Tom shook the doctor's shoulder, "Wake up, Dad. Here's John Penhallow." + +The Doctor sat up and pulled off his handkerchief. The flies fell upon +his bald pate. "Darn the flies," he said. "What is it, John?" + +"My uncle wants you to come to Westways to-morrow and doctor old Josiah's +rheumatism." + +"I'll come." + +"He wants you to look after Peter Lamb. He's been drinking again." + +"What! that whisky-rotted scamp. It's pure waste of time. How the same +milk came to feed the Squire and that beast the Lord knows. He has no +more morals than a tom-cat. I'll come, but it's waste of good doctoring." +Here he turned his rising temper on Tom. "You and my boy have been having +a fight. You licked him and saved me the trouble. I heard from Mr. +Rivers what Tom said." + +"It was no one's business but Tom's and mine," returned John much amused +to know that the peaceful rector must have watched the fight and +overheard what caused it. Tom scowled, and the peacemaking old doctor got +up, adding, "Be more gentle with Tom next time." + +Tom knew better than to reply and went back to pill-making furious and +humiliated. + +"Good-bye, John," said the Doctor. "I'll see the Squire after I have +doctored that whisky sponge." Then John rode home on Dixy. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +Before the period of which I write, the county and town had unfailingly +voted the Democratic ticket. But for half a decade the unrest of the +cities reflected in the journals had been disturbing the minds of country +communities in the Middle States. In the rural districts of Pennsylvania +there had been very little actively hostile sentiment about slavery, but +the never ending disputes over Kansas had at last begun to weaken party +ties, and more and more to direct opinion on to the originating cause of +trouble. + +The small voting population of Westways had begun to suspect of late that +James Penhallow's unwillingness to discuss politics meant some change in +his fidelity to the party of which Buchanan was the candidate. What Mrs. +Ann felt she had rather freely allowed to be known. The little groups +which were apt to gather about the grocer's barrels at evening discussed +the grave question of the day with an interest no previous presidential +canvass had caused, and this side eddy of quiet village life was now +agreeably disturbed by the great currents of national politics. Westways +began to take itself seriously, as little towns will at times, and to ask +how this man or that would vote at the coming election in November. The +old farmers who from his youth still called the Squire "James" were +Democrats. Swallow, the only lawyer the town possessed, was silent, which +was felt as remarkable in a man who usually talked much more than +occasion demanded and wore a habit-mask of good-fellowship, which had +served to deceive many a blunt old farmer, but not James Penhallow. + +At Grey Pine there was a sense of tension. Penhallow was a man slow in +thinking out conclusions, but in times demanding action swiftly decisive. +He had at last settled in his mind that he must leave his party and +follow a leader he had known in the army and never entirely trusted. +Whether he should take an active share in the politics of the county +troubled him, as he had told Rivers. He must, of course, tell his wife +how he had resolved to vote. To speak here and there at meetings, to +throw himself into the contest, was quite another matter. His wife would +feel deeply grieved. Between the two influential feelings the resolution +of forces, as he put it to himself with a sad smile, decided him to hold +his tongue so far as the outer world was concerned, to vote for the +principles unfortunately represented by Fremont, but to have one frank +talk with Ann Penhallow. There was no need to do this as yet, and he +smiled again at the thought that Mrs. Ann was, as he pretty well knew, +playing the game of politics at Westways. He might stop her. He could ask +her to hold her hand, but to let her continue on her way and to openly +make war against her, that he could not do. It did not matter much as the +State in any case would go for Buchanan. He hesitated, and had better +have been plain with her. She knew that he had been long in doubt, but +did not as yet suspect how complete was his desertion of opinions she +held to as she did to her religious creed. He found relief in his +decision, and too in freedom of talk with Rivers, who looked upon slavery +as simply wicked and had no charity for the section so little responsible +for an inherited curse they were now driven by opponent criticism to +consider a blessing for all concerned. + +John too was asking questions and beginning now and then to wonder more +and more that what Westways discussed should never be mentioned at Grey +Pine. He rode Dixy early in the mornings with Leila at his side, fished +or swam in the afternoons, and so the days ran on. On September 30th, Ann +was to take Leila to the school in Maryland. Three days before this +terrible exile was to begin, as they turned in at the gate of the +stable-yard, Leila said, "I have only three days. I want to go and see +the Indian graves and the spring, and all the dear places I feel as if I +shall never see again." + +"What nonsense, Leila. What do you mean?" + +"Oh, Aunt Ann says I will be so changed in a year, I won't know myself." + +"You mean, you won't see things then as they are seen now." + +"Yes, that's what I wanted to say, but you always know how to find the +right words." + +"Perhaps," he said. "Things never look just the same tomorrow, but they +may look--well, nicer--or--I can't always find the right word. Suppose we +walk to the graves after lunch and have a good talk." It was so agreed. + +They were never quite free from the chance of being sent on errands, and +as Aunt Ann showed signs they well knew, they slipped away quietly and +were gone before the ever-busy lady had ready a basket of contributions +to the comfort of a sick woman in the village. They crossed the garden +and were lost to view in the woods before Leila spoke. "We just did it. +Billy will have to go." They laughed merrily at their escape. + +"Just think, John, how long it is since you came. It seems years. Oh, you +_were_ a queer boy! I just hated you." + +"I do suppose, Leila, I must have looked odd with that funny cap and the +cane--" + +"And the way you looked when I told you about swinging on the gate. I +hadn't done that for--oh, two years. What did you think of me?" + +"I thought you were very rude, and then--oh, Leila! when you came up out +of the drift--" He hesitated. + +"Oh, go on; I don't mind--not now." + +"I thought you beautiful with all that splendid hair on the snow." + +"Oh, John! How silly!" Whether or not she was unusually good to look at +had hardly ever before occurred to her. She flushed slightly, pleased and +wondering, with a new seed of gentle vanity planted in her simple nature, +a child on the threshold of the womanly inheritance of maidenhood. + +Then he said gravely, "It is wonderful to me how we have changed. I shall +miss you. To think you are the only girl I ever played with, and now when +you come back at Christmas--" + +"I am not to come back then, John. I am to stay with my uncles in +Baltimore and not come home until next June." + +"You will be a young lady in long skirts and your hair tucked up. It's +dreadful." + +"Can't be helped, John. You will look after Lucy, and write to me." + +"And you will write to me, Leila?" + +"If I may. Aunt says they are very strict. But I shall write to Aunt Ann, +of course." + +"That won't be the same." + +"No." + +They walked on in silence for a little while, the girl gazing idly at +the tall trees, the lad feeling strangely aware, freshly aware, as +they moved, of the great blue eyes and of the sun-shafts falling on +the abundant hair she swept back from time to time with a careless +hand. Presently she stood still, and sat down without a word on the +moss-cushioned trunk of a great spruce, fallen perhaps a century ago. +She was passing through momentary moods of depression or of pleasure as +she thought of change and travel, or nourishing little jealous desires +that her serious-minded cousin should miss her. + +The cousin turned back. "You might have invited me to sit down, Miss +Grey." He laughed, and then as he fell on the brown pine-needles at her +feet and looked up, he saw that her usual quick response to his challenge +of mirth was wanting. + +"What are you thinking about?" he asked. + +"Oh, about Aunt Ann and Uncle Jim, and--and--Lucy, and who will ride +her--" + +"You can trust Uncle Jim about Lucy." + +"I suppose so," said the girl rather dolefully and too near to the tears +she had been sternly taught to suppress. + +"Isn't it queer," he said, "how people think about the same things? I was +just going to speak of Aunt Ann and Uncle Jim. Uncle Jim often talks to +me and to Mr. Rivers about the election, but if I say a word or ask a +question at table, Aunt Ann says, 'we don't talk politics.'" + +"But once, John, I heard Mr. Rivers say that slavery was a curse and +wicked. Uncle Jim, he said Aunt Ann's people held slaves, and he didn't +want to talk about it. I couldn't hear the rest. I told you once about +this." + +"How you hear things, Leila. Prince Fine Ear was a trifle to you." + +"Who was Prince Fine Ear?" she asked. + +"Oh, he was the fairy prince who could hear the grass grow and the roses +talk. It's a pretty French fairy tale." + +"What a gabble there must be in the garden, John." + +"It doesn't need Prince Fine Ear to hear. Don't these big pines talk to +you sometimes, and the wind in the pines--the winds--?" + +"No, they don't, but Lucy does." + +Something like a feeling of disappointment faintly disturbed the play of +his fancies. "Let us go to the graves." + +"Yes, all right, come." + +They got no further than the cabin and again sat down near by, Leila +carelessly gathering the early golden-rod in her lap as they sat leaning +against the cabin logs. + +"This is our last walk," she said, arranging the golden plumes. "There is +a white golden-rod; find me another, John." + +He went away to the back of the cabin and returning threw in her lap a +half dozen. "Old Josiah says the blacks in the South think it is good +luck to find the first white golden-rod. Then, he says, you must have a +luck-wish. What shall it be? Come--quick now." + +"Oh, I--don't know. Yes, I wish to have Lucy at that terrible +boarding-school." + +John laughed. "Oh, Leila, is that the best you can do?" + +"Yes, wish a wish for me, if mine doesn't suit." + +Then he said, "I wish the school had small-pox and you had to stay at +Grey Pine." + +"I didn't think you'd care as much as that. Aren't these flowers +beautiful? Wish me a real wish." + +"Then, I wish that when we grow up you would marry me." + +"Well, John, you are a silly." She took on an air of authoritative +reprimand. "Why, John, you are only a boy, but you ought to know better +than to talk such nonsense." + +"And you," he said, "are just a little girl." + +"Oh, I'm not so very little," returned Miss Grey. + +"When I'm older, I shall ask you again; and if you say no, I'll ask +again--and--until--" + +"What nonsense, John. Let's go home." + +He rose flushed and troubled, and said, "Are you vexed, Leila?" + +"No, of course not; but it was foolish of you." + +He made no reply, in fact hardly heard her. He was for the moment older +in some ways than his years. What had strangely moved him disturbed Leila +not at all. She talked on lightly, laughing at times, and was answered +briefly; for although he had no desire to speak, the unfailing courteous +ways of his foreign education forced him to disregard his desire to say. +"Oh, do let me alone; you don't understand." He hardly understood himself +or the impulsive stir of emotion--a signal of coming manhood. Annoyed by +his unwillingness to talk, she too fell to silence, and they walked +homeward. + +During the time left to them there was much to do in the way of visits to +the older village people and some of the farmer families who had been +here on the soil nearly as long as the Penhallows. There were no other +neighbours near enough for country intercourse, and the life at Grey Pine +offered few attractions to friends or relatives from the cities unless +they liked to tramp with the Squire in search of game. The life was, +therefore, lonely and would for some women have been unendurable; but as +the Baptist preacher said to Rivers, "Duties are enough to satisfy Mrs. +Penhallow, and I do guess she enjoys her own goodness like the angels +must do." + +Mark Rivers answered, "That is pretty nearly true, but I wish she would +not invent duties which don't belong to women." + +"About the election, you mean?" + +"Yes. It troubles me, and I am sure it troubles the Squire. What about +yourself, Grace?" and a singularly sad smile went with the query and a +side glance at his friend's face. He had been uneasy about him since +Grace had bent a little in the House of Rimmon. + +"Oh, Rivers, the roof has got to leak. I have kept away from Mrs. +Penhallow. I can't accept her help and then preach against her party, +and--I mean to do it. I've wrestled with this little sin and--I don't say +I wasn't tempted--I was. Now I am clear. We Baptists can stand what water +leaks down on us from Heaven." + +"You mean to preach politics, Grace?" + +"Yes, that's what I mean to do. Oh! here comes Mrs. Penhallow." + +They had met in front of Josiah's shop. As Mrs. Penhallow approached, Mr. +Grace discovering a suddenly remembered engagement hurried away, and +Rivers went with her along the rough sidewalk of Westways. + +"I go away to-morrow with Leila," she said, "and Mr. Penhallow goes to +Pittsburgh. We shall leave John to you for at least a week. He will give +you no trouble. He has quite lost his foreign boyish ways, and don't you +think he is like my husband?" + +"He is in some ways very like the Squire." + +"Yes, in some things--I so rarely leave home that this journey to +Baltimore with Leila seems to me like foreign travel." + +"Does Leila like it?" + +"No, but it is time she was thrown among girls. She is less than she was +a mere wild boy. It is strange, Mark, that ever since John came she has +been less of a hoyden--and more of a simple girl." + +"It is," he said, "a fine young nature in a strong body. She has the +promise of beauty--whatever that may be worth." + +"Worth! It is worth a great deal," said Mrs. Ann. "It helps. The moral +value of beauty! Ah, Mark Rivers, I should like to discuss that with you. +She is at the ugly duck age. Now I must go home. I want you to look after +some things while I am away, and Mr. Penhallow is troubled about his pet +scamp, Lamb." + +She went on with her details of what he was to do, until he said +laughing, "Please to put it on paper." + +"I will. Not to leave John quite alone, I have arranged for you to dine +with him, and I suppose he will go to you in the mornings for his lessons +as usual." + +"Oh, yes, of course. I enjoy these fellows, but the able ones are John +and Tom McGregor. Tom is in the rough as yet, but he will come out all +right. I shall lose him in a year. He is over seventeen and is to study +medicine. But what about Lamb?" + +"I am wicked enough to wish he were really ill. It is only the usual +drunken bout, but he is a sort of Frankenstein to the Squire because of +that absurd foster-brother feeling. He is still in bed, I presume." + +"As you ask it," said Rivers, "I will see him, but if he belongs to any +flock, he is a black sheep of Grace's fold. Anything else, Mrs. +Penhallow?" he asked smiling--"but don't trust my memory." + +"If I think of anything more, I shall make a note of it and, of course, +you will see us at the station--the ten o'clock train--and give me a list +of the books you wanted. I may find them in Philadelphia." + +"Thank you." + +"Oh," she said, turning back, "I forgot. My cousin, George Grey, is +coming, but he is so uncertain that he may come as he advises me in ten +days, or as is quite possible to-morrow, or not at all." + +"Very good. If he comes, we will try to make Grey Pine agreeable." + +"That is really all, Mark, I think," and the little lady went away, with +a pleasant word for the long familiar people as she went by. + +In the afternoon Leila saw the Squire ride to the mills with John, and +went herself to the stable for a last mournful interview with Lucy. It +was as well that her aunt with unconscious good sense kept her busy until +dinner-time. The girl was near to accepting the relieving bribe of +unrestrained tears, being sad and at the age of those internal conflicts +which at the time of incomplete formation of character are apt to trouble +the more sensitive sex. A good hard gallop would have cured her +anticipative homesickness, for it must be a very black care indeed that +keeps its seat behind the rider. + +The next morning the rector and John were at the station of Westways +Crossroads when the Grey Pine carriage drove up. Mrs. Ann and Leila were +a half hour too early, as was Mrs. Penhallow's habit. Billy was on the +cart with the baggage, grinning as usual and full of self-importance. + +"Well, Billy," said Leila, talking to every one to conceal her +child-grief at this parting with the joyous activities of her energetic +young life. "Well, Billy, it's good-bye for a year." + +"Won't have no more fun, Miss Leila--and nobody to snowball Billy, this +winter." + +"No, not this winter." + +"Found another ground-hog yesterday. I'll let her alone till you come +back." + +John laughed. "Miss Leila will have long skirts and--hoops, Billy. +There will be no more coasting and no more snowballing or digging up +ground-hogs." + +"Hoops--what for?" said Billy. John laughed. + +"Please don't, John," she said, "it's too dreadful. Oh! I hear the +whistle." + +"Mark," said Mrs. Ann, "if George Grey comes--James, did you leave the +wine-closet key?" + +"Yes, my dear." + +He turned to Leila, and kissing her said, "A year is soon over. Be a good +girl, my child. It is about as bad for me as for you. God bless you. +There, get on, Ann. Yes, the trunks are all right. Good-bye." + +He stood a moment with John looking after the vanishing train. Then, he +said, "No need to stay here with me, Mark," and the rector understanding +him left him waiting for the westbound train and walked home across the +fields with John Penhallow. + +John was long silent, but at last said, "It will be pretty lonesome +without Leila." + +"Nice word, lonesome, John. Old English, I believe--has had its +adventures like some other words. Lonely doesn't express as well the idea +of being alone and sorrowful. We must do our best for your uncle and +aunt. Your turn to leave us will come, and then Leila will be lonesome." + +"I don't think she will care as much." + +Rivers glanced at the strong young face. "Why do you say that?" + +"I don't know, Mr. Rivers. I--she is more of a child than I am." + +"That hardly answers my question. But I must leave you. I am going +to see that scamp misnamed Lamb. See you at dinner. Don't cultivate +lonesomeness, John. No one is ever really alone." + +Leaving his pupil to consider what John thought rather too much of an +enigma, the young clergyman took to the dusty highway which led to +Westways. John watched the tall figure awkwardly climbing a snake fence, +and keeping in mind for explanation the clergyman's last remark he went +away through the woods. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +Penhallow had gravely told John that in his absence he must look after +the stables and the farm, so that now he had for the first time in his +life responsibilities. The horses and the stables were to be looked over +every day. Of course, too, he must ride to the Squire's farm, which was +two miles away, and which was considered a model of all that a farm +should be. The crop yield to the acre was most satisfactory, but when +some one of the old Quaker farmers, whose apple-orchards the Squire had +plundered when young, walked over it and asked, "Well, James, how much +did thee clear this last year?" the owner would honestly confess that +Mrs. Ann's kitchen-garden paid better; but then she gave away what the +house did not use. + +Very many years before slavery had become by tacit consent avoided as a +subject for discussion, Mrs. Ann critical of what his farm cost, being +herself country-bred, had said that if it were worked with Maryland +blacks it would pay and pay well. + +"You mean, dear, that if I owned the labour, it would pay." + +"Yes," she returned gaily, "and with me for your farmeress." + +"You are, you are!" he laughed, "and you have cultivated me. I am well +broken to your satisfaction, I trust; but to me, Ann, the unpaid labour +of the slave seems impossible." + +"Oh, James, it is not only possible, but right for us who know what for +all concerned is best." + +"Well, well," he laughed, "the vegetable garden seems to be run at a +profit without them--ah! Ann, how about that?" + +The talk was, as they both knew, more serious than it would have seemed +to any one who might have chanced to be present. The tact born of perfect +love has the certainty of instinct, and to be sensitive even to +tenderness in regard to the prejudices or the fixed opinions of another +does much to insure happiness both in friendship and in love. Here with +these two people was a radical difference of belief concerning what was +to be more and more a hard subject as the differences of sentiment North +and South became sharply defined. Westways and the mills understood her, +and what were her political beliefs, but not the laughingly guarded +silence of the much loved and usually outspoken Squire, who now and then +relieved his mind by talking political history to John or Rivers. + +The stables and farm were seriously inspected and opinions expressed +concerning colts and horses to the amusement of the grooms. He presided +in Penhallow's place at table with some sense of newly acquired +importance, and on the fourth day of his uncle's absence, at Mark +Rivers's request, asked Mr. Grace to join them. The good Baptist was +the more pleased to come in the absence of Mrs. Penhallow, who liking +neither his creed nor his manners, respected the goodness of a life of +self-denial, which, as his friend Rivers knew, really left him with +hardly enough to keep his preaching soul alive. + +"Grace is late, as usual," said Rivers to John. "He has, I believe, no +acquaintance with minutes and no more conception of time than the angels. +Ah! I see him. His table-manners really distress your aunt; but manners +are--well, we will leave that to another time. Good evening, Grace." + +"Glad to see you, sir," said John. + +On a word from Rivers, the guest offered thanks, which somewhat amazed +John by its elaborate repetitions. + +The stout little preacher, carefully tucking his napkin between his paper +shirt-collar and his neck, addressed himself to material illustration of +his thankfulness, while the rector observed with a pitiful interest the +obvious animal satisfaction of the man. John with more amusement saw the +silver fork used for a time and at last abandoned for use of the knife. +Unconsciously happier for an unusually good dinner, Grace accepted a +tumbler of the Penhallow cider, remarking, "I never take spirits, Rivers, +but I suppose cider to be a quite innocent beverage." + +Rivers smiled. "It will do you no harm." + +"It occurs to me, Rivers," said Grace, "that although wine is mentioned +in the Bible, cider is not. There is no warning against its use." + +It also occurred to Rivers that there was none against applejack. "Quite +right," he said. "You make me think of that scamp, Lamb. McGregor tells +me that he is very ill." + +"A pity he wouldn't die," remarked the young host, who had indiscreetly +taken two full tumblers of old hard cider before Rivers had noticed his +unaccustomed use of this rather potent drink. + +"You should not desire the death of any man, John," said Grace, "least of +all the death of a sinner like Lamb." + +"Really," said John with the dignity of just a trifle too much cider, "my +phrase did not admit of your construction." + +"No," laughed Rivers, seeing it well to intervene, "and yet to say it is +a pity may be a kindly wish and leaves it open to charitable +interpretation." + +"He is quite unprepared to die," insisted Grace, with the clerical +intonation which Rivers disliked. + +"How do you know that?" asked Rivers. + +"I know," said John confidently. "He told me he was a born thief and +loved to lie. He was pretty drunk at the time." + +"That is too nearly true to be pleasant," remarked Rivers, "'_in vino +veritas_.' The man is a very strange nature. I think he never forgives a +benefit. I sometimes think he has no sense of the difference between +right and wrong--an unmoral nature, beyond your preaching or mine, Grace, +even if he ever gave us a chance." + +"I think he is a cruel beast," said John. "I saw him once--" + +Rivers interrupted him saying, as he rose, "Suppose we smoke." + +With unconscious imitation of the courteous Squire he represented, John +said, "We will smoke in the library if you have had enough wine." + +Rivers said, "Certainly, Squire," not altogether amused as John, a little +embarrassed, said quickly, "I should have said cider." + +"Of course, we have had no wine, quite a natural mistake," remarked +Grace, which the representative squire felt to be a very disagreeable +comment. + +"You will find cigars and pipes on the table," said the rector, "and I +will join you in a moment." So saying he detained John by a hand on his +arm and led him aside as they crossed the hall. + +"You are feeling that old hard cider, my boy. You had better go to bed. I +should have warned you." + +"Yes, sir--I--did not--I mean--I--" + +"_C'est une diablesse_--a little devil. There are others, and worse ones, +John. Good-night." + +On the stairs the young fellow felt a deepening sense of humiliation +and surprise as he became aware of the value of the banister-rail. + +Rivers went into the library blaming his want of care, and a little sorry +for the lad's evident distress. "What, not smoking, Grace?" + +"No, I have given it up." + +"But, why?" + +"Well, I can't smoke cheap strong tobacco, and I can't afford better +stuff." + +"Then, be at ease, my friend. The Squire has sent me a large supply. I am +to divide with you," which was as near to a fib as the young clergyman +ever got in his blameless life. + +"I shall thank him," returned Grace simply, "and return to my pipe, but I +do sometimes think it is too weak an indulgence of a slavish habit." + +"Hardly worth while to thank Penhallow; he will have forgotten all about +it." + +"But I shall not." + +They smoked and talked politics, and the village and their work, until at +last, after one of the pipe-filling pauses, Grace said, "I ought not to +have taken that cider, but it singularly refreshed me. You did not +partake." + +"No, it disagrees with me." + +"I feel it, Brother Rivers. I feel it slightly, and--I--a man who +preaches temperance, total abstinence--" + +"My dear Grace, that is not temperance. There may be intemperance in +the way a man puts his opinions before others--a man may hurt his own +cause--" + +Grace returned quickly, "You were in our church Wednesday night--I saw +you. You think I was intemperate?" + +"Frankly, yes. You were abusive. You are too well self-governed to +understand the working-man's temptations. You preached from the heart as +you felt, without the charity of the head." + +"Perhaps--perhaps," he returned humbly; and then with a quite gentle +retort, "Don't you sometimes preach too much from the head, Brother +Rivers?" + +"Yes, that may be the case. I am conscious sometimes that I lack your +power of direct appeal--your personal application of the truth. I ought +to preach the first half of the sermon--the appeal to the reason, the +head part--and ask you to conclude with the heart share--the personal +application of my cold logic." + +"Let us try it," said Grace rising and much amused; "cold, Rivers! your +cold logic! There is nothing cold in all your nature. Let us go home; we +have had a good talk." + +As they walked down the avenue Grace said, "What are you doing about +Lamb? Is it really wise to talk to him?" + +"Just now," said the rector, "he has acquired a temporary conscience in +the shape of a congested stomach. I talked to him a little. He is +penitent, or says he is, and as his mother is sometimes absent, I have +set Billy to care for him; some one must. I have found that to keep Billy +on a job you must give him a daily allowance of chewing tobacco; that +answers." + +"Bad company, Brother Rivers." + +"Oh, there is no guile in Billy." + +They parted at the Grey Pine gate. Rivers had innocently prepared remote +mischief, which by no possible human foresight could he have anticipated. +When, walking in the quiet of a lonely wood, a man sets his foot on a +dead branch, the far end stirs another, and the motion so transmitted +agitates a half dozen feet away the leaves of a group of ferns. The man +stops and suspects some little woodland citizen as the cause of the +unexplained movement; thus it is in the affairs of life. We do some +innocent thing and are puzzled to explain how it brings about remote +mischief. + +Meanwhile an unendurable craving for drink beset the man Lamb, who was +the prey of slowly lessening delusions. Guardian Billy chewed his daily +supply of tobacco and sat at the window in the hot second-storey room +feeding Lamb with brief phrases concerning what he saw on the street. + +"Oh! there go Squire's horses for exercise; Joe's on Lucy." + +"Damn Lucy! Do you go to mother's room--" + +"What for?" + +"Oh, she keeps her money in it, and Mrs. Penhallow paid her in advance +the day she left." + +"Can't do it," said Billy, who had strict orders not to leave Lamb alone. + +"Oh, just look in the top drawer. She keeps a bit of money rolled up in +one of her stockings. That will get me a little whisky and you lots of +tobacco." + +"Can't do it," said Billy. "Want me to steal? Won't do it." + +"Then I'll get even with you some day." + +Billy laughed. "Why I could lick you--like Mr. John licked the doctor's +son. Gosh! there goes Pole's wagon." + +Lamb fell to thought of how to get that whisky. The ingenuity of the man +who craves alcohol or morphia is sometimes surprising even to the most +experienced doctor. The immorality of the means of attainment is never +considered. If, as with Lamb, a lie or worse be needed, there is a +certain satisfaction in having outwitted nurse and doctor. + +On the day after the two clergymen had heard John's final opinion of +Lamb, the bed-fast man received his daily visit from his spiritual +physician, and the clergyman met at the house door the doctor of the +body. "I suppose," said McGregor, "that you and I as concerns this +infernal rascal are under orders from Penhallow and his wife. I at least +have the satisfaction of being paid--" + +"Oh, I am paid, Doctor," the clergyman smiled. + +"Of course, any one and every one who serves that very efficient and +positive saint, Mrs. Penhallow, is paid. She's too terrifyingly good. It +must be--well, inconvenient at times. Now she wants this animal looked +after because of Mrs. Lamb; and the squire has some sort of absurd belief +that because the same breasts that nursed him nursed our patient, he must +befriend the fellow--and he does. Truth is, Rivers, that man's father was +a sodden drunkard but, I am told, not otherwise bad. It's a pretty sure +doom for the child. This man's body has damned his soul, and now the soul +is paying it back in kind." + +"The damnation will be settled elsewhere," said Rivers gravely. "You are +pleading for him when you say he had a father who drank." + +"Well, yes, yes. That is true, but I do confoundedly mistrust him. He +never remembers a kindness and never forgets the smallest injury. But +when Mrs. Penhallow puts a hand on your arm and you look at her, you just +go and do what she wants done. Oh, me too! Let's get out of this +unreasonable sun and see this fellow." + +Billy was chasing blue-bottle flies on the window panes, and the patient +in bed was lying still, flushed, with red eyes. He was slowly recovering +from an attack of delirium tremens and reassembling his scattered wits. + +"Well," said McGregor, "better, I see. Bugs gone?" + +"Yes, sir; but if I had a little, just a nip of whisky to taper off on, +I'd be all right." + +"Not a drop, Peter." + +"I'll die if I don't get it." + +"Then die sober." + +Peter made no reply. McGregor felt his pulse, made his usual careful +examination, and said at last, "Now keep quiet, and in a few days you'll +be well." + +"For God's sake, give me whisky--a little. I'm so weak I can't stand up." + +"No," said McGregor, "it will pass. Now I must go. A word with you, Mr. +Rivers." When outside of the room he said, "We must trust Billy, I +suppose?" + +"Yes, there is no one else." + +"That man is giving his whole mind to thinking how he can get whisky. He +will lie, cheat, steal, do anything to get it." + +"How can he? Neither Billy nor his old mother will help him. He will get +well, Doctor, I suppose?" + +"Yes, I told him he would. More's the pity. He is a permanent nuisance, +up to any wickedness, a hopelessly ruined wild beast." + +"Perhaps," said Rivers; "perhaps. Who can be sure of that?" He despaired +of no one. + +The sadly experienced doctor shook his head. "He will live to do much +mischief. The good die young; you may be sure the wicked do not. In some +ways the man's case has its droll side. Queer case! in some ways +interesting." + +"How is it interesting?" said Rivers. + +"Oh, what he saw--his delusions when he was at his worst." + +"What did he see?" + +"Oh, bugs--snakes--the common symptoms, and at last the 'Wilmot Proviso.' +Imagine it. He knew no more of that than of the physiology of the man in +the moon. He described it as a 'plucked chicken.'" + +"I suppose that was a wild contribution from the endless political talk +of the town." + +"Well, a 'plucked chicken' was not so bad. He saw also 'Bleeding Kansas.' +A 'stuck pig' that was; and more--more, but I must go." + +Rivers went back to the room. "Here is your tobacco, Billy, and wait +downstairs; don't go away." + +The big man turned over in bed as the clergyman entered. "Mr. Rivers. I'm +bad. I might have died. Won't you pray for me?" + +Rivers hesitated, and then fell on his knees at the bedside, his face in +his hands. Peter lay still smiling, grimly attentive. As Rivers rose to +his feet, Lamb said, "Couldn't I have just a little whisky? Doctors don't +always know. I've been in this scrape before, and just a little liquor +does help and it don't do any harm. I can't think, I'm so harried inside. +I can't even pray, and I want to pray. Now, you will, sir, won't you?" + +This mingling of low cunning, of childlike appeal and of hypocrisy, +obviously suggested anything but the Christian charity of reply; what +should he say? Putting aside angry comment, he fell back upon his one +constant resource, What would Christ have said to this sinful man? He +stood so long silent by the bed, which creaked as Lamb sat up, that the +man's agony of morbid thirst caught from his silence a little hope, and +he said, "Now you will, I know." + +Rivers made no direct answer. Was it hopeless? He tried to read the +face--the too thin straight nose, white between dusky red cheeks, the +projecting lower lip, and the lip above it long, the eyes small, red, and +eagerly attentive. This was not the time for reason. He said, "I should +be your worst enemy, Peter. Every one has been good to you; over and over +the Squire has saved you from jail. Mrs. Penhallow asked me to help you. +Try to bear what your sin has brought on you, oh! do try. Pray God for +help to bear it patiently." + +"I'm in hell. What's the use of praying in hell? Get me whisky and I'll +pray." + +Rivers felt himself to be at the end of his resources, and that the +enfeebled mind was incapable of response to any appeal to head or heart. +"I will come again," he said. "Good-bye." + +"Oh, damn everybody," muttered Peter. + +Rivers went out and sent Billy up to take charge. Lamb was still sitting +up in bed when Billy returned. The simple fellow poured out in brief +sentences small bits of what he had seen at the street door. + +"Oh, shut up," said Peter. "The doctor says I'll feel better if I'm +shaved--ain't been shaved these three weeks. Doctor wants you to go and +get Josiah to come and fix me up to-night. You tell him it's the doctor's +orders. Don't you be gone long. I'm kind of lonely." + +"All right," said Billy, in the cheerful way which made him a favourite +despite his disinclination for steady work. + +"Now, don't be gone long. I need a good shave, Billy." + +"Guess you do--way you look you wouldn't fetch five cents at one of them +rummage-sales. Ain't had but one in four years." + +"Oh, get out, Billy." Once rid of his guard he tried in vain to stand up +and fell back cursing. + +The order from the doctor was to be obeyed. "Guess he's too shaky to +shave himself," said Josiah. "I'll come about half-past eight." + +As Josiah walked to the far end of the village, he thought in his simple +way of his last three years. After much wandering and fear of being +traced, he had been used at the stables by Penhallow. That he had been a +slave was suspected, but that troubled no one in Westways. He had long +felt at ease and safe. He lived alone, a man of some forty years, cooked +for himself, and had in the county bank a small amount of carefully saved +earnings. He had his likes and dislikes, but he had the prudently guarded +tongue of servitude. Long before John Penhallow had understood better the +tall black man's position and won the confidence of a friendly hour, he +saw with his well-bred courtesy how pleased was the man to be called Mr. +Josiah. It sounded queer, as Pole remarked, to call a runaway darkey +Mister, but this in no way disturbed John. The friendly feeling for the +black grew as they fished together in the summer afternoons, or trapped +muskrats, or dug up hellbenders. The barber had one half-concealed +dislike. The man he was now to shave he both feared and hated. "Couldn't +tell you why, Master John. It's like the way Crocker's wife's 'feared of +cats. They ain't never hurt her none." + +"Well," he said, "here I am," and in unusual silence set about his work +by dim candlelight. The patient was as silent. When Josiah had finished, +he said no word of his fee, knowing it to be a hopeless debt. + +"Guess you do look the better for a shave," he remarked, as he was about +to leave. "I'll send up Billy." The uneasy guardian had seized on the +chance to get a little relief. + +"No, don't go," said Lamb. "I'm in a hell of thirst. I want you to get me +some whisky. I'll pay you when I get work." + +Josiah was prudent and had no will to oblige the drunkard nor any belief +in future repayment. "Couldn't do that--doctor wouldn't like it." + +"What, you won't do it?" + +"No, I can't do it." + +"If you don't, I'll tell what I know about you." + +"What do you know?" The long lost terror returned--but what could he +know? + +"Oh, you ran away--I know all about it. You help me now and I'll keep +quiet--you'd better." + +A fierce desire rose in the mind of Josiah to kill the rascal, and then, +by long habit prudent, he said, "I'll have to think about it." But what +could this man know? + +"Best to think damn quick, or you'll have your old master down on you. I +give you till to-morrow morning early. Do you hear? It's just a nip of +whisky I want." + +"Yes, I hear--got to think about it." He went out into the night, a soul +in fear. No one knew his former master's name. Then his very good +intelligence resumed control. No one really knew--only John--and he very +little. He put it aside, confident in the young fellow's discretion. Of +course, the town suspected that he was a fugitive slave, but nobody cared +or seemed to care. And yet, at times in his altogether prosperous happy +years of freedom, when he read of the fugitive-slave act, and he read +much, he had disturbing hours. He stood still a moment and crossed the +road. The Episcopal church, which he punctually attended, was on +Penhallow's land, and near by was the rectory where Mark lived with an +old woman cook and some help from Mrs. Lamb. The night was warm, the +windows were open, and the clergyman was seen writing. Josiah at the +window spoke. + +"Excuse me, sir, could I talk to you? I am in a heap of trouble." + +"In trouble, Josiah? Come in, the front door is open." + +As he entered the rector's study, Rivers said, "Sit down." + +Something in the look of the man made him think of hunted animals. "No +one else is in the house. What is it?" The black poured out his story. + +"So then," said Rivers, "he lied to you about the doctor and threatened +you with a lie. Why, Josiah, if he had known who was your master, he +would have told you, and whether or not you ran away from slavery is none +of his business. Mr. Penhallow believes you did, others suspect it, but +no one cares. You are liked and you have the respect of the town. There +would be trouble if any man tried to claim you." + +"I'd like to tell you all about it, sir." + +"No--no--on no account. Tell no one. Now go home. I will settle with that +drunken liar." + +"Thank you. May God bless--and thank you." + +The clergyman sat in thought a while, and the more he considered the +matter which he had made light of to the scared black, the less he liked +it. He dismissed it for a time as a lie told to secure whisky, but the +fear Josiah showed was something pitiful in this strong black giant. He +knew Lamb well enough to feel sure that Josiah would now have in him an +enemy who was sure in some way to get what he called "even" with the +barber, and was a man known and spoken of in Westways as "real spiteful." + +When next day Rivers entered the room where Lamb lay abed, he saw at once +that he was better. He meant to make plain to a revengeful man that +Josiah had friends and that the attempt to blackmail him would be +dangerous. Lamb was sitting up in bed apparently relieved, and was +reading a newspaper. The moment he spoke Rivers knew that he was a far +more intelligent person than the man of yesterday. + +Lamb said, "Billy, set a chair for Mr. Rivers. The heat's awful for +October." Billy obeyed and stepped out glad to escape. + +Rivers said, "No, I won't sit down. I have something to say to you, and I +advise you to listen. You lied to Billy about the doctor yesterday, and +you tried to frighten Josiah into getting you whisky--you lied to him." + +Josiah had not returned, and now it was plain that he had told the +clergyman of the threat. Lamb was quick to understand the situation, and +the cleverness of his defence interested and for a moment half deceived +the rector. + +"Who says I lied? Maybe I did. I don't remember. It's just like a +dream--I don't feel nowise accountable. If--I--abused Josiah, I'm sorry. +He did shave me. Let me think--what was it scared Josiah?" He had the +slight frown of a man pursuing a lost memory. + +"It is hardly worth while, Peter, to go into the matter if you don't +recall what you said." He realized that the defence was perfect. Its too +ready arguments added to his disbelief in its truth. + +Lamb was now enjoying the game. "Was Josiah really here, sir? But, of +course, he was, for he shaved me. I do remember that. Won't you sit down, +sir?" + +"No, I must go. I am pleased to find you so much better." + +"Thank you, sir. I don't want whisky now. I'll be fit for work in a week +or so. I wonder what I did say to Josiah?" + +This was a little too much for Rivers's patience. "Whatever you said had +better never be said again or you will find yourself in very serious +trouble with Mr. Penhallow." + +"Why, Mr. Rivers, I know I drink, and then I'm not responsible, but how +could I say to that poor old darkey what I don't mind I said yesterday?" + +"Well, you may chance to remember," said Rivers; "at least I have done my +duty in warning you." + +"I'd like, sir," returned Lamb, leaning forward with his head bent and +uplift of lids over watchful eyes--"Oh, I want you to know how much I +thank you, sir, for all your kind--" + +"You may credit the Squire for that. Good-bye," and he went out. + +Neither man had been in the least deceived, but the honours of the game +were with the big man in the bed, which creaked under his weight as he +fell back grinning in pleased self-approval. "Damn that black cuss," he +muttered, "and the preacher too. I'll make them sorry." + +At the outer doorstep Mark Rivers stood still and wiped the sweat from +his forehead. There must be minutes in the life of the most spiritually +minded clergyman when to bow a little in the Rimmon House of the gods of +profane language would be a relief. He may have had the thought, for he +smiled self-amused and remembered his friend Grace. Then he took himself +to task, reflecting that he should have been more gently kind, and was +there not some better mode of approaching this man? Was he not a spirit +in prison, as St. Peter said? What right had he with his beliefs to +despair of any human soul? Then he dismissed the matter and went home to +his uncompleted sermon. He would have to tell the Squire; yes, that would +be advisable. + +The days at Grey Pine ran on in the routine of lessons, riding, and +the pleasure for John of representing his uncle in the oversight of the +young thoroughbred colts and the stables. Brief talks with Rivers of +books and politics filled the after-dinner hour, and when he left John +fell with eagerness on the newspapers of the day. His uncle's mail he +forwarded to Pittsburgh, and heard from him that he would not return +until mid-October. His aunt would be at home about the 8th, and Leila +was now at her school. The boy felt the unaccustomed loneliness, and most +of all the absence of Leila. One letter for his aunt lay on the hall +table. It came too late to be sent on its way, nor had she asked to have +letters forwarded. + +Two days before her return was to be expected, when John came down +dressed for dinner, he found Mr. Rivers standing with his back to a fire, +which the evening coolness of October in the hills made desirable. The +rector was smiling. + +"Mr. George Grey came just after you went upstairs. It seems that he +wrote to your aunt the letter on the table in the hall. As no one met him +at Westways Crossing, he was caught in a shower and pretty well soaked +before he got some one to bring him to Grey Pine. I think he feels rather +neglected." + +"Has he never been here before?" asked John, curious in regard to the +guest who he thought, from hearing his aunt speak of him, must be a +person of importance. + +"No, not for a long while. He is only a second cousin of Mrs. Penhallow; +but as all Greys are for her--well, _the_ Greys--we must do our best to +make it pleasant for him until your aunt and uncle return." + +"Of course," said John, with some faint feeling that it was needless to +remind him, his uncle's representative, of his duties as the host. Rivers +said, smiling, "It may not be easy to amuse Mr. Grey. I did not tell you +that your aunt wrote me, she will not be here until the afternoon train +on the 9th. Ah! here is Mr. Grey." + +John was aware of a neatly built, slight man in middle life, clad in a +suit of dark grey. He came down the stairs in a leisurely way. "Not much +of a Grey!" thought Rivers, as he observed the clean-shaven face, which +was sallow, or what the English once described as olivaster, the eyes +small and dark, the hair black and so long as to darkly frame the +thin-featured, clean-shaven refinement of a pleasant and now smiling +face. + +John went across the hall to receive him, saying, "I am John Penhallow, +sir. I am sorry we did not know you were to be here to-day." + +"It is all right--all right. Rather chilly ride. Less moisture outside +and more inside would have been agreeable; in fact, would be at present, +if I may take the liberty." + +Seeing that the host did not understand him, Rivers said promptly, "I +think, John, Mr. Grey is pleasantly reminding us that we should offer him +some of your uncle's rye." + +"Of course," said John, who had not had the dimmest idea what the +Maryland gentleman meant. + +Mr. Grey took the whisky slowly, remarking that he knew the brand, +"Peach-flavoured, sir. Very good, does credit to Penhallow's taste. As +Mr. Clay once remarked, the mellowing years, sir, have refined it." + +"Dinner is ready," said John. + +There was no necessity to entertain Mr. Grey. He talked at length, what +James Penhallow later described as "grown-up prattle." Horses, the crops, +and at length the proper methods of fining wine--a word of encouragement +from Rivers set him off again. Meanwhile the dinner grew cold on his +plate. At last, abruptly conscious of the lingering meal, Mr. Grey said, +"This comes, sir, of being in too interesting society." + +Was this mere quaint humour, thought Rivers; but when Grey added, "I +should have said, sir, too interested company," he began to wonder at the +self-absorption of what was evidently a provincial gentleman. At last, +with "Your very good health!" he took freely of the captain's Madeira. + +Rivers, who sipped a single glass slowly, was about to rise when to his +amusement, using his uncle's phrase, John said, "My uncle thinks that +Madeira and tobacco do not go well together; you may like to smoke in the +library." + +Grey remarked, "Quite right, as Henry Clay once said, 'There is nothing +as melancholy as the old age of a dinner; who, sir, shall pronounce its +epitaph?' That, sir, I call eloquence. No more wine, thank you." As he +spoke, he drew a large Cabana from his waistcoat pocket and lighted it +from one of the candles on the table. + +Rivers remarked, "We will find it warmer in the library." + +When the two men settled down to pipe or cigar at the library fire, John, +who had felt the rôle of host rather difficult, was eager to get a look +at the _Tribune_ which lay invitingly on the table, and presently caught +the eye of Mr. Grey. + +"I see you have the _Tribune_" he said. "A mischief-making +paper--devilish. I presume Penhallow takes it to see what the other +side has to say. Very wise, sir, that." + +Rivers, unwilling to announce his friend's political opinions, said, +smiling, "I must leave Mr. Penhallow to account for that wicked journal." + +Grey sat up with something like the alert look of a suddenly awakened +terrier on his thin face. "I presume the captain (he spoke of him usually +as the captain) must be able to control a good many votes in the village +and at the iron-works." + +"I rather fancy," said Rivers, "that he has taken no active part in the +coming election." + +"Unnecessary, perhaps. It is, I suppose, like my own county. We haven't a +dozen free-soil voters. 'Bleeding Kansas' is a dead issue with us. It is +bled to death, politically dead, sir, and buried." + +"Not here," said John imprudently. "Uncle James says Buchanan will carry +the State by a small majority, but he may not carry this county." + +"Then he should see to it," said Grey. "Elect Fremont, my boy, and the +Union will go to pieces. Does the North suppose we will endure a +sectional President? No, sir, it would mean secession--the death-knell of +the Union. Sir, we may be driven to more practical arguments by the +scurrilous speeches of the abolitionists. It is an attack on property, on +the ownership of the inferior race by the supremely superior. That is +the vital question." + +He spoke with excitement and gesticulated as if at a political meeting. +Mark Rivers, annoyed, felt a strong inclination to box John's ears. He +took advantage of the pause to say, "Would you like a little more rye, +Mr. Grey?" + +"Why, yes, sir. I confess to being a trifle dry. But to resume our +discussion--" + +"Pardon me. John, ask for the whisky." + +To John this was interesting and astonishing. He had never heard talk as +wild. The annoyance on Rivers's face was such as to be easily read by the +least observant. Elsewhere Mr. Rivers would have had a ready answer, but +as Grey sat still a little while enjoying his own eloquence, the fire and +the whisky, Rivers's slight negative hint informed John that he was to +hold his tongue. + +As the clergyman turned to speak to Grey, the latter said, "I wish to add +a word more, sir. You will find that the men at the South cling to State +rights; if these do not preserve for me and others my property and the +right, sir, to take my body-servant to Boston or Kansas, sure that he +will be as secure as my--my--shirt-studs, State rights are of no +practical use." + +"You make it very plain," said Rivers, feeling at last that he must +defend his own opinions. "I have myself a few words to say--but, is that +all?" + +"Not quite--not quite. I am of the belief that the wants of the Southern +States should be considered, and the demand for their only possible +labour considered. I would re-open the slave-trade. I may shock you, +reverend sir, but that is my opinion." + +"And, as I observe," said Rivers, "that also of some governors of +States." He disliked being addressed as "reverend," and knew how +Penhallow would smile when captained. + +There was a brief silence, what Rivers used to call the punctuation value +of the pipe. The Maryland gentleman was honestly clear in the statement +of his political creed, and Rivers felt some need to be amiable and +watchful of his own words in what he was longing to say. John listened, +amazed. He had had his lesson in our history from two competent masters +and was now intensely interested as he listened to the ultimate creed of +the owner of men. + +Grey had at last given up the cigar he had lighted over and over and let +go out as often. He set down his empty glass, and said with perfect +courtesy, "I may have been excessive in statement. I beg pardon for +having spoken of, or rather hinted at, the need for a resort to arms. +That is never a pleasant hint among gentlemen. I should like to hear how +this awful problem presents itself to you, a clergyman of, sir, I am glad +to know, my own church." + +"Yes, that is always pleasant to hear," said Rivers. "There at least we +are on common ground. I dislike these discussions, Mr. Grey, but I cannot +leave you without a reply, although in this house (and he meant the hint +to have its future usefulness) politics are rarely discussed." + +"Indeed!" exclaimed Grey. "At home we talk little else. I do believe the +watermelons and the pumpkins talk politics." + +Rivers smiled. "I shall reply to you, of course. It will not be a full +answer. I want to say that this present trouble is not a quarrel born +within the memory of any living man. The colonial life began with +colonial differences and aversions due to religion--Puritan, Quaker +and Church of England, intercolonial tariffs and what not. For the +planter-class we were mere traders; they for us were men too lightly +presumed to live an idle life of gambling, sport and hard drinking--a +life foreign to ours. The colonies were to one another like foreign +countries. In the Revolution you may read clearly the effect of these +opinions, when Washington expressed the wish that his officers would +forget that they came from Connecticut or Virginia, and remember only +they were Americans." + +Grey said, "We did our share, sir." + +"Yes, but all Washington's important generals were Northern men; but that +is not to the point. Washington put down the whisky-tax revolt with small +regard for State rights. The Constitution unhappily left those State +rights in a condition to keep up old differences. That is clear, I +regret to say. Then came the tariff and a new seed of dissension. +Slavery and its growing claims added later mischief, but it was not the +only cause of our troubles, nor is it to-day with us, although it is with +you, the largest. We have tried compromises. They are of the history of +our own time, familiar to all of us. Well, Mr. Grey, the question is +shall we submit to the threat of division, a broken land and its +consequences?--one moment and I have done. I am filled with gloom when I +look forward. When nations differ, treaties or time, or what not, may +settle disputes; too often war. But, Mr. Grey, never are radical, civil +or religious differences settled without the sword, if I have read +history aright. You see," and he smiled, "I could not let pass your hint +without a word." + +"If it comes to that--to war," said Grey, "we would win. In that belief +lies the certainty I dread." + +"Ah! sir, in that Southern belief lies the certainty I too dread. You +think we live merely lives of commerce. You do not realise that there is +with us a profound sentiment of affection for the Union. No people +worth anything ever lived without the very human desire of national +self-preservation. It has the force of a man's personal desire for +self-preservation. Pardon me, I suppose that I have the habit of the +sermon." + +Grey replied, "You are very interesting, but I am tired. A little more +rye, John. I must adjourn this discussion--we will talk again." + +"Not if I can help it," laughed Rivers. "I ought to say that I shall vote +the Republican ticket." + +"I regret it--I deeply regret it. Oh! thanks, John." He drank the whisky +and went upstairs to bed. + +Rivers sat down. "This man is what I call a stateriot. I am or try to be +that larger thing, a patriot. I did not say all, it was useless. Your +uncle cares little--oh, too little--about slavery, and generally the +North cares as little; but the antislavery men are active and say, as did +Washington, that the Union of the States was or will be insecure until +slavery comes to an end. It may be so, John; it is the constant seed of +discord. I would say, let them go in peace, but that would be only to +postpone war to a future day. I rarely talk about this matter. What made +you start him? You ought to have held your tongue." + +The young fellow smiled. "Yes, sir, I suppose so." + +"However, we won't have it again if I can help it." + +"It was very interesting." + +"Quite too interesting, but will he try it on the Squire and your aunt? +Now I am going home. I hate these talks. Don't sit up and read the +_Tribune_." + +"No, sir, and I will take Mr. Grey to ride to-morrow." + +"Do, and send him home too tired to talk politics." + +"I think if I put him on uncle's big John it will answer." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +While the two maids from Westways waited on the family at breakfast, the +guest was pleased to express himself favourably in regard to the coffee +and the corn bread. John being left alone in care of the guest after the +meal proposed a visit to the stables. Mr. Grey preferred for a time the +fire, and later would like to walk to the village. Somewhat relieved, +John found for him the Baltimore paper, which Mrs. Penhallow read daily. +Mr. Grey would not smoke, but before John went away remarked, "I +perceive, my boy, no spittoon." He was chewing tobacco vigorously and +using the fireplace for his frequent expectoration. John, a little +embarrassed, thought of his Aunt Ann. The habit of chewing was strange to +the boy's home experience. Certainly, Billy chewed, and others in the +town, nor was it at that time uncommon at the North. He confided his +difficulty to the groom, his boxing-master, who having in his room the +needed utensil placed it beside the hall-fire, to Mr. Grey's +satisfaction--a square tray of wood filled with sawdust. + +"Not ornamental, but useful, John, in fact essential," said Mr. Grey, as +John excused himself with the statement that he had to go to school. When +he returned through the woods, about noon, to his relief he saw far down +the avenue Mr. Grey and the gold-headed, tasselled cane he carried. + +A little later Mr. Grey in the sun of a cool day early in October was +walking along the village street in keen search of news of politics. He +talked first to Pole, the butcher, who hearing that he was a cousin of +Mrs. Penhallow assured him that the town would go solid for Buchanan. +Then he met Billy, who was going a-fishing, having refused a wood-cutting +job the rector offered. + +"A nice fishing-rod that," said Grey. + +Billy who was bird-witted and short of memory replied, "Mrs. Penhallow +she gave me a dollar to pay pole-tax if I vote for--I guess it was +Buchanan. I bought a nice fishing-pole." + +Grey was much amused and agreeably instructed in regard to Mrs. Ann's +sentiments, as he realized the simple fellow's mental condition. "A +fishing-pole-tax--well--well--" and would tell John of his joke. "Any +barber in this town?" he asked. + +"Yes, there's Josiah," and Billy was no longer to be detained. + +Mr. Grey mailed a letter, but the post-mistress would not talk politics +and was busy. At last, wandering eastward, he came upon the only +unoccupied person in Westways. Peter Lamb, slowly recovering strength, +was seated on his mother's doorstep. His search for money had been +defeated by the widow's caution, and the whisky craving was being felt +anew. + +"Good morning," said Grey. "You seem to be the only man here with nothing +to do." + +"Yes, sir. I've been sick, and am not quite fit to work. Sickness is hard +on a working man, sir." + +Grey, a kindly person, put his hand in his pocket, "Quite right, it is +hard. How are the people here going to vote? I hope the good old ticket." + +"Oh! Buchanan and Breckenridge, sir, except one or two and the darkey +barber. He's a runaway--I guess. Been here these three or four years. +Squire likes him because he's clever about breaking colts." + +"Indeed!" + +"He's a lazy nigger, sir; ought to be sent back where he belongs." + +"What is his name? I suppose he can shave me." + +"Calls himself Josiah," said Peter. "Mighty poor barber--cut my face last +time he shaved me. You see, he's lost two fingers--makes him awkwarder." + +"What! what!" said Grey, of a sudden reflecting, "two fingers--" + +"Know him?" said Lamb quickly. + +"I--no--Do you suppose I know every runaway nigger?" + +"Oh, of course not. Might I ask your name, sir?" + +"I am a cousin of Mrs. Penhallow. My name is Grey." Peter became cautious +and silent. "Here is a little help, my man, until you get work. Stick to +the good old Party." He left two dollars in Lamb's eager hands. + +Surprised at this unusual bounty, Peter said, "Thank you, sir. God bless +you. It'll be a great help." It meant for the hapless drinker whisky, and +he was quick to note the way in which Grey became interested in the man +who had lost fingers. + +Grey lingered. "I must risk your barber's awkwardness," he said. + +"Oh, he can shave pretty well when he's sober. He's our only darkey, sir. +You can't miss him. I might show you his shop." This Grey declined. + +"I suppose, sir," said Peter, curious, "all darkies look so much alike +that it is hard to tell them apart." + +"Oh, not for us--not for us." + +Then Peter was still more sure that the gentleman with the gold-headed +cane was from the South. As Grey lingered thoughtful, Lamb was +maliciously inspired by the size of Grey's donation and the prospect it +offered. He studied the face of the Southern gentleman and ventured to +say, "Excuse me, sir, but if you want to get that man back--" + +"I want him! Good gracious! I did not own him. My inquiries were, I might +say, casual, purely casual." + +Lamb, thanks to the Penhallows, had had some education at the school for +the mill children, but what was meant by "purely casual" he did not know. +If it implied lack of interest, that was not the case, or why the +questions and this gift, large for Westways. But if the gentleman did not +own Josiah's years of lost labour, some one else did, and who was it? + +As Grey turned away, he said, "I may see you again. I am with my cousin +at Grey Pine. By the bye, how will the county vote?" + +Peter assured him that the Democratic Party would carry the county. "I am +glad," said Grey, "that the people, the real backbone of the country, +desire to do justice to the South." He felt himself on the way to another +exposition of constitutional rights, but realising that it was unwise +checked the outflow of eloquence. He could not, however, refrain from +adding, "Your people then are a law-abiding community." + +"Yes, sir," said the lover of law, "we are just that, and good sound +Democrats." + +Grey, curious and mildly interested, determined to be reassured in regard +to this black barber's former status. He walked slowly by Josiah's shop +followed at a distance by Peter. The barber was shaving Mr. Pole, and +intent on his task. Grey caught sight of the black's face. One look was +enough--it was familiar--unmistakable. In place of going in to be shaved +he turned away and quickened his steps. Peter grinned and went home. "The +darn nigger horse-thief," murmured Grey. "I'll write to Woodburn." Then +he concluded that first it would be well without committing himself to +know more surely how far this Democratic community would go in support of +the fugitive-slave law. He applauded his cautiousness. + +A moment later Pole, well shaven, overtook him. Grey stopped him, chatted +as they went on, and at last asked if there was in Westways a good +Democratic lawyer. Pole was confident that Mr. Swallow would be all that +he could desire, and pointed out his house. + +Meanwhile Peter Lamb began to suspect that there was mischief brewing for +the man who had brought down on him the anger of Mark Rivers, and like +enough worse things as soon as Penhallow came home. + +As Pole turned into his shop-door, Mr. Grey went westward in deep +thought. He was sure of the barber's identity. If Josiah had been his own +property, he would with no hesitation have taken the steps needful to +reclaim the fugitive, but it was Mr. Woodburn who had lost Josiah's years +of service and it was desirable not hastily to commit his friend. He knew +with what trouble the fugitive-slave law had been obeyed or not obeyed at +the North. He was not aware that men who cared little about slavery were +indignant at a law which set aside every safeguard with which the growth +of civilization had surrounded the trial of even the worst criminal. As +he considered the situation, he walked more and more slowly until he +paused in front of Swallow's house. Every one had assured him that since +General Jackson's time the town and county had changelessly voted the +good old Democratic ticket. Here at least the rights of property would be +respected, and there would be no lawless city mobs to make the +restoration of a slave difficult. The brick house and ill-kept garden +before which he paused looked unattractive. Beside the house a one-storey +wooden office bore the name "Henry W. Swallow, Attorney-at-law." There +was neither bell nor knocker. Mr. Grey rapped on the office door with his +cane, and after waiting a moment without hearing any one, he entered a +front room and looked about him. + +Swallow was a personage whose like was found too often in the small +Pennsylvania villages. The only child of a close-fisted, saving farmer, +he found himself on his father's death more than sufficiently well-off to +go to college and later to study law. He was careful and penurious, but +failing of success in Philadelphia returned to Westways when about thirty +years old, bought a piece of land in the town, built a house, married a +pretty, commonplace young woman, and began to look for business. There +was little to be had. The Squire drew his own leases and sold lands to +farmers unaided. Then Swallow began to take interest in politics and to +lend money to the small farmers, taking mortgages at carefully guarded, +usurious interest. Merciless foreclosures resulted, and as by degrees his +operations enlarged, he grew richer and became feared and important in a +county community where money was scarce. Some of his victims went in +despair to the much loved Squire for help, and got, over and over, +relief, which disappointed Swallow who disliked him as he did no other +man in the county. The Squire returned his enmity with contemptuous +bitterness and entire distrust of the man and all his ways. + +Mr. Grey saw in the further room the back of a thin figure in a white +jacket seated at a desk. The man thus occupied on hearing his entrance +said, without looking back, "Sit down, and in a moment I'll attend to +you." + +Grey replied, "In a moment you won't see me;" and, his voice rising, "I +am accustomed to be treated with civility." + +Swallow rose at once, and seeing a well-dressed stranger said, "Excuse +me, I was drawing a mortgage for a farmer I expected. Take a seat. I am +at your service." + +Somewhat mollified, Grey sat down. As he took his seat he was not at all +sure of what he was really willing to say or do. He was not an indecisive +person at home, but here in a Northern State, on what might be hostile +ground, he was in doubt concerning that which he felt he honourably owed +as a duty to his neighbour. The word had for him limiting definitions, +as indeed it has for most of us. Resolving to be cautious, he said with +deliberate emphasis, "I should like what I have to say to be considered, +sir, as George Washington used to remark, as 'under the rose'--a strictly +professional confidence." + +"Of course," said Swallow. + +"My name is George Grey. I am at Grey Pine on a visit to my cousin, Mrs. +Penhallow." + +"A most admirable lady," said the lawyer; "absent just now, I hear." He +too determined on caution. + +"I have been wandering about your quiet little town this morning and made +some odd acquaintances. One Billy, he called himself, most amusing--most +amusing. It seems that my cousin gave him money to pay his poll-tax. The +poor simple fellow bought a fishing-pole and line. He was, I fancy, to +vote for Buchanan. My cousin, I infer, must be like all our people a +sound Democrat." + +"I have heard as much," returned Swallow. "I am doing what I can for the +party, but the people here are sadly misled and our own party is slowly +losing ground." + +"Indeed! I talked a little with a poor fellow named Lamb, out-of-work and +sick. He assured me that the town was solid for Buchanan, and also the +county." + +Swallow laughed heartily. "What! Peter Lamb. He is our prize drunkard, +sir, and would have been in jail long ago but for Penhallow. They are +foster-brothers." + +"Indeed!" Mr. Grey felt that his knowledge of character had been sadly +at fault and that he had been wise in not having said more to the man +out-of-work. + +"Do you think, Mr. Swallow, that if a master reclaimed a slave in this +county that there would be any trouble in carrying out the law?" + +"No, sir," said Swallow. "The county authorities are all Democrats and +would obey the law. Suppose, sir, that you were frankly to put before me +the whole case, relying on my secrecy. Where is the man?" + +"Let me then tell you my story. As a sound Democrat it will at least have +your sympathy." + +"Certainly, I am all attention." + +"About the tenth of June over four years ago I rode with my friend +Woodburn into our county-town. At the bank we left our horses with his +groom Caesar, an excellent servant, much trusted; used to ride quarter +races for my father when a boy. When we came out, Woodburn's horse was +hitched to a post and mine was gone, and that infernal nigger on him. He +was traced to the border, but my mare had no match in the county." + +"So he stole the horse; that makes it an easy case." + +"No, sir. To be precise, he left the horse at a tavern in this State, +with my name and address. Some Quakers helped him on his way." + +"And he is in this county?" asked Swallow. + +"Yes, sir. His name here is Josiah--seems to be known by that name +alone." + +"Josiah!" gasped Swallow. "A special favourite of Penhallow. A case to be +gravely considered--most gravely. The Squire--" + +"But surely he will obey the law." + +"Yes--probably--but who can say? He was at one time a Democrat, but now +is, I hear, likely to vote for Fremont." + +"That seems incredible." + +"And yet true. I should like, sir, to think the matter over for a day or +two. Did the man see you--I mean, recognize you?" + +"No, but as I went by his shop, I at once recognized him; and he has lost +two fingers. Oh! I know the fellow. I can swear to him, and it is easy to +bring his master Woodburn here." + +"I see. Well, let me think it over for a day or two." + +"Very good," returned Grey, "and pray consider yourself as in my debt for +your services." + +"All right, Mr. Grey." + +With this Mr. Grey went away a thoughtful man. He attracted some +attention as he moved along the fronts of the houses. Strangers were +rare. Being careful not to go near Josiah's little shop, he crossed the +road and climbing the fence went through the wood, reflecting that until +this matter was settled he would feel that his movements must be +unpleasantly governed by the need to avoid Josiah. He felt this to be +humiliating. Other considerations presented themselves in turn. This +ungrateful black had run away with his, George Grey's, horse--a personal +wrong. His duty to Woodburn was plain. Then, if this black fellow was as +Swallow said, a favourite of Captain Penhallow, to plan his capture while +himself a guest in Penhallow's house was rather an awkward business. +However, he felt that he must inform his friend Woodburn, after which he +would turn him over to Swallow and not appear in the business at all. It +did not, however, present itself to the Maryland gentleman as a nice +situation. If his cousin Ann were, as he easily learned, a strong +Democrat, it might be well to sound her on the general situation. She had +lived half her life among slaves and those who owned them. She would know +how far Penhallow was to be considered as a law-abiding citizen, or +whether he might be offended, for after all, as George Grey knew, his own +share in the matter would be certain to become known. "A damned +unpleasant affair," he said aloud as he walked up the avenue, "but we as +Southern gentlemen have got to stand by one another. I must let Woodburn +know, and decide for himself." + +Neither was the lawyer Swallow altogether easy about the matter on which +he had desired time for thought. It would be the first case in the county +under the fugitive-slave act. If the man were reclaimed, he, Swallow, +would be heard of all through the State; but would that help him before +the people in a canvass for the House? He could not answer, for the old +political parties were going to pieces and new ones were forming. +Moreover, Josiah was much liked and much respected. Then, too, there was +the fee. He walked about the room singularly disturbed. Some prenatal +fate had decreed that he should be old-aged at forty. He had begun to be +aware that his legs were aging faster than his mind. Except the pleasure +of accumulating money, which brought no enjoyment, he had thus far no +games in life which interested him; but now the shifting politics of the +time had tempted him, and possibly this case might be used to his +advantage. The black eyebrows under fast whitening hair grew together in +a frown, while below slowly gathered the long smile of satisfaction. "How +Penhallow will hate it." This thought was for him what the stolen mare +was for George Grey. He must look up the law. + +Meanwhile George Grey, under the necessity of avoiding the village for a +time, was rather bored. He had criticized the stables and the horses, and +had been told that the Squire relied with good reason on the judgment of +Josiah in regard to the promise of good qualities in colts. Then, used to +easy roadsters, he had been put on the Squire's rough trotter and led by +the tireless lad had come back weary from long rides across rough country +fields and over fences. The clergyman would talk no more politics, John +pleaded lessons, and it was on the whole dull, so that Mr. Grey was +pleased to hear of the early return of his cousin. A letter to John +desired him to meet his aunt on the 8th, and accordingly he drove to the +station at Westways Crossing, picking up Billy on the way. Mrs. Ann got +out of the car followed by the conductor and brakeman carrying boxes and +bundles, which Billy, greatly excited, stowed away under the seats of the +Jersey wagon. Mrs. Penhallow distributed smiles and thanks to the men who +made haste to assist, being one of the women who have no need to ask help +from any man in sight. + +"Now, Billy," she said, "be careful with those horses. When you attend, +you drive very well." + +She settled herself on the back seat with John, delighted to be again +where her tireless sense of duty kept her busy--quite too busy at times, +thought some of the village dames. "Your Uncle James will soon be at +home. Is his pet scamp any better?" + +John did not know, but Josiah's rheumatism was quite well. + +"Sister-in-law has a baby. Six trout I ketched; they're at the house for +you--weighs seven pounds," said Billy without turning round. + +"Trout or baby?" said Ann, laughing. + +"Baby, ma'am." + +"Thanks, but don't talk any more." + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"How is Leila?" asked John. "Does she like it at school?" + +"No, not at all; but she will." + +"I don't, Aunt Ann." + +"I suppose not." + +"Am I to be allowed to write to her?" + +"I think not. There is some rule that letters, but--" and she laughed +merrily. The rector, who worshipped her, said once that her laugh was +like the spring song of birds. "But sometimes I may be naughty enough to +let you slip a few lines into my letters." + +"That is more than I hoped for. I am--I was so glad to get you back, Aunt +Ann, that I forgot to tell you, Mr. George Grey has come." + +"How delightful! He has been promising a visit for years. How pleased +James will be! I wonder how the old bachelor ever made up his mind. I +hope you made it pleasant, John." + +"I tried to, aunt." Whether James Penhallow would like it was for John +doubtful, but he said nothing further. + +"The cities are wild about politics, and there is no end of trouble in +Philadelphia over the case of a fugitive slave. I was glad to get away to +Grey Pine." + +John had never heard her mention this tender subject and was not +surprised when she added quickly, "But I never talk politics, John, and +you are too young to know anything about them." This was by no means +true, as she well knew. "How are my chickens?" She asked endless +questions of small moment. + +"Got a new fishing-rod," said Billy, but to John's amusement did not +pursue the story concerning which George Grey had gleefully enlightened +him. + +"Well, at last, Cousin George," she cried, as the cousin gave her his +hand on the porch. "Glad to see you--most glad. Come in when you have +finished your cigar." + +She followed John into the hall. "Ah! the dear home." Then her eyes fell +on the much used spittoon by the fireside. "Good gracious, John, a--a +spittoon!" + +"Yes, aunt. Mr. Grey chews." + +"Indeed!" She looked at the box and went upstairs. For years to come and +in the most incongruous surroundings John Penhallow now and then laughed +as he saw again the look with which Mrs. Ann regarded the article so +essential to Mr. Grey's comfort. She disliked all forms of tobacco use, +and the law of the pipe had long ago been settled at Grey Pine as Mrs. +Penhallow decreed, because that was always what James Penhallow decided +to think desirable. + +"But this! this!" murmured the little lady, as she came down the +staircase ready for dinner. She rang for the maid. "Take that thing away +and wash it well, and put in fresh sawdust twice a day." + +"I hope John has been a good host," she said, as Grey entered the hall. + +"Couldn't be better, and I have had some delightful rides. I found the +mills interesting--in fact, most instructive." He spoke in short +childlike sentences unless excited by politics. + +Mrs. Ann noted without surprise the free use of whisky, and later the +appreciative frequency of resort to Penhallow's Madeira. A glass of wine +at lunch and after dinner were her husband's sole indulgence. The larger +potations of her cousin in no way affected him. He talked as usual to +Mark Rivers and John about horses, crops and the weather, while Mrs. Ann +listened to the flow of disconnected trifles in some wonder as to how +James Penhallow would endure it. Grey for the time kept off the danger +line of politics, having had of late such variously contributed knowledge +as made him careful. + +When to Mrs. Ann's relief dinner was over, the rector said his sermon for +to-morrow must excuse him and went home. John decided that his role of +host was over and retired to his algebra and to questions more easy to +solve than of how to entertain Mr. George Grey. It was not difficult, as +Mrs. Penhallow saw, to make Grey feel at home; all he required was +whisky, cigars, and some mild appearance of interest in his talk. She had +long anticipated his visit with pleasure, thinking that James Penhallow +would be pleased and the better for some rational male society. Rivers +had now deserted her, and she really would not sit with her kinsman's +cigar a whole evening in the library. She said, "The night is warm for +October, come out onto the porch, George." + +"With all the pleasure in the world," said Grey, as he followed her. + +By habit and training hospitable and now resigned to her fate, Mrs. Ann +said, "Light your cigar, George; I do not mind it out-of-doors." + +"I am greatly indebted--I was given to understand that it was +disagreeable to you--like--politics--ah! Cousin Ann." + +"We are not much given to talking politics," she said rather sharply. + +"Not talk politics!" exclaimed Grey. "What else is there to talk about +nowadays? But why not, Cousin Ann?" + +"Well, merely because while I am Southern--and a Democrat, James has seen +fit to abandon our party and become a Republican." + +"Incomprehensible!" said Grey. "Ours is the party of gentlemen--of old +traditions. I cannot understand it." + +"Nor I," said she, "but now at least," and she laughed--"there will be +one Republican gentleman. However, George, as we are both much in +earnest, we keep politics out of the house." + +"It must be rather awkward, Ann." + +"What must be rather awkward?" + +Did he really mean to discuss, to criticize her relations to James +Penhallow? The darkness was for a time the grateful screen. + +Grey, a courteous man, felt the reproof in her question, and replied, "I +beg pardon, my dear Ann, I have heard of the captain's unfortunate change +of opinion. I shall hope, however, to be able to convince him that to +elect Fremont will be to break up the Union. I think I could put it so +clearly that--" + +Ann laughed low laughter as vastly amused she laid a hand on her cousin's +arm. "You don't know James Penhallow. He has been from his youth a +Democrat. There never was any question about how he would vote. But now, +since 1850--" and she paused, "in fact, I do not care to discuss with you +what I will not with James." Her great love, her birth, training, +education and respect for the character of her husband, made this +discussion hateful. Her eyes filled, and, much troubled, she was glad of +the mask of night. + +"But answer me one question, Ann. Why did he change?" + +"He was becoming dissatisfied and losing faith in his own party, but it +was at last my own dear South and its friends at the North who drove him +out." Again she paused. + +"What do you mean, Ann?" asked Grey, still persistent. + +"It began long ago, George. He said to me one day, 'That fool Fillmore +has signed the Fugitive-Slave Act; it is hardly possible to obey it.' +Then I said, 'Would you not, James?' I can never forget it. He said, +'Yes, I obey the law, Ann, but this should be labelled 'an act to +exasperate the North.' I am done with the Democrat and all his ways. Obey +the law! Yes, I was a soldier.' Then he said, 'Ann, we must never talk +politics again.' We never do." + +"And yet, Ann," said Grey, "that act was needed." + +"Perhaps," she returned, and then followed a long silence, as with +thought of James Penhallow she sat smiling in the darkness and watched +the rare wandering lanterns of the belated fireflies. + +The man at her side was troubled into unnatural silence. He had hoped to +find an ally in his cousin's husband, and now what should he do? He had +concluded that as an honest man he had done his duty when he had written +to Woodburn; but now as a man of honour what should he say to James +Penhallow? To conceal from his host what he had done was the obvious +business-like course. This troubled a man who was usually able to see his +way straight on all matters of social conduct and was sensitive on points +of honour. While Ann sat still and wondered that her guest was so long +silent, he was finding altogether unpleasant his conclusion that he must +be frank with Penhallow. He felt sure, however, that Ann would naturally +be on his side. He introduced the matter lightly with, "I chanced to see +in the village a black man who is said to be a vagabond scamp. He is +called Josiah--a runaway slave, I fancy." + +Ann sat up in her chair. "Who said he was a scamp?" + +"Oh, a man named Lamb." Then he suddenly remembered Mr. Swallow's +characterization, and added, "not a very trustworthy witness, I presume." + +Ann laughed. "Peter Lamb! He is a drunken, loafing fellow, who to his +good fortune chances to have been James's foster-brother. As concerns +Josiah, he turned up here some years ago, got work in the stables, and +was set up by James as the village barber. No one knew whence he came. I +did, of course, suspect him to be a runaway. He is honest and +industrious. Last year I was ill when James was absent. We have only +maids in the house, and when I was recovering Josiah carried me up and +downstairs until James returned. A year after he came, Leila had an +accident. Josiah stopped her horse and got badly hurt--" Then with quick +insight, she added, "What interest have you in our barber, George? Is +it possible you know Josiah?" + +Escape from truthful reply was impossible. "Yes, I do. He is the property +of my friend and neighbour Woodburn. I knew him at once--the man had lost +three fingers--he did not see me." + +"Well!" she said coldly, "what next, George Grey?" + +"I must inform his master. As a Southern woman you, of course, see that +no other course is possible. It is unpleasant, but your sense of right +must make you agree with me." + +She returned, speaking slowly, "I do wish you would not do it, George." +Then she said quickly, "Have you taken any steps in this matter?" + +He was fairly cornered. "Yes, I wrote to Woodburn. He will be here in a +couple of days. I am sure he will lose no time--and will take legal +measures at once to reclaim his property." + +"I suppose it is all right," she said despairingly, "but I am more than +sorry--what James will say I do not know. I hope he will not be called on +to act--under the law he may." + +"When does he return?" said Grey. "I shall, of course, be frank with +him." + +"That will be advisable. He may be absent for a week longer, or so he +writes. I leave you to your cigar. I am tired, and to-morrow is Sunday. +Shall you go to church?" + +"Certainly, Ann. Good-night." + +At the door she turned back with a new and relieving thought. "Suppose +I--or we--buy this man's freedom." + +"If I owned him that would not be required after what you have told me, +but Woodburn is an obstinate, rather stern man, and will refuse, I fear, +to sell--" + +"What will he do with Josiah if he is returned to him as the Act orders?" + +"Oh! once a runaway--and the man is no good?--he would probably sell him +to be sent South." + +She rose and for a moment stood still in the darkness, and then crying, +"The pity of it, my God, the pity of it!" went away without the usual +courtesy of good-night. + +George Grey, when left to his own company, somewhat amazed, began to wish +he had never had a hand in this business. Ann Penhallow went up to her +room, although it was as yet early, leaving John in the library and Grey +with a neglected cigar on the porch. In the bedroom over his shop the man +most concerned sat industriously reading the _Tribune_. + +Ann sat down to think. The practical application of a creed to conduct is +not always easy. All her young life had been among kindly considered +slaves. Mr. Woodburn had a right to his property. The law provided for +the return of slaves if they ran away. She suddenly realized that this +man's future fate was in her power, and she both liked and respected him, +and he had been hurt in their service. Oh! why was not James at home? +Could she sit still and let things go their way while the mechanism of +the law worked. Between head and heart there was much argument. Her +imagination pictured Josiah's future. Had he deserved a fate so sad? +She fell on her knees and prayed for help. At last she rose and went down +to the library. John laid down his book and stood up. The young face +greeted her pleasantly, as she said, "Sit down, John, I want to talk to +you. Can you keep a secret?" + +"Why--yes--Aunt Ann. What is it?" + +"I mean, John, keep it so that no one will guess you have a secret." + +"I think I can," he replied, much surprised and very curious. + +"You are young, John, but in your uncle's absence there is no one else to +whom I can turn for help. Now, listen. Has Mr. Grey gone to bed?" + +"Yes, aunt." + +She leaned toward him, speaking low, almost in a whisper, "I do not want +to explain, I only want to tell you something. Josiah is a runaway slave, +John." + +"Yes, aunt, he told me all about it." + +"Did he, indeed!" + +"Yes, we are great friends--I like him--and he trusted me. What's +the matter now?" He was quick to understand that Josiah was in some +danger. Naturally enough he remembered the man's talk and his one +fear--recapture. + +"George Grey has recognised Josiah as a runaway slave of a Mr. +Woodburn--" She was most unwilling to say plainly, "Go and warn him." + +He started up. "And they mean to take him back?" + +She was silent. The indecisions of the habitually decisive are hard to +deal with. The lad was puzzled by her failure to say more. + +"It is dreadful, Aunt Ann. I think I ought to go and tell +Josiah--now--to-night." + +She made no comment except to say, "Arrest is not possible on Sunday--and +he is safe until Monday or Tuesday." + +John Penhallow looked at her for a moment surprised that she did not say +go, or else forbid him to go; it was unlike her. He had no desire to wait +for Sunday and was filled with anxiety. "I think I must go now--now," he +said. + +"Then I shall go to bed," she said, and kissing him went away slowly step +by step up the stairs. + +Staircases are apt to suggest reflections, and there are various ways of +rendering the French phrase "_esprit de l'escalier_." Aware that want of +moral courage had made her uncertain what to do, or like the Indian, +having two hearts, Ann had been unable to accept bravely the counsel of +either. The loyal decisiveness of a lad of only sixteen years had settled +the matter and relieved her of any need to personally warn Josiah. Some +other influences aided to make her feel satisfied that there should be a +warning. She was resentful because George Grey had put her in a position +where she had been embarrassed by intense sectional sense of duty and by +kindly personal regard for a man who not being criminal was to be +deprived of all the safeguards against injustice provided by the common +law. There were other and minor causes which helped to content her with +what she well knew she had done to disappoint Mr. Woodburn of his prey. +George Grey was really a bore of capacity to wreck the social patience of +the most courteous. The rector fled from him, John always had lessons and +how would James endure his vacuous talk. It all helped her to be +comfortably angry, and there too was that horrible spittoon. + +The young fellow who went with needless haste out of the house and down +the avenue about eleven o'clock had no indecisions. Josiah trusted him, +and he felt the compliment this implied. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +On the far side of the highroad Westways slumbered. Only in the rector's +small house were lights burning. The town was in absolute darkness. +Westways went to bed early. A pleased sense of the responsibility of his +errand went with John as he came near to where Josiah's humble two-storey +house stood back from the street line, marked by the well-known striped +pole of the barber, of which Josiah was professionally proud. John paused +in front of the door. He knew that he must awaken no one but Josiah. +After a moment's thought he went along the side of the house to the small +garden behind it where Josiah grew the melons no one else could grow, and +which he delighted to take to Miss Leila or Mrs. Penhallow. In the novel +the heroes threw pebbles at the window to call up fair damsels. John +grinned; he might break a pane, but the noise--He was needlessly +cautious. Josiah had built a trellis against the back of the house for +grapevines which had not prospered. John began to climb up it with care +and easily got within reach of the second-storey window. He tapped +sharply on the glass, but getting no reply hesitated a moment. He could +hear from within the sonorous assurance of deep slumber. Somehow he must +waken him. He lifted the sash and called over and over in a low voice, +"Josiah!" The snoring ceased, but not the sleep. The lad was resolute and +still fearful of making a noise. He climbed with care into the dark room +upsetting a little table. Instantly Josiah bounded out of bed and caught +him in his strong grip, as John gasped, "Josiah!" + +"My God!" cried the black in alarm, "anything wrong at the house?" + +"No, sit down--I've got to tell you something. Your old master, Woodburn, +is coming to catch you--he will be here soon--I know he won't be here for +a day or two--" + +"Is that so, Master John? It's awful--I've got to run. I always knowed +sometime I'd have to run." He sat down on the bed; he was appalled. "God +help me!--where can I go? I've got two hundred dollars and seventy-five +cents saved up in the county bank, and I've not got fifty cents in the +house. I can't get the money out--I'd be afraid to go there Monday. Oh, +Lord!" + +He began to dress in wild haste. John tried in vain to assure him that he +would be safe on Sunday and Monday, or even later, but was in fact not +sure, and the man was wailing like a child in distress, thinking over his +easy, upright life and his little treasure, which seemed to him lost. He +asked no questions; all other emotion was lost in one over-mastering +terror. + +John said at last, "If I write a cheque for you, can you sign your name +to it?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Then I will write a cheque for all of it and I'll get it out for you." + +A candle was lighted and the cheque written. "Now write your name here, +Josiah--so--that's right." He obeyed like a child, and John who had often +collected cheques for his aunt of late, knew well enough how to word it +to be paid to bearer. He put it in his pocket. + +"But how will I ever get it?" said Josiah, "and where must I go? I'll get +away Monday afternoon." + +John was troubled, and then said, "I'll tell you. Go to the old cabin in +the wood. That will be safe. I will bring you your money Monday +afternoon." + +The black reflected in silence and then said, "That will do--no man will +take me alive, I know--my God, I know! Who set them on me? Who told? It +was that drunken rascal, Peter. He told me he'd tell if I didn't get him +whisky. How did he know--Oh, Lord! He set 'em on me--I'd like to kill +him." + +John was alarmed at the fierceness of the threat. "Oh! but you +won't--promise me. I've helped you, Josiah." + +"I promise, Master John. I'm a Christian man, thank the Lord. I'd like +to, but I won't--I won't." + +"Now, that's right," said John much relieved. "You'll go to the cabin +Monday--for sure." + +"Yes--who told you to tell me?" + +John, prudently cautious, refused to answer. "Now, let me out, I must go. +I can't tell you how sorry I will be--" and he was tempted to add his +aunt, but was wise in time. He had done his errand well, and was pleased +with the success of his adventure and the flavour of peril in what he had +done. He let himself into Grey Pine and went noiselessly upstairs. Then +a window was closed and a waiting, anxious woman went to bed and lay long +awake thinking. + +John understood the unusual affection of his aunt's greeting when before +breakfast she kissed him and started George Grey on his easy +conversational trot. She had compromised with her political conscience +and, notwithstanding, was strangely satisfied and a trifle ashamed that +she had not been more distinctly courageous. + +At church they had as usual a good congregation of the village folk and +men from the mills, for Rivers was eminently a man's preacher and was +much liked. John observed, however, that Josiah, who took care of the +church, was not in his usual seat near the door. He was at home terribly +alarmed and making ready for his departure on Monday. The rector missing +him called after church, but his knock was not answered. + +When Mr. Grey in the afternoon declared he would take a walk and mail +some letters, Mrs. Ann called John into the library. "Well," she said, +"did you see Josiah?" + +"Yes, aunt." It was characteristic of John Penhallow even thus early in +life that he was modest and direct in statement. He said nothing of his +mode of reaching Josiah. "I told him of his risk. He will hide in--" + +"Do not tell me where," said Ann quickly; "I do not want to know." + +He wondered why she desired to hear no more. He went on--"He has money in +the county bank--two hundred dollars." + +"He must have been saving--poor fellow!" + +"I wrote a cheque for him, to bearer. I am to draw it tomorrow and take +it to him in the afternoon. Then he will be able to get away." + +Here indeed was something for Ann to think about. When Josiah was missed +and legal measures taken, a pursuit organized, John having drawn his +money might be questioned. This would never do--never. Oddly enough she +had the thought, "Who will now shave James?" She smiled and said, "I must +keep you out of the case--give me the cheque. Oh, I see it is drawn to +bearer. I wonder if his owner could claim it. He may--he might--if it is +left there." + +"That would be mean," said John. + +"Yes," she said thoughtfully. "Yes--I could give him the money. Let me +think about it. Of course, I could draw on my account and leave Josiah's +alone. But he has a right to his own money. I will keep the cheque, John. +I will draw out his money and give it to you. Good gracious, boy! you are +like James Penhallow." + +"That's praise for a fellow!" said John. + +Ann had the courage of her race and meant at last to see this thing +through at all costs. The man had made his money and should have it. She +was now resolute to take her share in the perilous matter she had +started; and after all she was the wife of James Penhallow of Grey Pine; +who would dare to question her? As to George Grey, she dismissed him with +a low laugh and wondered when that long-desired guest would elect to +leave Grey Pine. + +At ten on Monday Billy, for choice, drove her over to the bank at the +mills. The young cashier was asked about his sick sister, and then rather +surprised as he took the cheque inquired, "How will you have it, ma'am? +Josiah must be getting an investment." + +"One hundred in fifties and the rest--oh, fifty in fives, the rest in +ones." + +She drove away, and in an hour gave the notes to John in an envelope, +asking no questions. He set off in the afternoon to give Josiah his +money. + +Meanwhile on this Monday morning a strange scene in this drama was being +acted in Josiah's little shop. He was at the door watchful and thinking +of his past and too doubtful future, when he saw Peter Lamb pause near +by. The man, fresh from the terrors of delirium tremens, had used the +gift of Grey with some prudence and was in the happy condition of slight +alcoholic excitement and good-humour. + +"Halloa!" cried Peter. "How are you? I'm going to the mills to see my +girl--want you to shave me--got over my joke; funny, wasn't it?" + +A sudden ferocious desire awoke in the good-natured barber--some +long-past inheritance of African lust for the blood of an enemy. + +"Don't like to kiss with a rough beard," said Peter. "I'll pay--got +money--now." + +"Come in," said Josiah. "Set down. I'll shut the door--it's a cold +morning." + +He spread the lather over the red face. "Head back a bit--that's right +comfortable now, isn't it?" + +"All right--go ahead." + +Josiah took his razor. "Now, then," he said, as he set a big strong +hand on the man's forehead, "if you move, I'll cut your throat--keep +quiet--don't you move. You told I was a slave--you ruined my life--I +never did you no harm--I'd kill you just as easy as that--" and he +drew the blunt cold back of the razor across the hairy neck. + +"My God!--I--" The man shuddered. + +"Keep still--or you are a dead man." + +"Oh, Lord!" groaned Lamb. + +"I would kill you, but I don't want to be hanged. God will take care +of you--He is sure. Some day you will do some wickedness worse than +this--you just look at me." + +There was for Peter fearful fascination in the black face of the man who +stood looking down at him, the jaw moving, the white teeth showing, the +eyes red, the face twitching with half-suppressed passion. + +"Answer me now--and by God, if you lie, I will kill you. You set some one +on me? Quick now!" + +"I did." + +"Who was it? No lies, now!" + +"Mr. George Grey." Then Josiah fully realized his danger. + +"Why did you?" + +"You wouldn't help me to get whisky." + +"Well, was that all?" + +"You went and got the preacher to set Mr. Penhallow on me. He gave me the +devil." + +"My God, was that all? You've ruined me for a drink of whisky--you've got +your revenge. I'm lost--lost. Your day will come--I'll be there. Now go +and repent if you can--you've been near to death. Go!" he cried. + +He seized the terrified man with one strong hand, lifted him from the +chair, cast open the door and hurled him out into the street. A little +crowd gathered around Lamb as he rose on one elbow, dazed. + +"Drunk!" said Pole, the butcher. "Drunk again!" + +Josiah shut and locked the door. Then he tied up his bundle of clothes, +filled a basket with food, and went out into his garden. He cast a look +back at the neatly kept home he had recently made fresh with paint. He +paused to pick a chilled rosebud and set it in his button-hole--a fashion +copied from his adored captain. He glanced tearfully at the glass-framed +covers of the yellowing melon vines. He had made money out of his melons, +and next year would have been able to send a good many to Pittsburgh. As +he turned to leave the little garden in which he took such pride, he +heard an old rooster's challenge in his chicken-yard, which had been +another means of money-making. He went back and opened the door, leaving +the fowl their liberty. When in the lane behind his house, he walked +along in the rear of the houses, and making sure that he was unobserved, +crossed the road and entered the thick Penhallow forest. He walked +rapidly for half an hour, and leaving the wood road found his way to the +cabin the first Penhallow built. It was about half after one o'clock when +the fugitive lay down on the earth of the cabin with his hands clasped +behind his head. He stared upward, wondering where he could go to be +safe. He would have to spend some of the carefully saved money. That +seemed to him of all things the most cruel. He was not trained to +consecutive thinking; memories old or new flitted through his mind. Now +and then he said to himself that perhaps he had had no right to run +away--and perhaps this was punishment. He had fled from the comforts of +an easy life, where he had been fed, clothed and trusted. Not for a +moment would he have gone back--but why had he run away? What message +that soaring hawk had sent to him from his swift circling sweep overhead +he was not able to put in words even if he had so desired. "That wicked +hawk done it!" he said aloud. + +At last, hearing steps outside, he bounded to his feet, a hand on the +knife in his belt. He stood still waiting, ready as a crouching tiger, +resolute, a man at bay with an unsated appetite for freedom. The door +opened and John entered. + +"You sort of scared me, Master John." + +"You are safe here, Josiah, and here is your money." + +He took it without a word, except, "I reckon, Master John, you know I'm +thankful. Was there any one missing me?" + +"No, no one." + +"I'll get away to-night. I'll go down through Lonesome Man's Swamp and +take my old bateau and run down the river. You might look after my +muskrat traps. I was meaning to make a purse for the little missy. Now do +you just go away, and may the Lord bless you. I guess we won't ever meet +no more. You'll be mighty careful, Master John?" + +"But you'll write, Josiah." + +"I wouldn't dare to write--I'd be takin' risks. Think I'm safe here? Oh, +Lord!" + +"No one knows where you are--you'll go to-night?" + +"Yes, after dark." He seemed more at ease as he said, "It was Peter Lamb +set Mr. Grey on me. He must have seen me after that. I told you it was +Peter." + +"Yes,"--and then with the hopefulness of youth--"but you will come back, +I am sure." + +"No, sir--never no more--and the captain and Miss Leila--it's +awful--where can I go?" + +John could not help him further. "God bless you, Master John." They +parted at length at the door of the cabin which had seen no other parting +as sad. + +The black lay down again. Now and then he swept his sleeve across tearful +eyes. Then he stowed his money under his shirt in a linen bag hung to his +neck, keeping out a few dollars, and at last fell sound asleep exhausted +by emotion, + +Josiah's customers were few in number. Westways was too poor to be able +to afford a barber more than once a week, and then it was always in +mid-morning when work ceased for an hour. Sometimes the Squire on his way +to the mills came to town early, but as a rule Josiah went to Grey Pine +and shaved him while they talked about colts and their training. As he +was rarely needed in the afternoon, Josiah often closed his shop about +two o'clock and went a-fishing or set traps on the river bank. His +absence on this Monday afternoon gave rise, therefore, to no surprise, +but when his little shop remained closed on Tuesday, his neighbours began +to wonder. Peter Lamb wandering by rather more drunken than on Monday, +stood a while looking at the shut door, then went on his devious way, +thinking of the fierce eyes and the curse. Next came Swallow for his +daily shave. He knocked at the door and tried to enter. It was locked. He +heard no answer to his louder knock. He at once suspected that his prey +had escaped him, and that the large fee he had counted on was to say the +least doubtful. But who could have warned the black? Had Mr. Grey been +imprudent? Lamb had been the person who had led Grey, as Swallow knew +from that gentleman, to suspect Josiah as a runaway; but now as he saw +Peter reeling up the street, he was aware that he was in no state to be +questioned. He went away disappointed and found that no one he met knew +whither Josiah had gone. + +At Grey Pine Mrs. Ann, uneasily conscious of her share in the matter, +asked John if he had given the money to Josiah. He said yes, and that the +man was safe and by this time far away. Meanwhile, the little town buzzed +with unwonted excitement and politics gave place about the grocer's door +at evening to animated discussion, which was even more interesting when +on Wednesday there was still no news and the town lamented the need to go +unshaven. + +On Thursday morning Billy was sent with a led horse to meet Penhallow at +Westways Crossing. Penhallow had written that he must go on to a meeting +of the directors of the bank at the mills and would not be at home until +dinner-time. The afternoon train brought Mr. Woodburn, who as advised by +Grey went at once to Swallow's house, where Mrs. Swallow gave him a note +from her husband asking that if he came he would await the lawyer's +return. + +"Well, Billy, glad to see you," said Penhallow, as he settled himself in +the saddle. "All well at Grey Pine?" + +"Yes, sir." + +The Squire was in high good-humour on having made two good contracts for +iron rails. "How are politics, Billy?" + +"Don't know, sir." + +"Anything new at Westways?" + +"Yes, sir," replied Billy with emphasis. + +"Well, what is it?" + +"Josiah's run away." + +"Run away! Why?" + +"Don't know--he's gone." + +Penhallow was troubled, but asked no other questions, as he was late. He +might learn more at home. He rode through the town and on to the mills. +There he transacted some business and went thence to the bank. The board +of well-to-do farmers was already in session, and Swallow--a member--was +talking. + +"What is that?" said Penhallow as he entered, hearing Josiah mentioned. + +Some one said, "He has been missing since Monday." "He drew out all his +money that morning," said Swallow, "all of it." + +"Indeed," said Penhallow. "Did _he_ draw it--I mean in person?" + +"No," said the lawyer, who was well pleased to make mischief and hated +Penhallow. + +Penhallow was uneasily curious. "Who drew it?" he asked. "Josiah could +hardly have known how to draw a cheque; I had once to help him write +one." + +"It was a cheque to bearer, I hear," said Swallow smiling. "Mrs. +Penhallow drew the money. No doubt Josiah got it before he left." + +Penhallow said, "You are insolent." + +"You asked a question," returned Swallow, "and I answered it." + +"And with a comment I permit no man to make. You said, 'no doubt he got +it.' I want an apology at once." He went around the table to where +Swallow sat. + +The lawyer rose, saying, "Every one will know to-day that Josiah was a +runaway slave. His master will be here this evening. Whoever warned him +is liable under the Fugitive-Slave Act--Mrs. Penhallow drew the money +and--" + +"One word more, sir, of my wife, and I will thrash you. It is clear +that you know all about the matter and connect my wife with this man's +escape--you have insulted her." + +"Oh, Mr. Penhallow," said the old farmer who presided, "I beg of you--" + +"Keep quiet," said the Squire, "this is my business." + +"I did not mean to insult Mrs. Penhallow," said Swallow; "I +apologize--I--" + +"You miserable dog," said Penhallow, "you are both a coward and a lying, +usurious plunderer of hard-working men. You may be thankful that I am a +good-tempered man--but take care." + +"I shall ask this board to remember what has been said of me," said +Swallow. "The law--" + +"Law! The law of the cowhide is what you will get if I hear again that +you have used my wife's name. Good-day, gentlemen." + +He went our furious and rode homeward at speed. Before the Squire reached +Grey Pine he had recovered his temper and his habitual capacity to meet +the difficulties of life with judicial calmness. He had long been sure +that Josiah had been a slave and had run away. But after these years, +that he should have been discovered in this remote little town seemed to +him singular. The man was useful to him in several ways and had won his +entire respect and liking, so that he felt personal annoyance because +of this valuable servant having been scared away. That Ann had been in +any way concerned in aiding his escape perplexed him, as he remembered +how entire was her belief in the creed of the masters of slaves who with +their Northern allies had so long been the controlling legislative power +of the country. + +"I am glad to be at home, my dear Ann," he said, as they met on the +porch. "Ah! Grey, so you are come at last. It is not too late to say how +very welcome you are; and John, I believe you have grown an inch since I +left." + +They went in, chatting and merry. The Squire cast an amused look at the +big spittoon and then at his wife, and went upstairs to dress for dinner. +At the meal no one for a variety of good reasons mentioned Josiah. The +tall soldier with the readiness of helpless courtesy fell into the talk +of politics which Grey desired. "Yes, Buchanan will carry the State, +Grey, but by no large majority." + +"And the general election?" asked the cousin. + +"Yes, that is my fear. He will be elected." + +Ann, who dreaded these discussions, had just now a reproachful political +conscience. She glanced at her husband expecting him to defend his +beliefs. He was silent, however, while Grey exclaimed, "Fear, sir--fear? +You surely cannot mean to say--to imply that the election of a black +Republican would be desirable." He laid down his fork and was about to +become untimely eloquent--Rivers smiled--watching the Squire and his +wife, as Penhallow said: + +"Pardon me, Grey, but I cannot have my best mutton neglected." + +"Oh, yes--yes--but a word--a word. Elect Fremont--and we secede. Elect +Buchanan--and the Union is safe. There, sir, you have it in a nutshell." + +"Ah, my dear Grey," said Penhallow, "this is rather of the nature of a +threat--never a very digestible thing--for me, at least--and I am not +very convincible. We will discuss it over our wine or a cigar." He turned +to his wife, "Any news of Leila, Ann?" + +"Yes, I had a letter to-day," she returned, somewhat relieved. "She seems +to be better satisfied." + +Grey accepted the interrupting hint and fell to critical talk of the +Squire's horses. After the wine Penhallow carried off his guest to the +library, and avoiding politics with difficulty was unutterably bored by +the little gentleman's reminiscent nothings about himself, his crops, +tobacco, wines, his habits of life, what agreed with him and what did +not. At last, with some final whisky, Mr. Grey went to bed. + +Ann, who was waiting anxiously, eager to get through with the talk she +dreaded, went at once into the library. Penhallow rising threw his cigar +into the fire. She laughed, but not in her usual merry way, and cried, +"Do smoke, James, I shall not mind it; I am forever disciplined to any +fate. There is a spittoon in the hall--a spittoon!" + +The Squire laughed joyously, and kissed her. "I can wait for my pipe; we +can't have any lapse in domestic discipline." Then he added, "I hear that +my good Josiah has gone away--I may as well say, run away." + +"Yes--he has gone, James." She hesitated greatly troubled. + +"And you helped him--a runaway slave--you--" He smiled. It had for him an +oddly humorous aspect. + +"I did--I did--" and the little lady began to sob like a child. "It +was--was wrong--" There was nothing comic in it for Ann Penhallow. + +"You angel of goodness," he cried, as he caught her in his arms and held +the weeping face against his shoulder, "my brave little lady!" + +"I ought not to have done it--but I did--I did--oh, James! To think that +my cousin should have brought this trouble on us--But I did--oh, James!" + +"Listen, my dear. If I had been here, I should have done it. See what you +have saved me. Now sit down and let us have it all out, my dear, all of +it." + +"And you really mean that?" she wailed piteously. "You won't think I did +wrong--you won't think I have made trouble for you--" + +"You have not," he replied, "you have helped me. But, dear, do sit down +and just merely, as in these many years, trust my love. Now quiet +yourself and let us talk it over calmly." + +"Yes--yes." She wiped her eyes. "Do smoke, James--I like it." + +"Oh, you dear liar," he said. "And so it was Grey?" + +She looked up. "Yes, George Grey; but, James, he did not know how much we +liked Josiah nor how good he had been to me, and how he got hurt when he +stopped Leila's pony. He was sorry--but it was too late--oh, James!--you +will not--oh, you will not--" + +"Will not what, dear?" Penhallow was disgusted. A guest entertained in +his own house to become a detective of an escaped slave in Westways, at +his very gate! "My charity, Ann, hardly covers this kind of sin against +the decencies of life. But I wish to hear all of it. Now, who betrayed +the man--who told Grey?" + +"I am sorry to say that it was Peter Lamb who first mentioned Josiah to +George Grey as a runaway. When he spoke of his lost fingers, George was +led to suspect who Josiah really was. Then he saw him, and as soon as he +was sure, he wrote to a Mr. Woodburn, who was Josiah's old owner." + +"I suppose he recognized Josiah readily?" + +"Yes, he had been a servant of George's friend, Mr. Woodburn, and George +says he was a man indulgently treated and much trusted." + +"I infer from what I learned to-day that George told you all this and had +already seen Swallow, so that the trap was set and Mr. Woodburn was to +arrive. Did George imagine you would warn my poor barber--" + +"But I--I didn't--I mean--I let John hear about it--and he told Josiah." + +He listened. Here was another Mrs. Ann. There was in Ann at times a +bewildering childlike simplicity with remarkable intelligence--a +combination to be found in some of the nobler types of womanhood. He made +no remark upon her way of betraying the trust implied in George Grey's +commonplace confession. + +"So, then, my dear, John went and gave the man a warning?" + +"Yes, I would have gone, but it was at night and I thought it better to +let John see him. How he did it I did not want to know--I preferred to +know nothing about it." + +This last sentence so appealed to Penhallow's not very ready sense of +humour that he felt it needful to control his mirth as he saw her +watching earnestness. "Grey, I presume, called on that rascal Swallow, +Mr. Woodburn is sent for, and meanwhile Josiah is told and wisely runs +away. He will never be caught. Anything else, my dear?" + +"Yes, I said to George that we would buy Josiah's freedom--what amuses +you, James?" He was smiling. + +"Oh, the idea of buying a man's power to go and come, when he has +been his own master for years. You were right, but it seems that you +failed--or, so I infer." + +"Yes. He said Mr. Woodburn was still angry and always had considered +Josiah wickedly ungrateful." Penhallow looked at his wife. Her sense of +the comedies of life was sometimes beyond his comprehension, but now--now +was she not a little bit, half consciously, of the defrauded master's +opinion? + +"And so, when that failed, you went to bank and drew out the poor +fellow's savings?" He meant to hear the whole story. There was worse yet, +and he was sure she would speak of it. But now she was her courageous +self and desired to confess her share in the matter. "Of course, he had +to have money, Ann." + +She wanted to get through with this, the most unpleasant part of the +matter. "I want to tell you," she said. "I drew out his money with a +cheque John made out and Josiah signed. John took him his two hundred +dollars, as he knew where Josiah would hide--I--I did not want to know." + +Her large part in this perilous business began to trouble the Squire. His +face had long been to her an open book, and she saw in his silence the +man's annoyance. She added instantly, "I could not let John draw it--and +Josiah would not--he was too scared. He had to have his money. Was I +wrong--was I foolish, James?" + +"No--you were right. The cheque was in John's handwriting. You were the +person to draw it. I would have drawn the money for him. He had a man's +right to his honest savings. It will end here--so you may be quite at +ease." Of this he was not altogether certain. He understood now why she +had not given him of her own money, but Ann was clearly too agitated to +make it well or wise to question her methods further. "Go to bed, dear, +and sleep the sleep of the just--you did the right thing." He kissed her. +"Good-night." + +"One moment more, James. You know, of course--you know that all my life I +have believed with my brothers that slavery was wise and right. I had to +believe that--to think so might exact from me and others what I never +could have anticipated. I came face to face with a test of my creed, and +I failed. I am glad I failed." + +"My dear Ann," he said, "I am supposed to be a Christian man--I go to +church, I have a creed of conduct. To-day I lost my temper and told a man +I would thrash him if he dared to say a word more." + +"It was at the bank, James?" + +"Yes. That fellow Swallow spoke of your having drawn Josiah's money. He +was insolent. You need have no anxiety about it--it is all over. I only +mention it because I want you to feel that our creeds of conduct in life +are not always our masters, and sometimes ought not to be. Let that +comfort you a little. You know that to have been a silent looker-on at +the return to slavery of a man to whom we owed so much was impossible. +My wonder is that for a moment you could have hesitated. It makes me +comprehend more charitably the attitude of the owners of men. Now, dear, +we won't talk any more. Good-night--again--good-night." + +He lighted a cigar and sat long in thought. He had meant not to speak to +her of Swallow, but it had been, as he saw, of service. Then he wondered +how long Mr. George Grey would remain and if he would not think it +necessary to speak of Josiah. As concerned John, he would be in no hurry +to talk to him of the barber; and how the lad had grown in mind and +body!--a wonderful change and satisfactory. + +When after breakfast Mr. Grey showed no desire to mention Josiah and +prudently avoided talk about politics, Penhallow was greatly relieved. +That his host did not open the question of Mr. Grey's conduct in the +matter of the runaway was as satisfactory to the Maryland gentleman, +whose sense of duty had created for him a situation which was +increasingly disagreeable. He warmly welcomed Penhallow's invitation to +look at some newly purchased horses, and expressed the most cordial +approval of whatever he saw, somewhat to the amusement of Penhallow. + +Penhallow left him when, declining to ride to the mills, Mr. Grey retired +to the library and read the _Tribune_, with internal comment on its +editorial columns. He laid the paper aside. Mr. Woodburn would probably +have arrived in the afternoon, and would have arranged with Swallow for a +consultation in which Mr. Grey would be expected to take part. It was +plain that he really must talk to the Captain. He rose and went slowly +down the avenue. A half-hour in Westways singularly relieved him. +Swallow was not at home, and Josiah, the cause of Mr. Grey's +perplexities, had certainly fled, nor did he learn that Mr. Woodburn +had already arrived. + +He was now shamefully eager to escape that interview with the captain, +and relieved to find that there was no need to wait for the friend he had +brought to Westways on a vain errand. Returning to Grey Pine, he +explained to his cousin that letters from home made it necessary for him +to leave on the mid-afternoon train. Never did Ann Penhallow more +gratefully practise the virtue that speeds the parting guest. He was +sorry to miss the captain and would have the pleasure of sending him a +barrel of the best Maryland whisky; "and would you, my dear cousin, say, +in your delightful way, to the good rector how much I enjoyed his +conversation?" + +Ann saw that the lunch was of the best and that the wagon was ready in +more than ample season. As he left, she expressed all the regret she +ought to have felt, and as the carriage disappeared at a turn of the +avenue she sank down in a chair. Then she rang a bell. "Take away that +thing," she said,--"that spittoon." + +"If James Penhallow were here," she murmured, "I should ask him to +say--damn! I wonder now if that man Woodburn will come, and if there will +be a difficulty with James on my account." She sat long in thought, +waiting to greet her husband, while Mr. Grey was left impatient at the +station owing to the too hospitable desire of Ann to speed the parting +guest. + +When about dusk the Squire rode along the road through Westways, he came +on the rector and dismounted, leaving his horse to be led home by Pole's +boy. "Glad to see you, Mark. How goes it; and how did you like Mr. Grey?" + +"To tell you the truth, Squire, I did not like him. I was forced into a +talk about politics. We differed, as you may suppose. He was not quite +pleasant. He seemed to have been so mixed up with this sad business about +Josiah that I kept away at last, so that I might keep my temper. Billy +drove him to the station after lunch." + +"Indeed!" said Penhallow, pleased that Grey had gone. It was news to him +and not unwelcome. Ann would no doubt explain. "What put Grey on the +track of Josiah as a runaway? Was it a mere accidental encounter?" He +desired to get some confirmatory information. + +"No--I suspect not." Then he related what Josiah had told him of Peter's +threats. "I may do that reprobate injustice, but--However, that is all I +now know or feel justified in suspecting." + +"Well, come up and dine to-day; we can talk it out after dinner." + +"With pleasure," said Rivers. + +Penhallow moodily walking up the street, his head bent in thought, was +made aware that he was almost in collision with Swallow and a large man +with a look of good-humoured amusement and the wide-open eyes and uplift +of brow expressive of pleasure and surprise. + +"By George, Woodburn!" said the Squire. "I heard some one of your name +was here, but did not connect the name with you. I last heard of you as +in a wild mix-up with the Sioux, and I wished I was with you." As +Penhallow spoke the two men shook hands, Swallow meanwhile standing apart +not over-pleased as through the narrowed lids of near-sight he saw that +the two men must have known one another well and even intimately, for +Woodburn replied, "Thought you knew I'd left the army, Jim. The last five +years I've been running my wife's plantation in Maryland." + +The Squire's pleasure at his encounter with an old West Point comrade for +a moment caused him to forget that this was the master who had been set +on Josiah's track by Grey. It was but for a moment. Then he drew up his +soldierly figure and said coldly, "I am sorry that you are here on what +cannot be a very agreeable errand." + +"Oh!" said Woodburn cheerfully, "I came to get my old servant, Caesar. It +seems to have been a fool's errand. He has slipped away. I suppose that +Grey as usual talked too freely. But how the deuce does it concern you? I +see that it does." + +Penhallow laughed. "He was my barber." + +"And mine," said Woodburn. "If you have missed him, Jim, for a few days, +I have missed him for three years and more." Then both men laughed +heartily at their inequality of loss. + +"I cannot understand why this fellow ran away. He was a man I trusted and +indulged to such an extent that my wife says I spoiled him. She says he +owned me quite as much as I owned him--a darned ungrateful cuss! I came +here pretty cross when I got George's letter, and now I hear of an amount +of hostile feeling which rather surprised me." + +"That you are surprised, Will, surprises me," said Penhallow. "The +Fugitive-Slave Act will always meet with opposition at the North. It +seems made to create irritation even among people who really are not +actively hostile to slavery. If it became necessary to enforce it, I +believe that I would obey it, because it is the law--but it is making +endless trouble. May I ask what you propose to do about this present +case?" + +"Do--oh, nothing! I am advised to employ detectives and hunt the man +down. I will not; I shall go home. It is not Mr. Swallow's advice." + +"No, it is not," said the lawyer, who stood aside waiting a chance to +speak. "Some one warned the man, and it is pretty generally suspected how +he came to be told." + +Penhallow turned to Woodburn, "Has Mr. Swallow ventured to connect me or +any of my family with this matter?" + +"No," said Woodburn, which was true. Swallow meant to keep in reserve +Mrs. Penhallow's share in the escape until he learned how far an angry +slave-owner was disposed to go. Woodburn had, however, let him understand +that he was not of a mind to go further, and had paid in good-humour a +bill he thought excessive. Grey had made it all seem easy, and then as +Swallow now learned had gone away. He had also written to his own +overseer, and thus among their neighbours a strong feeling prevailed that +this was a case for prompt and easy action. The action had been prompt +and had failed. Woodburn was going home to add more bitterness to the +Southern sense of Northern injustice. + +When Woodburn, much to Penhallow's relief, had said he was done with the +case, the Squire returned, "Then, as you are through with Mr. Swallow, +come home and dine with me. Where are you staying?" + +"At Mr. Swallow's, but I leave by the night train." + +"So soon! But come and dine. I will send for your bag and see that you +get to your train." + +The prospect of Swallow and his feeble, overdressed wife, and his +comrade's urgency, decided Woodburn. He said, "Yes, if Mr. Swallow will +excuse me." + +Swallow said, "Oh, of course!" relieved to be rid of a dissatisfied +client, and the two ex-soldiers went away together chatting of West Point +life. + +Half-way up the avenue Penhallow said, "Before we go in, a word or two--" + +"What is it, Jim?" + +"That fellow said nothing of Mrs. Penhallow, you are sure?" + +"Yes," returned Woodburn, "not a word. I knew that you lived here, but +neither of you nor of Mrs. Penhallow did he say a word in connection with +this business. I meant to look you up this afternoon. Why do you speak of +your wife?" + +"Because--well--I could not let you join us without an honest word +concerning what I was sure you would have heard from Swallow. Now if you +had taken what I presume was his advice--to punish the people concerned +in warning Josiah, you--indeed I--might hesitate--" + +"What do you mean, Jim?" said his companion much amazed. + +"I mean this: After our loose-tongued friend Grey told my wife that +Josiah was in danger, she sent him word of the risk he ran, and then drew +out of our bank for him his savings and enabled him to get away. Now +don't say a word until I have done. Listen! This man turned up here over +three years ago and was soon employed about my stables. He broke his leg +in stopping a runaway and saved my wife's young niece, our adopted child, +Leila Grey. There was some other kind and efficient service. That's all. +Now, can you dine with me?" + +"With all my heart, Jim. Damn Grey! Did he talk much?" + +"Did he? No, he gabbled. But are you satisfied?" + +"Yes, Jim. I am sorry I drove off your barber--and I shall hold my tongue +when I get home--as far as I can." + +"Then come. I have some of my father's Madeira, if Grey has left any. I +shall say a word to Mrs. Penhallow. By George! I am glad to have you." + +Penhallow showed Woodburn to a room, and feeling relieved and even +elated, found his wife, who had tired of waiting and had gone to get +ready to dine. He told her in a few words enough to set her at ease with +the new guest. Then Mark Rivers came in and John Penhallow, who having +heard about the stranger's errand was puzzled when he became aware of the +cordial relations of his uncle and Mr. Woodburn. + +The dinner was pleasant and unembarrassed. The lad whom events had +singularly matured listened to gay memories of West Point and to talk of +cadets whose names were to live in history or who had been distinguished +in our unrighteous war with Mexico. When now and then the talk became +quite calmly political, Ann listened to the good-natured debate and was +longing to speak her mind. She was, however, wisely silent, and reflected +half amused that she had lost the right to express herself on the +question which was making politics ill-tempered but was now being +discussed at her table with such well-bred courtesy. John soon ceased to +follow the wandering talk, and feeling what for him had the charm of +romance in the flight of Josiah sat thinking over the scene of the +warning at night, the scared fugitive in the cabin, and the lonely voyage +down through the darkness of the rapids of the river. Where would the man +go? Would they ever see him again? They were to meet in far-away days and +in hours far more perilous. Then he was caught once more by gay stories +of adventures on the plains and memories of Indian battles, until the +wine had been drunk and the Squire took his friend to the library for an +hour. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Penhallow himself drove his guest to meet the night express to the East, +and well pleased with his day returned to find his wife talking with +Rivers and John. He sat down with them at the fire in the hall, saying, +"I wanted to keep Woodburn longer, but he was wise not to stay. What are +you two talking over--you were laughing?" + +"I," said Rivers, "was hearing how that very courteous gentleman chanced +to dine with these mortal enemies who stole his property. I kept quiet, +Mrs. Penhallow said nothing, John ate his dinner, and no one quarrelled. +I longed for Mr. Grey--" + +"For shame," said Mrs. Ann. "Tell him why we were laughing--it was at +nothing particular." + +"It was about poor old Mrs. Burton." + +"What about her? If you can make that widow interesting in any way, I +shall be grateful." + +"It was about her dead husband--" + +"Am I to hear it or not?" said Penhallow. "What is it?" + +"Why, what she said was that she was more than ever confirmed in her +belief in special Providences, because Malcolm was so fond of tomatoes, +and this year of his death not one of their tomatoes ripened." + +The Squire's range of enjoyment of the comic had limitations, but this +story was immensely enjoyed and to his taste. He laughed in his hearty +way. "Did she tell you that, Mark, or has it improved in your hands?" + +"No--no, I got it from Grace, and he had it from the widow. I do not +think it seemed the least bit funny to Grace." + +"But after all," said Mrs. Ann, "is it so very comic?" + +"Oh, now," said Penhallow, "we are in for a discussion on special +Providences. I can't stand it to-night; I want something more definite. +My manager says sometimes, 'I want to close out this-here business.' Now +I want to close out this abominable business about my poor Josiah. You +and your aunt, John, have been, as you may know, breaking the law of your +country--" + +Rivers, surprised and still partially ignorant, looked from one to +another. + +"Oh, James!" remonstrated his wife, not overpleased. + +"Wait a little, my dear Ann. Now, John, I want to hear precisely how you +gave Josiah a warning and--well--all the rest. You ought to know that my +little lady did as usual the right thing. The risks and whatever there +might have been of danger were ours by right--a debt paid to a poor +runaway who had made us his friends. Now, John!" + +Rivers watched his pupil with the utmost interest. John stood up a little +excited by this unexpected need to confess. He leaned against the side of +the mantel and said, "Well, you see, Uncle Jim, I got in at the back--" + +"I don't see at all. I want to be made to see--I want the whole story." + +John had in mind that he had done a rather fine thing and ought to relate +it as lightly as he had heard Woodburn tell of furious battles with +Apaches. But, as his uncle wanted the whole story, he must have some good +reason, and the young fellow was honestly delighted. Standing by the +fire, watched by three people who loved him, and above all by the +Captain, his ideal of what he felt he himself could never be, John +Penhallow told of his entrance to Josiah's room and of his thought of +the cabin as a hiding-place. When he hesitated, Penhallow said, "Oh, +don't leave out, John Penhallow, I want all the details. I have my +reasons, John." + +Flushed and handsome, with his strong young face above the figure which +was to have his uncle's athletic build, he related his story to the +close. As he told of the parting with the frightened fugitive and the +hunted man's last blessing, he was affected as he had not been at the +time. "That's all, Uncle Jim. It was too bad--and he will never come +back." + +"He could," said Rivers. + +"Yes--but he will not. I know the man," said Penhallow. "He has the +courage of the minute, but the timidity of the slave. We shall see him no +more, I fear." + +The little group around the fire fell to silence, and John sat down. He +wanted a word of approval, and got it. "I want you to know, John," said +Penhallow, "that I think you behaved with courage and discretion. It was +not an errand for a boy, but no man could have done better, and your aunt +had no one else. I am glad she had not." + +Then John Penhallow felt that he was shaky and that his eyes were +uncomfortably filling. With a boy's dislike of showing emotion, he +mastered his feelings and said, "Thank you, Uncle Jim." + +"That is all," said the Squire, who too saw and comprehended what he saw, +"go to bed, you breaker of the law--" + +"And I," said Ann, "a wicked partner. Come, John." + +They left the master of the house with the rector. Rivers looked at the +clock, "I think I must go. I do not stand late hours. If I let the day +capture the night, the day after is apt to find me dull." + +"Well, stand it this once, Mark. I hate councils of war or peace without +the pipe, and now, imagine it, my dear wife wanted me to smoke, and that +was all along of that terrible spittoon and the long-expected cousin of +whom I have heard from time to time. _Les absens n'out pas toujours +tort_. Now smoke and don't watch the clock. I said this abominable +business was to be closed out--" + +"And is it not?" asked Rivers. + +"No. I do not talk about Peter Lamb to my wife, because she thinks my +helping him so often has done the man more harm than good. It was not +Grey alone who was responsible. He told Mrs. Penhallow that Peter had +sent him to Josiah's shop. He told Grey too that Josiah must be a runaway +slave and that any one would know him by his having lost two fingers. +That at once set Grey on this mischievous track." + +"I am only too sure that you are right," returned Rivers. "Peter tried a +very futile blackmailing trick on Josiah. He wanted to get whisky, and +told the poor negro that he must get it for him or he would let his +master know where he was. Of course, the scamp knew what we all knew and +no more, but it alarmed Josiah, who came to me at once. He was like a +scared child. I told him to go home and that Peter had lied. He went away +looking as if the old savagery in his blood might become practically +active." + +"I don't wonder," said Penhallow. "Did it end there?" + +"No, I saw Peter next day, and he of course lied to me very cleverly, +said it was only a joke on Josiah, and so on. I think, sir, and you will +I hope excuse me--I do think that the man were better let alone. Every +time you help him, he gets worse. When he was arrested and suspected of +burning Robert's hayrick, you pleaded with the old farmer and got the man +off. He boasted of it the next time he got drunk." + +"I know--I know." The Squire had paid Robert's loss, and aware of his own +folly was of no mind to confess to any one. "I have no wish or will to +help him. I mean now to drop him altogether, and I must tell him so. But +what a pity it is! He is intelligent, and was a good carpenter until he +began to drink. I must talk to him." + +"You will only make him more revengeful. He has what he calls 'got even' +with Josiah, and he is capable of doing it with you or me. Let him +alone." + +"Not I," said the Squire; "if only for his mother's sake, I must see what +I can do." + +"Useless--quite useless," said Rivers. "You may think that strange advice +for a clergyman, but I do sometimes despair of others and occasionally of +Mark Rivers. Goodnight." + +During these days the fugitive floated down the swift little river at +night, and at dawn hid his frail boat and himself in the forests of a +thinly settled land. He was brave enough, but his ignorance of geography +added to his persistent terror. On the third day the broader waters +brought him to farms and houses. Then he left his boat and struck out +across the country until he came to a railway. In the station he made out +that it led to Philadelphia. Knowing that he would be safe there, he +bought a ticket and arrived in the city the next day--a free man with +money, intelligence, and an honest liking for steady work. + +The Squire had the good habit of second thought. His wife knew it well +and had often found it valuable and to be trusted. At present he was +thoroughly disgusted with the consequences of what he knew to be in some +degree the result of his own feeling that he was bound to care for the +man whose tie to him was one few men would have considered as in any +serious degree obligatory. The night brought good counsel, and he made +up his mind next morning simply to let the foster-brother alone. Fate +decreed otherwise. In the morning he was asked by his wife to go with her +to the village; she wanted some advice. He did not ask what, but said, +"Of course. I am to try the barber's assistant I have brought from the +mills to shave me, and what is more important--Westways. I have put him +in our poor old Josiah's shop." + +They went together to Pole's, and returning she stopped before the +barn-like building where Grace gathered on Sundays a scant audience to +hear the sermons which Rivers had told him had too much heart and too +little head. + +"What is it?" asked Penhallow. + +"I have heard, James, that their chapel (she never called it church) is +leaking--the roof, I mean. Could not you pay for a new roof?" + +"Of course, my dear--of course. It can't cost much. I will see Grace +about it." + +"Thank you, James." On no account would she now have done this herself. +She was out of touch for the time with the whole business of politics, +and to have indulged her usual gentle desire to help others would have +implied obligation on the part of the Baptist to accept her wish that he +should vote and use his influence for Buchanan. Now the thing would be +done without her aid. In time her desire to see the Democrats win in the +interest of her dear South would revive, but at present what with Grey +and the threat of the practical application of the Fugitive-Slave Act and +her husband's disgust, she was disposed to let politics alone. + +Presently, as they walked on, Peter Lamb stopped them. "I'd like to speak +to you for a moment, Mr. Penhallow." Mrs. Penhallow walked on. + +"What is it?" said the Squire. + +"I'm all right now--I'll never drink again. I want some work--and +mother's sick." + +"We will see to her, but you get no more work from me." + +"Why, what's the matter, sir?" + +"Matter! You might ask Josiah if he were here. You know well enough what +you did--and now I am done with you." + +"So help me God, I never--" + +"Oh! get out of my way. You are a miserable, lying, ungrateful man, and I +have done with you." + +He walked away conscious of having again lost his temper, which was rare. +The red-faced man he left stood still, his lips parted, the large yellow +teeth showing. "It's that damned parson," he said. + +Penhallow rejoined his wife. "What did he want?" she asked. + +"Oh, work," he said. "I told him he could get no more from me." + +"Well, James," she said, "that is the first sensible thing you have ever +done about that man. You have thoroughly spoiled him, and now it is very +likely too late to discipline him." + +"Yes--perhaps--you may be right." He knew her to be right, but he did not +like her agreement with his decision to be connected with even her mild +statement that it had been better if long before he had been more +reasonably severe and treated Lamb as others would have treated him. In +the minor affairs of life Ann Penhallow used the quick perception of a +woman, and now and then brought the Squire's kindly excesses to the bar +of common sense. Sometimes the sentence was never announced, but now and +then annoyed at his over-indulgent charity she allowed her impatience the +privilege of speech, and then, as on this occasion, was sorry to have +spoken. + +Dismissing his slight vexation, Penhallow said presently, "He told me his +mother was sick." + +"She was not yesterday. I took her our monthly allowance and some towels +I wanted hemmed and marked. He lied to you, James. Did you believe him +even for a moment?" + +"But she might be sick, Ann. I meant you to stop and ask." + +"I will, of course." This time she held her tongue, and left him at +Grace's door. + +The perfect sweetness of her husband's generous temperament was sometimes +trying to Ann in its results, but now it had helped her out of an awkward +position, and with pride and affection she watched his soldierly figure +for a moment and then went on her way. + +Intent with gladness on fulfilling his wife's errand, he went up the +steps of the small two-storey house of the Baptist preacher. He had +difficulty in making any one hear where there was no one to hear. If at +Westways the use of the rare bells or more common knockers brought no one +to the door, you were free to walk in and cry, "Where are you, Amanda +Jane, and shall I come right up?" Penhallow had never set foot in the +house, but had no hesitation in entering the front room close to the +narrow hall which was known as the front entry. The details of men's +surroundings did not usually interest Penhallow, but in the mills or the +far past days of military service nothing escaped him that could be of +use in the work of the hour. The stout little Baptist preacher, with his +constant every-day jollity and violent sermons, of which he had heard +from Rivers, in no way interested Penhallow. When he once said to Ann, +"The man is unneat and common," she replied, "No, he is homely, but +neither vulgar nor common. I hate his emotional performances, but the man +is good, James." "Then I do wish, Ann, he would button his waistcoat and +pull up his socks." + +Now he looked about him with some unusual attention. There was no carpet. +A set of oddly coloured chairs and settees which would have pleased Ann, +a square mahogany table set on elephantine legs, completed the +furnishings of a whitewashed room, where the flies, driven indoors by +cool weather, buzzed on window glasses dull with dust. The back room had +only a writing-table, a small case of theological books, and two or +three much used volumes of American history. Penhallow looked around him +with unusually awakened pity. The gathered dust, the battered chairs, the +spider-webs in the darker corners, would have variously annoyed and +disgusted Ann Penhallow. A well-worn Bible lay on the table, with a +ragged volume of "Hiawatha" and "Bunyan's Holy War." There were no other +books. This form of poverty piteously appealed to him. + +"By George!" he exclaimed, "that is sad. The man is book-poor. Ann must +have that library. I will ask him to use mine." As he stood still in +thought, he heard steps, and turned to meet Dr. McGregor. + +"Come to see Grace, sir?" said the doctor. + +"Yes, I came about a little business, but there seems to be no one in." + +"Grace is in bed and pretty sick too." + +"What is the matter?" + +"Oh, had a baptism in the river--stood too long in the water and got +chilled. It has happened before. Come up and see him--he'll like it." + +The Squire hesitated and then followed the doctor. "Who cares for him?" +he asked as they moved up the stairs. + +"Oh, his son. Rather a dull lad, but not a bad fellow. He has no +servant--cooks for himself. Ever try it, Squire?" + +"I--often. But what a life!" + +The stout little clergyman lay on a carved four-post bedstead of old +mahogany, which seemed to hint of better days. The ragged patch-work +quilt over him told too of busy woman-hands long dead. The windows were +closed, the air was sick (as McGregor said later), and there was the +indescribable composite odour which only the sick chamber of poverty +knows. The boy, glad to escape, went out as they entered. + +Grace sat up. "Now," he said cheerfully, "this is real good of you to +come and see me! Take a seat, sir." + +The chairs were what the doctor once described as non-sitable, and +wabbled as they sat down. + +"You are better, I see, Grace," said the doctor. "I fetched up the Squire +for a consultation." + +"Yes, I'm near about right." He had none of the common feeling of the +poor that he must excuse his surroundings to these richer visitors, nor +any least embarrassment. "It's good to see some one, Mr. Penhallow." + +"I come on a pleasant errand," said Penhallow. "We will talk it over and +then leave you to the doctor. Mrs. Penhallow wants me to roof your +church. I came to say to you that I shall do it with pleasure. You will +lose the use of it for one Sunday at least." + +"Thank you, Squire," said Grace simply. "That's real good medicine." + +"I will see to it at once." + +The doctor opened a window, and Penhallow drew a grateful breath of fresh +air. + +"Don't go, sir," said Grace. The Squire sat down again while McGregor +went through his examination of the sick man. Then he too rose to leave. + +"Must you go?" said Grace. "It is such a pleasure to see some one from +the outside." The doctor smiled and lingered. + +"I suppose, Squire, you'll get Joe Boynton, the carpenter, to put on the +roof? He's one of my flock." + +"Yes," said Penhallow, "but he will want to put his old workman, Peter +Lamb, on the job, and I have no desire to help that man any further. He +gives his mother nothing, and every cent he makes goes for drink." + +McGregor nodded approval, but wondered why at last the Squire's unfailing +good-nature had struck for higher wages of virtue in the man he had +ruined by kindness. + +"I try to keep work in Westways," said Penhallow. "Joe Shall roof the +chapel, and like as not Peter will be too drunk to help. I can't quite +make it a condition with Joe that he shall not employ Peter, but I should +like to." McGregor's face grew smiling at Penhallow's conclusion when he +added, "I hope he may get work elsewhere." Then the Squire went +downstairs with the doctor, exchanging brevities of talk. + +"Are you aware, Penhallow, that this wicked business about Josiah has +beaten Buchanan in Westways? Come to apply the Fugitive-Slave Act and +people won't stand it. As long as it was just a matter of newspaper +discussion Westways didn't feel it, but when it drove away our barber, +Westways's conscience woke up to feel how wicked it was." + +The Squire had had an illustration nearer home and kept thinking of it as +he murmured monosyllabic contributions while the doctor went on--"My own +belief is that if the November election were delayed six months, Fremont +would carry Pennsylvania." + +Penhallow recovered fuller consciousness and returned, "I distrust +Fremont. I knew him in the West. But he represents, or rather he stands +for, a party, and it is mine." + +"I am glad to know that," said McGregor. "I am really glad. It is a +relief to be sure about a man like you, Penhallow. I suppose you know +that you are loved in the county as no one else is." + +"Nonsense," exclaimed the Squire, laughing, but not ill-pleased. + +"No, I am serious; but it leads up to this: Am I free to say you will +vote the Republican ticket?" + +"Yes--yes--you may say so." + +"It will be of use, but couldn't I persuade you to speak at the meeting +next week at the mills?" + +"No, McGregor. That is not in my line." He had other reasons for refusal. +"Let us drop politics. What is that boy of yours going to do?" + +"Study medicine," he says. "He has brains enough, and Mr. Rivers tells me +he is studious. Our two lads fell out, it seems, and my boy got the worst +of it. What I don't like is that he has not made up with John." + +"No, that is bad; but boys get over their quarrels in time. However, I +must go. If I can be of any use to Tom, you know that I am at your +service." + +"When were you not at everybody's service?" said the doctor, and they +went out through the hall. + +"Good-bye," said Penhallow, but the doctor stopped him. + +"Penhallow, may I take the liberty to bother you with a bit of unasked +advice?" + +"A liberty, nonsense! What is it?" + +"Well, then--let that drunken brute Peter alone. You said that you would +not let the carpenter use him, but why not? Then you hoped he would get +work. Let him alone." + +"McGregor, I have a great charity for a drunkard's son--and the rest you +know." + +"Yes, too well." + +"I try to put myself in his place--with his inheritance--" + +"You can't. Nothing is more kind than that in some cases, and nothing +more foolish in others or in this--" + +"Perhaps. I will think it over, Doctor. Good-bye." + +Meanwhile Grace lay in bed thoughtfully considering the situation. While +her husband seemed practically inactive in politics, Mrs. Penhallow had +been busy, and she had clearly hinted that the roofing of the chapel +might depend on how Grace used his large influence in the electoral +contest, but had said nothing very definite. He was well aware, however, +that in his need for help he had bowed a little in the House of Rimmon. +Then he had talked with Rivers and straightened up, and now did the +Squire's offer imply any pledge on his own part? While he tried to solve +this problem, Penhallow reappeared. + +"I forgot something, Grace," he said. "Mrs. Penhallow will send Mrs. Lamb +here for a few days, and some--oh, some little luxuries--ice and fresh +milk." + +The Baptist did not like it. Was this to keep him in the way he had +resolved not to go. "Thank you and her," he returned, and then added +abruptly, "How are you meaning to vote, Squire?" + +"Oh, for Fremont," replied Penhallow, rather puzzled. + +"Well, that will be good news in Westways." It was to him, too, and he +felt himself free. "Isn't Mrs. Penhallow rather on the other side?" + +He had no least idea that the question might be regarded as impertinent. +Penhallow said coldly, "My wife and I are rather averse to talking +politics. I came back to say that I want you to feel free to make use of +my library--just as Rivers does." + +"Now that will be good. I am book-starved except for Rivers's help. Thank +you." He put out a fat hand and said, "God has been good to me this day; +may He be as kind to you and yours." + +The Squire went his way wondering what the deuce the man had to do with +Ann Penhallow's politics. + +Mrs. Lamb took charge of Grace, and Mrs. Penhallow saw that he was well +supplied and gave no further thought to the incorrigible and changeful +political views of Westways. + +The excitement over the flight of Josiah lessened, and Westways settled +down to the ordinary dull routine of a little community dependent on +small farmers and the mill-men who boarded at the old tavern or with some +of the townspeople. + + * * * * * + +The forests were rapidly changing colour except where pine and spruce +stood darkly green amid the growing magnificence of maple and oak. It was +the intermediate season in which were neither winter nor summer sports, +and John Penhallow enjoying the pageant of autumn rode daily or took long +walks, exploring the woods, missing Leila and giving free wing to a mind +which felt the yearning, never to be satisfied, to translate into human +speech its bird-song of enjoyment of nature. + +On an afternoon in mid-October he saw Mr. Rivers, to his surprise, far +away on the bank of the river. Well aware that the clergyman was rarely +given to any form of exercise on foot, John was a little surprised when +he came upon the tall, stooping, pallid man with what Ann Penhallow +called the "eloquent" eyes. He was lying on the bank lazily throwing +stones into the river. As John broke through the alders and red willows +above him, he turned at the sound and cried, as John jumped down the +bank, "Glad to see you, John! I have been trying to settle a question no +one can settle to the satisfaction of others or even himself. You might +give me your opinion as to who wrote the Epistle to the Hebrews. Origen +gave it up, and Philo had a theory about Apollos, and there is +Tertullian, that's all any fellow knows; and so now I await your opinion. +What nobody knows about, anybody's opinion is good about." + +John laughed as he said, "I don't think I'll try." + +"Did you ever read Hebrews, John? The epistle I mean." + +"No." + +"Then don't or not yet. The Bible books ought to be read at different +ages of a man's life. I could arrange them. Your aunt reads to you or +with you, I believe?" + +"Yes--Acts just now, sir. She makes it so clear and interesting that it +seems as if all might have happened now to some missionaries somewhere." + +"That is an art. Some of the Bible stories require such help to make them +seem real to modern folk. How does, or how did, Leila take Mrs. Ann's +teachings?" + +"Oh, Leila," he replied, as he began to pitch pebbles in the little +river, "Leila--wriggled. You know, she really can't keep quiet, Mr. +Rivers." + +"Yes, I know well enough. But did what interested you interest Leila?" + +"No--no, indeed, sir. It troubled Aunt Ann because she could not make her +see things. Usually at night before bedtime we read some of the Gospels, +and then once a week Acts. Every now and then Leila would sit still and +ask such queer questions--about people." + +"What kind of questions, John?" He was interested and curious. + +"Oh, about Peter's mother and--I forget--oh, yes, once--I remember that +because aunt did not like it and I really couldn't see why." + +"Well, what was it?" + +"She wanted to know if Christ's brothers ever were married and if they +had children." + +"Did she, indeed! Well--well!" + +"Aunt Ann asked her why she wanted to know that, and Leila said it was +because she was thinking how Christ must have loved them, and maybe that +was why He was so fond of little children. Now, I couldn't have thought +that." + +"Nor I," said Rivers. "She will care more for people--oh, many +people--and by and by for things, events and the large aspects of life, +but she is as yet undeveloped." + +John was clear that he did not want her to like many people, but he was +inclined to keep this to himself and merely said, "I don't quite +understand." + +"No, perhaps I _was_ a little vague. Leila is at the puzzling age. You +will find her much altered in a year." + +"I won't like that." + +"Well, perhaps not. But you too have changed a good deal since you came. +You were a queer young prig." + +"I was--I was indeed." + +Then they were silent a while. John thought of his mother who had left +him to the care of tutors and schools while she led a wandering, unhappy, +invalid life. He remembered the Alps and the _spas_ and her fretful care +of his very good health, and then the delight of being free and +surrounded with all a boy desires, and at last Leila and the wonderful +hair on the snow-drift. + +"Look at the leaves, John," said Rivers. "What fleets of red and gold!" + +"I wonder," said John, "how far they will drift, and if any of them will +ever float to the sea. It is a long way." + +"Yes," returned Rivers, "and so we too are drifting." + +"Oh, no, sir," said John, with the confidence of youth, "we are not +drifting, we are sailing--not just like the leaves anywhere the waves +take them." + +"More or less," added Rivers moodily, "more or less." + +He looked at the boy as he spoke, conscious of a nature unlike his own. +Then he laughed outright. "You may be sure we are a good deal hustled by +circumstances--like the leaves." + +"I should prefer to hustle circumstances," replied John gaily, and again +the rector studied the young face and wondered what life had in store for +this resolute nature. + +"Come, let us go. I have walked too far for me, I am overtired, John." + +What it felt to be overtired, John hardly knew. He said, "I know a short +cut, cater-cornered across the new clearing." + +As they walked homeward, Rivers said, "What do you want to do, John? You +are more than fit for the university--you should be thinking about it." + +"I do not know." + +"Would you like to be a clergyman?" + +"No," said John decisively. + +"Or a lawyer, or a doctor like Tom McGregor?" + +"I do not know--I have not thought about it much, but I might like to go +to West Point." + +"Indeed!" + +"Yes, but I am not sure." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +When John was eager to hear what Leila wrote, his aunt laughed and said, +"As you know, there is always a word of remembrance for you, but her +letters would hardly interest you. They are about the girls and the +teachers and new gowns. Write to her--I will enclose it, but you need +expect no answer." + +That Leila should have acquired interest in gowns seemed to him unlike +that fearless playmate. He learned that the rules of the school forbade +the writing of letters except to parents and near relatives. He was now +to write to Leila the first letter he had written since his laborious +epistles to his mother when at school. His compositions seemed to Rivers +childlike long after he showed notable competence in speech. + +"DEAR LEILA: It is very hard that you cannot write to me. We are all well +here except Lucy, who is lame. It isn't very much. + +"Of course you have heard about our good old Josiah. Isn't that slave law +wicked? Westways is angry and all turned round for Fremont. Mr. Grace has +been ill, and Uncle Jim is putting a roof on his chapel. Josiah left me +his traps when he ran away. He meant to make you a muskrat skin bag. I +found four in his traps, and I have caught four more, and when Mrs. Lamb +makes a bag of them, I am to have for it a silver clasp which belonged +to Great-grandmother Penhallow. No girl will have one like that. It was +on account of Josiah the town will not vote for Buchanan. + +"I wish I had asked you for a lock of your hair. I remember how it looked +on the snow when Billy upset us."-- + +He had found his letter-writing hard work, and let it alone for a time. +Before he finished it, he had more serious news to add. + +The autumnal sunset of the year, the red and gold of maple, oak and +sassafras, was new to the boy who had spent so many years in Europe, and +more wonderful was it when in this late October on the uplands there fell +softly upon the glowing colours of the woods a light covering of early +snow. Once seen it is a spectacle never to be forgotten, and he had the +gift of being charmed by the scenic ingenuities of nature. + +The scripture reading was over and he was thinking late in the evening of +what he had seen, when his aunt said, "Goodnight, John--bed-time," and +went up the stairway. John lay quiet, with closed eyes, seeing the sunlit +snow lightly dusted on the red and yellows of the forest. + +About eleven his uncle came from the library. "What, you scamp!--up so +late! I meant to mail this letter to-day; run down and mail it. It ought +to go when Billy takes the letters to Westways Crossing early to-morrow. +I will wait up for you. Now use those long legs and hurry." + +John took his cap and set off, liking the run over the snow, which was +light and no longer falling. He raced down the avenue and climbed the +gate, thinking of Leila. He dropped the letter into the post-office box, +and decided to return by a short way through the Penhallow woods which +faced the town. He moved eastward, climbed the fence, and stood still. He +was some two hundred yards from the parsonage. His attention was arrested +by a dull glow behind the house. He ran towards it as it flared upward a +broad rush of flame, brilliantly lighting the expanse of snow and sending +long prancing shafts of shadow through the woods as it struck on the tall +spruces. Shouting, "Fire! Fire!" John came nearer. + +The large store of dry pine and birch for winter-use piled in a shed +against the back of Rivers's house was burning fiercely, with that look +of ungoverned fury which gives such an expression of merciless, personal +rage to a great fire. The terror of it at first possessed the lad, who +was shouting himself hoarse. The flame was already running up and over +the outer planking and curling down upon the thin snow of the shingled +roof as he ran around the small garden and saw the front door open and +Rivers come out. The rector said, "It is gone, John; I will go for your +uncle. Run over to the Wayne and call up the men. Tell them to get out my +books and what they can, but to run no risks. Quick, now! Wake up the +town." + +There was little need, for some one at the inn had heard John's cries. In +a few minutes the village was awake and out of doors before Penhallow +arriving took charge and scattered men through the easily lighted pines, +in some dread of a forest fire. The snow on the floor of pine-needles and +on the laden trees was, however, as he soon saw, an insurance against the +peril from far-scattered sparks, and happily there was no wind. Little +of what was of any value was saved, and in the absence of water there was +nothing to do but to watch the fire complete its destructive work. + +"There is nothing more we can do, Rivers," said Penhallow. "John was the +first to see it. We will talk about it to-morrow--not now--not here." + +The three Grey Pine people stood apart while books and clothes and little +else were carried across the road and stored in the village houses. At +last the flames rose high in the air and for a few minutes as the roof +fell in, the beauty of the illumination was what impressed John and +Rivers. The Squire now and then gave quick orders or stood still in +thought. At last he said to the rector, "I want you to go to Grey Pine, +call up Mrs. Penhallow and tell her, and then go to bed. You will like +to stay here with me, John?" + +"Yes, sir." The Squire walked away as Rivers left them. + +"Fine sight, ain't it, Mr. John," said Billy, the one person who enjoyed +the fire. + +"Yes," said John, absently intent on the red-lighted snow spaces and the +gigantic shadows of the thinly timbered verge of the forest as they were +and were not. Then there was a moment of alarm. An old birch, loosely +clad with dry, ragged bark stood near to the house. A flake of falling +fire fell on it. Instantly the whole trunk-cover blazed up with a roar +like that of a great beast in pain. It was sudden and for the instant +terrible, but the snow-laden leaves still left on it failed to take fire, +and what in summer would have been a calamity was at an end. + +"Gosh!" exclaimed Billy, "didn't he howl?" John made no reply. + +"Couldn't wake Peter. I was out first." He had liked the fun of banging +at the doors. "Old Woman Lamb said she couldn't wake him." + +"Drunk, I suppose," said John absently, stamping out a spark among the +pine-needles at his feet, now freed from snow by the heat. + +The night passed, and when the dawning came, the Squire leaving some +orders went homeward with John, saying only, "Go to bed at once, we will +talk about it later. I don't like it, John. You saw it first--where did +it begin?" + +"Outside, sir, in the wood-shed." + +"Indeed! There has been some foul play. Who could it have been?" He said +no more. + +It was far into the morning when John awaking found that he had been +allowed to make up for the lost sleep of the past night. His aunt smiling +greeted him with a kiss, concerning which there is something to be said +in regard to what commentary the assistant features make upon the kiss. +"I would not have you called earlier," she said; "but now, here is your +breakfast, you have earned it." She sat down and watched the +disappearance of a meal which would have filled his mother with anxiety. +Ann was really enjoying the young fellow's wholesome appetite and +contrasting it with the apprehensive care concerning food he had shown +when long before he had seemed to her husband and herself a human problem +hard to solve. James Penhallow had been wise, and Leila a rough and +efficient schoolmistress. "Do not hurry, John; have another cup?" + +"Yes, please." + +"Have you written that letter? I mean to be naughty enough to enclose it +to Leila. I told you so." + +"Yes, but it is not quite done, and now I must tell her about the fire. I +wrote her that Josiah had gone away." + +"The less of it the better. I mean about--well, about your warning +him--and the rest--your share and mine." + +"Of course not, Aunt Ann. I would not talk about myself. I mean, I could +not write about it." + +"You would talk of it if she were here--you would, I am sure." + +"Yes, that's different--I suppose, I would," he returned. She was struck +with this as being like what James Penhallow would have said and have, or +not have, done. + +"If you have finished, John, I think your uncle wants you." + +"Why didn't you tell me, aunt?" he said, as he got up in haste. + +"Oh, boys must be fed," she cried. She too rose from her seat, and went +around the table and kissed him again, saying, "You are more and more +like my captain, John." + +Being a woman, as John was well aware, not given to express approval of +what were merely acts of duty, he was surprised at what was, for her, +excess of praise; nor was she as much given to kissing, as are many +women. The lad felt, therefore, that what she thus said and did was +unusual, and was what his Uncle Jim called one of Ann's rarely conferred +brevets of affection. + +"Yes," she repeated, "you are like him." + +"What! I like Uncle Jim! I wish I were." + +"Now go," she said, giving him a gentle push. She was shyly aware of a +lapse into unhabitual emotion and of some closer approach to the maternal +relation fostered by his growing resemblance to James Penhallow. + +"So," laughed his uncle as John entered the library, "you have burned +down the school and are on a holiday--you and Rivers." + +John grinned. "Yes, sir." + +"Sit down. We are discussing that fire. You were the first to see it, +John. It was about eleven--" + +"Yes, uncle, it struck as I left the hall." + +"No one else was in sight, and in fact, Rivers, no one in Westways is out +of bed at ten. Both you and John are sure the fire began outside where +the wood was piled under a shed." + +"Yes," said Rivers. "It was a well dried winter supply, birch and pine. +The shed, as you know, was alongside of the kitchen door. I went over the +house as usual about nine, after old Susan, the maid, had gone home. I +covered the kitchen fire with ashes--a thing she is apt to neglect. I +went to bed at ten and wakened to hear the glass crack and to smell +smoke. The kitchen lay under my bedroom. I fear it was a deliberate act +of wickedness." + +"That is certain," said Penhallow, "but who could have wanted to do it. +You and I, Rivers, know every one in Westways. Can you think of any one +with malice enough to make him want to bum a house and risk the +possibility of murder?" + +Rivers turned his lean pale face toward the Squire, unwilling to speak +out what was in the minds of both men. John listened, looking from one +serious face to the other. + +"It seems to me quite incredible," said Penhallow, and then Rivers knew +surely that the older man had a pretty definite belief in regard to the +person who had been concerned. He knew too why the Squire was unwilling +to accuse him, and waited to hear what next Penhallow would say. + +"It makes one feel uncomfortable," said Penhallow, and turning to John, +"Who was first there after you came?" + +"Billy, sir, I think, even before the men from the Wayne, but I am not +sure. I told him to pound on the doors and wake up the town." + +"Did he say anything?" + +"Oh, just his usual silliness." + +"Was Peter Lamb at the fire?" + +"I think not. His mother opened a window and said that she could not +waken Peter. It was Billy told me that. I told Billy, I supposed Peter +was drunk. But he wasn't yesterday afternoon--I saw him." + +"Oh, there was time enough for that," remarked Rivers. + +Then the two men smoked and were silent, until at last the Squire said, +"Of course, you must stay here, Rivers, and you know how glad we shall +be--oh, don't protest. It is the only pleasant thing which comes out of +this abominable matter. Ann will like it." + +"Thank you," returned Rivers, "I too like it." + +John went away to look at the ruin left by the fire, and the Squire said +to his friend, "As I am absent in the mornings at the mills, you may keep +school here, Rivers," and it was so settled. + +Before going out Penhallow went to his wife's little room on the farther +side of the hall. He had no desire to hide his conclusions from her. She +saw how grave he looked. "What is it, James?" she asked, looking up from +her desk. + +"I am as sure as a man can be that Peter Lamb set fire to the parsonage. +He has always been revengeful and he owed our friend, the Rector, a +grudge. I have no direct evidence of his guilt, and what am I to do? You +know why I have always stood by him. I suppose that I was wrong." + +She knew only too well, but now his evident trouble troubled her and she +loved him too well to accept the temptation to use the exasperating +phrase, "I always told you so." "You can do nothing, James, without more +certainty. You will not question his mother?" + +"No, I can't do that, Ann; and yet I cannot quite let this go by and +simply sit still." + +"What do you propose to do?" + +"I do not know," and with this he left her and rode to the mills. In the +afternoon he called at Mrs. Lamb's and asked where he could find Peter. + +She was evidently uneasy, as she said, "You gave him work on the new roof +of the Baptist chapel with Boynton; he might be there." + +He made no comment, and went on his way until reaching the chapel he +called Peter down from the roof and said, "Come with me, I want to talk +to you." + +Peter was now sober and was sharply on guard. "Come away from the town," +added the Squire. He crossed the street, entered his own woods and walked +through them until he came in sight of the smoking relics of the +parsonage, where at a distance some few persons were idly discussing what +was also on Penhallow's mind. Here he turned on his foster-brother, and +said, "You set that house on fire. I could get out of your mother enough +to make it right to arrest you, but I will not bring her into the matter. +Others suspect you. Now, what have you to say?" + +"Say! I didn't do it--that's all. I was in bed." + +"Why did you not get up and help?" + +"Wasn't any of my business," he replied sulkily. "Everybody in this +town's against me, and now when I've given up drinking, to say I set a +house afire--" + +"Well!" said Penhallow, "this is my last word, you may go. I shall not +have you arrested, but I cannot answer for what others may do." + +Peter walked away. He had been for several days enough under the +influence of whisky to intensify what were for him normal or at least +habitually indulged characteristics. For them he was only in part +responsible. His mother had spoiled him. He had been as a child the +playmate of his breast-brother until time and change had left him only in +such a relation to Penhallow as would have meant little or nothing to +most men. As a result, out of the Squire's long and indulgent care of a +lad who grew up a very competent carpenter, and gradually more and more +an idle drunkard, Peter had come to overestimate the power of his claim +on Penhallow. What share in his evil qualities his father's drunkenness +had, is in no man's power to say. His desire to revenge the slightest +ill-treatment or the abuse his evil ways earned had the impelling force +of a brute instinct. What he called "getting even" kept him in +difficulties, and when he made things unpleasant or worse for the +offenders, his constant state of induced indifference to consequences +left him careless and satisfied. When there was not enough whisky to be +had, his wild acts of revengeful malice were succeeded by such childlike +terror as Penhallow's words produced. 'The preacher would have him +arrested; the Squire would not interfere. Some day he would get even with +him too!' There was now, however, no recourse but flight. He hastened +home and finding his mother absent searched roughly until by accident as +he let fall her Bible, a bank note dropped out. There were others, some +sixty dollars or more, her meagre savings. He took it all without the +least indecision. At dark after her return he ate the supper she +provided. When she had gone to bed, he packed some clothes in a canvas +bag and went quietly out upon the highway. Opposite to the smoking ruin +of the rectory he halted. He muttered, "I've got even with him anyhow!" + +As he murmured his satisfaction, a man left on guard crossed the road. +"Halloa! Where are you bound, Peter?" + +"Goin' after a job. Bad fire, wasn't it--hard on the preacher!" + +"Hard. He's well lodged at the Squire's, and I do hear it was insured. +Nobody's much the worse, and it will make a fine bit of work for some of +us. Who done it, I wonder?" + +"How should I know! Good-night." + +When out of sight, he turned and said, "I ain't got even yet. Them rich +people's hard to beat. Damn the Squire! I'll get even with him some day." +He was bitterly disappointed. "Gosh! I ran that nigger out, and now I'm a +runaway too. It's queer." + +At Westways Crossing he waited until an empty freight train was switched +off to let the night express go by. Then he stowed himself away in an +open box-car and had a comfortable sense of relief as it rolled eastward. +He felt sure that the Squire's last words meant that he might be arrested +and that immediate flight was his only chance of escape. + +He thus passes, like Josiah, for some years out of my story. He had +money, was when sober a clever carpenter, and felt, therefore, no fear of +his future. He had the shrewd conviction that the Squire at least would +not be displeased to get rid of him, and would not be very eager to have +him pursued. + +James Penhallow was disagreeably aware that it was his duty to bring +about the punishment of his drunken foster-brother, but he did not like +it. When the next morning he was about to mount his horse, he saw Mrs. +Lamb, now an aged woman, coming slowly up the avenue. As she came to the +steps of the porch, Penhallow went to meet her, giving the help of his +hand. + +"Good-morning, Ellen," he said, "what brings you here over the snow this +frosty day? Do you want to see Mrs. Penhallow?" + +For a moment she was too breathless to answer. The withered leanness of +the weary old face moved in an effort to speak, but was defeated by +emotion. She gasped, "Let me set down." + +He led her into the hall and gave her a chair. Then he called his wife +from her library-room. Ann at once knew that something more than the +effect of exertion was to be read in the moving face. The dull grey eyes +of age stared at James Penhallow and then at her, and again at him, as in +the vigour of perfect health they looked down at his old nurse and with +kindly patience waited. "Don't hurry, Ellen," said Mrs. Ann. "You are out +of breath." + +She seemed to Ann like some dumb animal that had no language but a look +to tell the story of despair or pain. At last she found her voice and +gasped out, "I came to tell you he has run away. He went last night. I'd +like to be able to say, James Penhallow, that I don't know why he went +away--" + +"We will not talk of it, Ellen," said the Squire, with some sense of +relief at the loss of need to do what he had felt to be a duty. "Come +near to the fire," he added. + +"No, I want to go home. I had to tell you. I just want to be alone. +I'd have given it to him if he had asked me. I don't mind his taking +the money, but he took it out of my Bible. I kept it there. It was +like stealing from the Lord. It'll bring him bad luck. Mostly it was +in the Gospels--just a bank-note here and there--sixty-one dollars and +seventy-three cents it was." She seemed to be talking to herself rather +than to the man and woman at her side. She went on--sometimes a babble +they could not comprehend, as in pity and wonder they stood over her. +Then again her voice rose, "He took it from the book of God. Oh, my son, +my son! I must go." + +She rose feebly tottering, and added, "It will follow him like a curse +out of the Bible. He took it out of the Bible. I must go." + +"No," said Penhallow, "wait and I will send you home." + +She sat down again. "Thank you." Then with renewed strength, she said, +"You won't have them go after him?" + +"No, I will not." + +He went away to order the carriage, and returning said, "You know, Ellen, +that you will always be taken care of." + +"Yes, I know, sir--I know. But he took it out of my Bible--out of the +book of God." She was presently helped into the wagon and sent away +murmuring incoherently. + +"And so, James," said Ann, "she knew too much about the fire. What a +tragedy!" + +"Yes, she knew. I am glad that he has gone. If he had faced it out and +stayed, I must have done something. I suppose it is better for her on the +whole. When he was drunk, he was brutal; when he was sober, he kept her +worried. I am glad he has gone." + +"But," said Ann, "he was her son--" + +"Yes, more's the pity." + +In a day or two it was known that Peter had disappeared. The town knew +very well why and discussed it at evening, when as usual the men gathered +for a talk. Pole expressed the general opinion when he said, "It's hard +on the old woman, but I guess it's a riddance of bad rubbish." Then they +fell to talking politics, the roofing of the chapel and the price of +wheat and so Westways settled down again to its every-day quiet round of +duties. + +The excitement of the fire and Lamb's flight had been unfavourable to +literary composition, but now John returned to his letter. He continued: + +"The reticule will have to be finished in town. Uncle will take it after +the election or send it to you. If you remember your Latin, you will know +that reticule comes from _reticulus,_ a net. But this isn't really a net. + +"We have had a big excitement. Some one set fire to the parsonage and it +burnt down." [He did not tell her who set it on fire, although he knew +very well that it was Peter Lamb.] "Lamb has run away, and I think we are +well rid of him. + +"I do miss you very much. Mr. Rivers says you will be a fashionable young +lady when you come back and will never snowball any more. I don't believe +it. + +"Yours truly, + +"JOHN PENHALLOW." + +Mrs. Penhallow enclosed the letter in one of her own, and no answer came +until she gave him a note at the end of October. Leila wrote: + +"DEAR JOHN: It is against the rules to write to any one but parents, and +I am breaking the rules when I enclose this to you. I do not think I +ought to do it, and I will not again. + +"You would not know me in my long skirts, and I wear my hair in two +plaits. The girls are all from the South and are very angry when they +talk about the North. I cannot answer them and am sorry I do not know +more about politics, but I do know that Uncle Jim would not agree with +them. + +"I go on Saturdays and over Sundays to my cousins in Baltimore. They say +that the South will secede if Fremont should be elected. I just hold my +tongue and listen. + +"Yours sincerely, + +"LEILA GREY. + +"P.S. I shall be very proud of the bag. I hope you are studying hard." + +"Indeed!" muttered John. "Thanks, Miss Grey." There was no more of it. + +John Penhallow had come by degrees to value the rare privilege of a +walk with the too easily wearied clergyman, who had avenues of ready +intellectual approach which invited the adventurous mind of the lad and +were not in the mental topography of James Penhallow. The cool, hazy days +of late October had come with their splendour of colour-contrasts such as +only the artist nature could make acceptable, and this year the autumn +was unusually brilliant. + +"Do you enjoy it?" asked Rivers. + +"Oh, yes, sir. I suppose every one does." + +"In a measure, as some people do the great music, and as the poets +usually do not. People presume that the ear for rhythm is the same as +that for music. They are things apart. A few poets have had both." + +"That seems strange," said John. "I have neither," and he was lost in +thought until Rivers, as usual easily tired, said, "Let us sit down. How +hazy the air is, John! It tenderly flatters these wild colour-contrasts. +It is like a November day of the Indian summer." + +"Why do they call it Indian summer?" asked John. + +"I do not know. I tried in vain to run it down in the dictionaries. In +Canada it is known as 'L'été de St. Martin.'" + +"It seems," said John, "as if the decay of the year had ceased, in pity. +It is so beautiful and so new to me. I feel sometimes when I am alone in +these woods as if something was going to happen. Did you ever feel that, +sir?" + +Rivers was silent for a moment. The lad's power to state things in speech +and his incapacity to put his thoughts in writing had often puzzled the +tutor. "Why don't you put such reflections into verse, John? It's good +practice in English." + +"I can't--I've tried." + +"Try again." + +"No," said John decidedly. "Do look at those maples, Mr. Rivers--and the +oaks--and the variety of colour in the sassafras. Did you ever notice how +its leaves differ in shape?" + +"I never did, but nothing is exactly the same as anything else. We talked +of that once." + +"Then since the world began there never was another me or Leila?" + +"Never. There is only one of anything." + +John was silent--in thought of his unresemblance to any other John. "But +I am like Uncle Jim! Aunt says so." + +"Yes, outwardly you are; but you have what he has not--imagination. It +is both friend and foe as may be. It may not be a good gift for a +soldier--at least one form of it. It may be the parent of fear--of +indecisions." + +"But, Mr. Rivers, may it not work also for good and suggest +possibilities--let you into seeing what other men may do?" + +The reflection seemed to Rivers not like the thought of so young a man. +He returned, "But I said it might be a friend and have practical uses in +life. I have not found it that myself. But some men have morbid +imagination. Let us walk." They went on again through the quiet splendour +of the woodlands. + +"Uncle Jim is going away after the election." + +"Yes." + +"He will see Leila. Don't you miss her?" + +"Yes, but not as you do. However, she will grow up and go by you and be a +woman while you are more slowly maturing. That is their way. And then she +will marry." + +"Good gracious! Leila marry!" + +"Yes--it is a way they have. Let us go home." + +John was disinclined to talk. Marry--yes--when I am older, I shall ask +her until she does! + +November came in churlish humour and raged in storms of wind and rain, +until before their time to let fall their leaves the woods were stripped +of their gay colours. On the fourth day of November the Squire voted the +Fremont electoral ticket, and understood that with the exception of +Swallow and Pole, Westways had followed the master of Grey Pine. The +other candidates did not trouble them. The sad case of Josiah and the +threat to capture their barber had lost Buchanan the twenty-seven votes +of the little town. Mr. Boynton, the carpenter, fastening the last +shingles on the chapel roof remarked to a workman that it was an awful +pity Josiah couldn't know about it and that the new barber wasn't up to +shaving a real stiff beard. + +The Squire wrote to his wife from Philadelphia on the ninth: + +"DEAR ANN: We never talk politics because you were born a Democrat and +consider Andrew Jackson a political saint. I begin to wish he might be +reincarnated in the body of Buchanan. He will need backbone, I fear. He +has carried our State by only three thousand majority in a vote of +433,000. I am told that the excitement here was so great that the +peacemaking effect of a day of cold drizzle alone prevented riot and +bloodshed. Mr. Buchanan said in October, 'We shall hear no more of +"Bleeding Kansas."' Well, I hope so. Here we are at one. I should feel +more regret at the defeat of my party if I had more belief in Fremont, +but your man is, I am sure, elected, and we must hope for the best and +try to think that hope reasonable. + +"I have been fortunate in my contracts for rails with the two railroads. +I shall finish this letter in Baltimore.-- + +"Baltimore.--I saw Leila, who has quite the air of a young lady and is +well, handsome and reasonably contented. Dined with your brother Henry; +and really, Ann, the cold-blooded way the men talked of secession was a +little beyond endurance. I spoke my mind at last, and was heard with +courteous disapproval. My friend, Lt.-Colonel Robert Lee of the Army, was +the only man who was silent about our troubles. Two men earnestly +advocated the re-opening of the slave-trade, and if as they say slavery +is a blessing, the slave-trade is morally justified and logically +desirable. I do want you to feel, my dear Ann, how extreme are the views +of these pleasant gentlemen. + +"The Madeira was good, and despite the half-hidden bitterness of opinion, +I enjoyed my visit. Let John read this letter if you like to do so. + +"Yours always and in all ways, + +"JAMES PENHALLOW." + +She did not like, but John heard all about this visit when the Squire +came home. + +The winter of 1856-7 went by without other incident at Westways, with +Mrs. Ann's usual bountiful Christmas gifts to the children at the mills +and Westways. Mr. Buchanan was inaugurated in March. The captain smiled +grimly as he read in the same paper the message of the Governor of South +Carolina recommending the re-opening of the trade in slaves, and the new +President's hopes "that the long agitation over slavery is approaching +its end." Nor did Penhallow fancy the Cabinet appointments, but he said +nothing more of his opinions to Ann Penhallow. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +In the early days of May the Squire began to rebuild the parsonage, and +near by it a large room for Sunday school and town-meetings. Ann desired +to add a library-room for the town and would have set about this at once +had not her husband resolutely set himself against any addition to the +work with which she filled her usefully busy life. She yielded with +reluctance, and the library plan was set aside to the regret of Rivers, +who living in a spiritual atmosphere was slow to perceive what with the +anxiety of a great love James Penhallow saw so clearly--the failure of +Ann Penhallow's health. + +When at last Penhallow sat down with McGregor in his office, the doctor +knew at once that something serious was troubling his friend. + +"Well, Penhallow," he said, "what can I do for you?" + +"I want you to see my wife. She sleeps badly, tires easily, and worst of +all is unwilling to consult you." + +"Yes, that's serious. Of course, she does the work of two people, but has +it ever occurred to you, Penhallow, that in the isolated life you lead +she may be at times bored and want or need society, change?" + +"My dear Doctor, if I propose to her to ask our friends from the cities +to visit us, she says that entertaining women would only add to her +burdens. How could she amuse them?" The Squire had the helplessness of a +strong man who has to deal with the case of a woman who, when a doctor is +thought to be necessary, feels that she has a right to an opinion as to +whether or not it is worth while. She did not believe it to be necessary +and felt that there was something unpleasant in this medical intrusion +upon a life which had been one of unbroken health. To her husband's +annoyance she begged him to wait, and on one pretext or another put off +the consultation--it would do in a week, or 'she was better.' Her +postponement and lack of decision added to the Squire's distress, but it +was mid-June before she finally yielded and without a word to Penhallow +wrote to ask McGregor to call. + +In a week Leila would be at Grey Pine. The glad prospect of a summer's +leisure filled John with happy anticipations. He had his boat put in +order, looked after Lucy's condition, and had in mind a dozen plans for +distant long-desired rides into the mountains, rides which now his uncle +had promised to take with them. He soon learned that the medical +providence which so often interferes with our plans in life had to be +considered. + +Mrs. Penhallow to John's surprise had of late gone to bed long before her +accustomed hour, and one evening in this June of 1857 Penhallow seeing +her go upstairs at nine o'clock called John into the library. + +"Mr. Rivers," he said, "has gone to see some one in Westways, and I have +a chance to talk to you. Sit down." + +John obeyed, missing half consciously the ever-ready smile of the Squire. + +"I am troubled about your aunt. Dr. McGregor assures me that she has no +distinct ailment, but is simply so tired that she is sure to become ill +if she stays at home. No one can make her lessen her work if she stays +here. You are young, but you must have been aware of what she does for +this town and at the mills--oh, for every one who is in need or in +trouble. There is the every-day routine of the house, the sick in the +village, the sewing class, the Sunday afternoon reading in the small +hospital at our mills, letters--no end of them. How she has stood it so +long, I cannot see." + +"But she seems to like it, sir," said John. He couldn't understand that +what was so plainly enjoyed could be hurtful. + +"Yes, she likes it, but--well, she has a heavenly soul in an earthly +body, and now at last the body is in revolt against overuse, or that at +least is the way McGregor puts it. I ought to have stopped it long ago." +John was faintly amused at the idea of any one controlling Ann Penhallow +where her despotic beliefs concerning duties were concerned. + +The Squire was silent for a little while, and then said, "It has got to +stop, John. I have talked to McGregor and to her. Leila is to meet us in +Philadelphia. I shall take them to Cape May and leave them there for at +least the two months of summer. You may know what that means for me and +for her, and, I suppose, for you." + +"Could I not go there for a while?" + +"I think not. I really have not the courage to be left alone, John. I +think of asking you to spend a part of the day at the mills this summer. +You will have to learn the business, for as you know your own property, +your aunt's and mine are largely invested in our works. I thought too of +an engineering school for you in the fall, and then of the School of +Mines in Paris. It is a long look ahead, but it would fit you to relieve +me of my work. Think it over, my son. How does it look to you, or have +you thought of what you mean or want to do? Don't answer me now--think it +over. And now I have some letters to write. Good-night." + +John went upstairs to bed with much to think about, and above all else of +the disappointing summer before him and the wish he had long cherished, +but which his uncle's last words had made it necessary for him to +reconsider. + +Ann Penhallow had made a characteristic fight against the combined forces +of the doctor and her husband. She had declared she would give up this +and that, if only she could be left at home. She showed to the doctor an +irritability quite new to his experience of her and which he accepted as +added evidence of need of change. Her bodily condition and her want of +common sense in a matter so clear to him troubled the Squire and drove +him to his usual resort when worried--long rides or hard tramps with his +gun. After luncheon and a decisive talk with Mrs. Ann, she had pleaded +that he ought to remain with them at the shore. She was sure he needed it +and it would set her mind at ease. He told her what she knew well enough, +how impossible it would be for him to leave the mills and be absent long. +She who rarely manufactured difficulties now began to ask how this was to +be done and that, until Rivers said at last, "I can promise to read at +the hospital until I go away for my August holiday." + +"You would not know the kind of things to read." + +"No one could do it as well as you," said Rivers, "but I can try." + +"Everything will be cared for, Ann," said Penhallow, "only don't worry." + +"I never worry," she returned, rising. "You men think everything will run +along easily without a woman's attention." + +"Oh, but Ann, my dear Ann!" exclaimed Penhallow, not knowing what more to +say, annoyed at the discussion and at her display of unnecessary temper +and the entire loss of her usual common sense. + +She said, with a laugh in which there was no mirth, "I presume one of you +will, of course, run my sewing-class?" + +"Ann--Ann!" said the Squire. + +Rivers understood her now in the comprehending sympathy of his own too +frequent moods of melancholy. "Ah!" he murmured, "if I could but teach +her how to knit the ravelled sleeve of care." + +"I presume," she added, "that I am to accept it as settled," and so went +out. + +"Come, John," said Penhallow an hour later, "call the dogs--I must have a +good hard tramp, and a talk with you!" + +John kept pace with, the rapid stride of the Squire, taking note of the +reddening buds of the maples, for this year in the hills the spring came +late. + +"You must have seen your aunt's condition," said Penhallow. "I have seen +it coming on ever since that miserable affair of Josiah. It troubled her +greatly." + +John had the puzzled feeling of the inexperienced young in regard to the +matter of illness and its influential effect on temper, and was well +pleased to converse on anything else, when his uncle asked, "Have you +thought over what I said to you about your future?" + +"Well?" + +"I should like to go to West Point, Uncle Jim." + +To his surprise Penhallow returned, pausing as he spoke, "I had +thought of that, but as I did not know you had ever considered it, I +did not mention it. It would in some ways please me. As a life-long +career it would not. We are in no danger of war, and an idle existence +at army-posts is not a very desirable thing for an able man." + +"I had the idea, uncle, that I would not remain in the service." + +"But you would have to serve two years after you were graduated--and +still that was what I did, oh! and longer--much longer. As an education +in discipline and much else, it is good--very good. But tell me are you +really in earnest about it?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Well, it is better than college. I will think about it. If you go to the +Point, it should be this coming fall. I wonder what Ann will say." + +Then John knew that the Squire favoured what had been for a long time on +his own mind. What had made him eager to go into the army was in part +that tendency towards adventure which had been a family trait and his +admiration for the soldier-uncle; nor did the mere student life and the +quiet years of managing the iron-mills as yet appeal to him as desirable. + +"I wish, Uncle Jim, that you could settle the matter." + +This was so like his own dislike of unsettled affairs that the Squire +laughed in his hearty way. "So far as I am concerned, you may regard it +as decided; but securing a nomination to the Point is quite another +matter. It may be difficult. I will see about it. Now we will let it +drop. That dog is pointing. Ah! the rascal. It is a hare." + +They saw no more birds, nor did the Squire expect to find anything in the +woods except the peace of mind to be secured by violent exercise. He went +on talking about the horses and the mills. + +When near to the house, Penhallow said, "Your aunt is to go away +to-morrow. Every day here seems to add to her difficulty in leaving home. +I shall say nothing to her of West Point until it is settled one way or +another. I shall, of course, go to the Cape for a day, unless your aunt's +brother Charles will take my place when he brings Leila to Philadelphia +to meet us. I may be gone a week, and you and Rivers are to keep +bachelor's hall and watch the work on the parsonage. I shall ask Leila to +write to you and to me about your aunt. Did I say that we go by the +9:30 A.M. express?" + +"No, sir." + +"Well, we do." + +James Penhallow was pleased and amazed when he discovered that Mrs. Ann +was quietly submissive to the arrangements made for her comfort on the +journey. She appeared to have abruptly regained her good temper and, +Penhallow thought, was unnaturally and excessively grateful for every +small service. Being unused to the ways of sick women, he wondered as the +train ran down the descent from the Allegheny Mountains how long a time +was required to know any human being entirely. He had been introduced +within two weeks to two Ann Penhallows besides the Ann he had lived with +these many years. He concluded, as others have done, that people are hard +to understand, and thus thinking he ran over in mind the group they left +on the platform at Westways Crossing. + +There was Billy--apparently a simple character, abruptly capable of +doing unexpected things; useful to-day, useless tomorrow. He called +up to mind the very competent doctor; John, and his friend--the moody +clergyman--beloved of all men. The doctor had said of him, "a man living +in the monastery of himself--in our world, but not of it." + +"What amuses you, James?" asked his wife. + +This good sign of return to her normal curiosity was familiarly pleasant. +"I was recalling, Ann, what McGregor said of Rivers after that horrid +time of sickness at Westways. You may remember it." + +"No, I do not." + +"No! He said that Rivers was a round-shouldered angel." + +"That does not seem to me amusing, James." + +"Round-shouldered he is, Ann, and for the rest you at least ought to +recognize your heavenly fellow-citizens when you meet them." + +"Is that your poetry or your folly, James Penhallow?" + +"Mine, my dear? No language is expansive enough for McGregor when he +talks about you." + +"Nonsense, James. He knows how to please somebody. We were discussing +Mark Rivers." + +"Were we? Then here is a nice little dose from the doctor for you. Last +Christmas, after you had personally sat up with old Mrs. Lamb when she +was so ill, and until I made a row about it--" + +"Yes--yes--I know." Her curiosity got the better of her dislike of being +praised for what to her was a simple duty, and she added, "Well, what did +he say?" + +"Oh, that you and Rivers were like angels gone astray in the strange +country called earth; and then that imp of a boy, John, who says queer +things, said that it was like a bit of verse Rivers had read to him. He +knew it too. I liked it and got him to write it out. I have it in my +pocket-book. Like to see it?" + +"No," she returned--and then--"yes," as she reflected that it must have +originally applied to another than herself. + +He was in the habit of storing in his pocket-book slips from the +papers--news, receipts for stable-medicine, and rarely verse. Now and +then he emptied them into the waste basket. He brought it out of his +pocket-book and she read it: + +As when two angel citizens of Heaven +Swift winged on errands of the Master's love +Meet in some earthly guise. + +"Is that all of it?" + +"No, John could not remember the rest, and I did not ask Mark." + +"I should suppose not. Thank you for believing it had any application to +me. And, James, I have been a very cross angel of late." + +"Oh, my dear Ann, Dr. McGregor said--" + +"Never mind Dr. McGregor, James. Go and smoke your cigar. I am tired and +I must not talk any more--talking on a train always tires me." + +Two days after the departure of his aunt and uncle, John persuaded Rivers +to walk with him on the holiday morning of Saturday. The clergyman caring +little for the spring charm of the maiden summer, but much for John +Penhallow's youth of promise, wandered on slowly through the woods, with +head bent forward, stumbling now and then, lost to a world where his +companion was joyfully conscious of the prettiness of new-born and +translucent foliage. + +Always pleased to sit down, Rivers dropped his thin length of body upon +the brown pine-needles near the cabin and settling his back against a +fallen tree-trunk made himself comfortable. As usual, when at rest, he +began to talk. + +"John," he said, "you and Tom McGregor had a quarrel long ago--and a +fight." + +"Yes, sir," returned John wondering. + +"I saw it--I did not interfere at once--I was wrong." + +This greatly amused John. "You stopped it just in time for me--I was +about done for." + +"Yes, but now, John, I have talked to Tom, and--I am afraid you have +never made it up." + +"No, he was insolent to Leila and rude. But we had a talk about it--oh, a +good while ago--before she went away." + +"Oh, had you! Well, what then?" + +"Oh, he told me you had talked to him and he had seen Leila and told her +he was sorry. She never said a word to me. I told him that he ought to +have apologized to me--too." + +Rivers was amused. "Apologies are not much in fashion among Westways +boys. What did he say?" + +"Oh, just that he didn't see that at all--and then he said that he was +going away this fall to study medicine, and some day when he was a doctor +he would have a chance to get even with me, and wouldn't he dose me well. +Then we both laughed, and--I shook hands with him. That's all, sir." + +"Well, I am pleased. He is by no means a bad fellow, and as you know he +is clever--and can beat you in mathematics." + +"Yes, but I licked him well, and he knows it." + +"For shame, John. I wish my Baptist friend's boy would do better--he is +dull." + +"But I like him," said John. "He is so plucky." + +"There is another matter I want to talk about. I had a long conversation +about you with your uncle the night before he left. I heard with regret +that you want to go into the army." + +"May I ask why?" said John, as he lay on the ground lazily fingering the +pine-needles. + +"Is it because the hideous business called war attracts you?" + +"No, but I like what I hear of the Point from Uncle Jim. I prefer it to +any college life. Besides this, I do not expect to spend my life in the +service, and after all it is simply a first rate training for anything I +may want to do later--care of the mills, I mean. Uncle Jim is pleased, +and as for war, Mr. Rivers, if that is what you dislike, what chance of +war is there?" + +"You have very likely forgotten my talk with Mr. George Grey. The North +and the South will never put an end to their differences without +bloodshed." + +It seemed a strange opinion to John. He had thought so when he heard +their talk, but now the clergyman's earnestness and some better +understanding of the half-century's bitter feeling made him thoughtful. +Rising to his feet, he said, "Uncle Jim does not agree with you, and Aunt +Ann and her brother, Henry Grey, think that Mr. Buchanan will bring all +our troubles to an end. Of course, sir, I don't know, but"--and his voice +rose--"if there ever should be such a war, I am on Uncle Jim's side, and +being out of West Point would not keep me out of the fight." + +Rivers shook his head. "It will come, John. Few men think as I do, and +your uncle considers me, I suspect, to be governed by my unhappy way of +seeing the dark side of things. He says that I am a bewildered pessimist +about politics. A pessimist I may be, but it is the habitually hopeful +meliorist who is just now perplexed past power to think straight." + +John's interest was caught for the moment by the word, "meliorist." "What +is a meliorist, sir?" he asked. "Oh, a wild insanity of hopefulness. You +all have it. I dislike to talk about the sad future, and I wonder men at +the North are so blind." + +He fell again to mere musings, a self-absorbed man, while John, attracted +by a squirrel's gambols and used to the rector's long silences, wandered +near by among the pines, with a vagabond mind on this or that, and +watching the alert little acrobat of the forest. As he moved about, he +recalled his first walks to the cabin with Leila and the wild thing he +had said one day--and her reply. One ages fast, at seventeen, and now he +wondered if he had been quite wise, and with the wisdom and authority of +a year and a half of mental growth punished his foolish boy-past with +severity of reproach. He had failed for a time to hear, or at least to +hear with attention, the low-voiced soliloquies in which Mr. Rivers +sometimes indulged. McGregor, an observant man, said that Rivers's mind +jumped from thought to thought, and that his talk had at times no +connective tissue and was hard to follow. + +Now he spoke louder. "No one, John, no one sees that every new compromise +compromises principles and honour. Have you read any of the speeches of a +man named Lincoln in Illinois? He got a considerable vote in that +nominating convention." + +"No, sir." + +"Then read it--read him. A prophet of disaster! He says, 'A house divided +against itself cannot stand. This government cannot endure permanently +half slave, half free.' The man did not know that he was ignorantly +quoting George Washington's opinion. It is so, and so it will be. I would +let them go their way in peace, for the sin of man-owning is ours--was +ours--and we are to suffer for it soon or late--a nation's debts have +to be paid, and some are paid in blood." + +The young fellow listened but had no comment ready, and indeed knew too +little of the terrible questions for which time alone would have an +answer to feel the full force of these awful texts. He did say, "I will +read Mr. Lincoln's speeches. Uncle talks to me about Kansas and slavery +and compromises, but it is sometimes too much for me." + +"Yes, he will not talk of these things to your aunt, and is not willing +to talk to me. He thinks both of us are extremists. No, I won't walk any +further. Let us go home." + +The natural light-mindedness of a healthy lad easily disposes of the +problems which disturb the older mind. John forgot it all for a time in +the pleasant interest of a letter from Leila, received a day before his +uncle's return. + +"CAPE MAY, June 21st. + +"MY DEAR JOHN: Here at last I am free to write to you when I please, +and I have some rather strange news; but first of Aunt Ann. She is very +well pleased and is already much better. Uncle Jim left us to-day, and I +am to have Lucy here and one of the grooms. If only I could have you to +ride with me on this splendid beach and see the great blue waves roll up +like a vast army charging with white plumes and then rolling back in +defeat."-- + +John paused. This was not like Leila. He felt in a vague way that she +must be changing, and remembered the rector's predictions. Then he read +on-- + +"Now for my adventure: Aunt Ann wanted some hair-wash, and I went to the +barber's shop in the town to buy it. There was no one in but a black boy, +because it was the bathing-time. He, I mean the boy, said he would call +Mr. Johnson. In a moment there came out of a back room who do you think +but our Josiah! He just stood still a moment--and then said, 'Good God! +Miss Leila! Come into the back room--you did give me a turn.' I thought +he seemed to be alarmed. Well, I went with him, and he asked me at once +who was with me. I said, Aunt Ann, and that she was not well. Then I got +out of him that he had wandered a while, and at last chosen this as a +safe place. No one had told me fully about Cousin George Grey and why +Josiah was scared and ran away, but now I got it all out of him--and how +you warned him--and I do think it was splendid of a boy like you. He was +dreadfully afraid of being taken back to be a slave. It seems he saved +his money, and after working here bought out the shop when his master +fell ill. I did not like it, but to quiet him I really had to say that I +would not tell Aunt Ann, or he would have to run away again. I am sure +aunt would not do anything to trouble him, but it was quite impossible to +make him believe me, and he got me at last to promise him. I suppose +there is really no harm in it, but I never did keep anything from Aunt +Ann. I got the hair-wash and went away with his secret. Now, isn't that a +story! + +"I forgot one thing. As the Southern gentlemen come to be shaved and ask +where he was born, they hear--think of it--that 'Mr. Johnson' was born in +Connecticut! His grandfather had been a slave. I shall see him again. + +"This is the longest letter I ever wrote, and you are to feel duly +complimented, Mr. Penhallow. + +"Good-bye. Love from Aunt Ann. + +"Yours truly, + +"LEILA GREY. + +"P.S. I am sure that I may trust you not to speak of Josiah." + +Mr. John Penhallow, as they said at Westways, "going on seventeen," +gathered much of interest in reading and re-reading this letter from Miss +Grey. To own a secret with Leila was pleasant. To hear of Josiah as "Mr. +Johnson" amused him. That he was prosperous he liked, and that he was +fearful with or without reason seemed strange. It was and had been hard +for the young freeman to realize the ever-present state of mind of a man +in terror of arrest without any crime on his conscience. There was +perhaps a slight hint of doubt in Leila's request that he would be +careful not to mention what she had said of Josiah, "as if I am really a +boy and Leila older than I," murmured John. He knew, as he once more read +her words, that he ought to tell his uncle, who could best decide what to +do about Josiah and his terror of being reclaimed by his old owner. + +During the early hours of a summer night Mark Rivers sat on the porch in +a rocking-chair, which he declared gave him all the exercise he required. +It was the only rocking-chair at Grey Pine, and nothing so disturbed the +Squire as Mark Rivers rocking on that unpleasant piece of furniture and +smoking as if it were a locomotive. It was an indulgence of Ann +Penhallow, who knew that there had been a half-dozen rockers in the +burned rectory. + +John sat on the steps and listened to the shrill katydids or watched the +devious lanterns of the fireflies. A bat darted over the head of Rivers, +who ducked as it went by, watching its uncertain flight. + +"I am terribly afraid of bats," said the rector. "Are you?" + +"I--no. They're harmless." + +"Yes, I know that, but I am without reason afraid of them. I think of the +demons as being like monstrous bats. But that is a silly use of +imagination." + +"Uncle Jim doesn't like them, and you once told me that he had very +little imagination." + +"Yes. One can't explain these dislikes. Your uncle reasons well and has a +clear logical mind, but he has neither creative nor receptive +imagination." + +"Receptive?" asked John. + +"Yes, that is why he has none of your aunt's joy in poetry. When I read +to her Wordsworth's 'Brougham Castle,' he said that he had never heard +more silly nonsense." + +"I remember it was that wonderful verse about the 'longing of the +shield.'" + +"Yes--I forgot you were there. Verse like that is a good test of a +person's capacity to feel poetry--that kind, I mean." + +"I hear Uncle Jim's horse." + +"Yes. I can't see, John, why a man should want to have a horse sent to +meet him instead of a comfortable wagon,"--and for emphasis, as usual +with Rivers, the rocking-chair was swinging to the limits of its arc of +safe motion. + +The Squire dismounted and came up the steps with "Good-evening, +Rivers,"--and to John, "I have good news for you--but order my supper +at once, then we will talk." He was in his boyish mood of gaiety. "How +far have you travelled on that rocker, Rivers?" + +"Now, Squire--now, really--" It was a favourite subject of chaff. + +"Why not have rocking-chairs in church, Mark? Think what a patient +congregation you would have! Come, John, I am hungry." He fled laughing. + +While the Squire ate in silence, John waited until his uncle said, "Come +into the library." Here he filled his pipe and took the match John +offered. "There are many curious varieties of man, John. There is the man +who prefers a rocking-chair to the saddle. It's queer--very queer; and he +is as much afraid of a horse as I am--of--I don't know what." + +The Squire's memory failed to answer the call. "What are you grinning at, +you young scamp?" + +"Oh, Mr. Rivers did say, Uncle Jim, something about bats." + +"Yes, that's it--bats--and I do suppose every one has his especial fear. +Ah! quite inexplicable nonsense!--fears like mine about bats, or your +aunt's about dogs, but also fears that make a man afraid that he will not +face a danger that is a duty. When we had smallpox at the mills, soon +after Rivers came here, he went to the mill-town and lived there a month, +and nursed the sick and buried the dead. At last he took the disease +lightly, but it left a mark or two on his forehead. That I call--well, +heroic. Confound that rocking-chair! How it squeaks!" + +John was too intently listening to hear anything but the speaker who +declared heroic the long lean man with the pale face and the eyes like +search-lights. John waited; he wanted to hear something more. + +"Did many die, uncle?" + +"Oh, yes. The men had fought McGregor about vaccination. Many died. There +was blindness too. Supplies failed--no one would come in from the farms." + +John waited with the fear of defect in his ideal man. Then he ventured, +"And Aunt Ann, was she here?" + +"No, I sent her away when I went to Milltown." + +"Oh! you were there too, sir?" + +"Yes, damn it!" He rarely swore at all. "Where did you suppose I would +be? But I lived in terror for a month--oh, in deadly fear!" + +"Thank you, sir." + +"Thank me, what for? Some forms of sudden danger make me gay, with all my +faculties at their best, but not that. I had to nurse Rivers; that was +the worst of it. You see, my son, I was a coward." + +"I should like to be your kind of a coward, Uncle Jim." + +"Well, it was awful. Let us talk of something else. I left your aunt +better, went to Washington, saw our Congressman, got your nomination to +West Point and a letter from Leila. Your aunt must be fast mending, for +she was making a long list of furniture for the new parsonage, and 'would +I see Ellen Lamb and'--eleven other things, the Lord knows what else, +and 'when could she return?' McGregor said in September, and I so wrote +to her; she will hate it. And she dislikes your going to West Point. I +had to tell her, of course." + +"I have had a letter from Leila, uncle. Did she write you anything about +Josiah?" + +"About Josiah! No. What was that?" + +"She said I was not to tell, but I think you ought to know--" + +"Of course, I should know. Go on. Let me see the letter." + +"It is upstairs, sir, but this is what she wrote," and he went on to tell +the story. + +The Squire laughed. "I must let Mr. Johnson know, as Leila did not know, +that it was Ann who really sent you to warn him. Poor fellow! I can +understand his alarm, and how can I reassure him? George Grey is going to +Cape May, or so says your aunt, and I am sure if Josiah knows that he is +recognized, he will drop everything and run. I would run, John, and +quickly too. Grey will be sure to write to Woodburn again." + +"What then, sir?" + +"Oh, he told your Aunt Ann and me that he would not go any further unless +he chanced to know certainly where Josiah was. If he did, it would be his +duty, as he said, to reclaim him. It is not a pleasant business, and I +ought to warn Josiah, which you may not know is against the law. However, +I will think it over. Ann did not say when Grey was coming, and he is +just as apt not to go as to go. Confound him and all their ways." + +John had nothing to say. The matter was in older and wiser hands +than his. His uncle rose, "I must go to bed, but I have a word to say +now about your examinations for admission. I must talk to Rivers. +Good-night!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +On Saturday the Squire asked John to ride with him. As they mounted, +Billy came with the mail. Penhallow glanced at the letters and put them +in his pocket. + +As the horses walked away, John said, "I was in Westways yesterday, +uncle, to get my hair cut. I heard that Pole has had chicken-pox, uncle." + +"Funny that, for a butcher!" said the Squire. They chatted of the small +village news. "They have quit discussing politics, Uncle Jim." + +"Yes, every four years we settle down to the enjoyment of the belief that +now everything will go right, or if we are of those who lost the fight, +then there is the comfort of thinking things could not be worse, and that +the other fellows are responsible." + +"Uncle Jim, at Westways people talked about the election as if it were a +horse-race, and didn't interest anybody when it was over." + +"Yes, yes; but there are for the average American many things to think +about, and he doesn't bother himself about who is to be President or why, +until, as McGregor says, events come along and kick him and say, 'Get up +and think, or do something.'" + +"When I talked to Mr. Rivers lately, he seemed very blue about the +country. He seems to believe that everything is going wrong." + +"Oh, Rivers!" exclaimed Penhallow, "what a great, noble soul! But, John, +a half hour of talk with him about our national affairs leaves me tangled +in a net of despair, and I hate it. You have a letter, I see." + +"Yes, it is from Leila, sir." + +"Let's hear it," said Penhallow. + +John was inclined, he could hardly have told why, to consider this letter +when alone, but now there was nothing possible except to do as he was +bid. + +"Read it. I want to hear it, John." + +As they walked their horses along the road, John read: + +"DEAR JOHN": I did not expect to write to you again until you wrote to +me, but I have been perplexed to know what was best to do. I wanted--oh, +so much--to consult Uncle Jim, or some older person than you, and so I +ask you to send this to Uncle Jim if he is absent, or let him see it if +he is at home. He is moving about and we do not know how to address +him."-- + +"That's a big preface--go on." + +"I did not see Josiah again until yesterday morning. Aunt Ann has been +insisting that my hair needs singeing at the ends to make it grow. [It is +too long now for comfort.]"-- + +"That's in brackets, Uncle Jim--the hair, I mean." + +"Yes--what next?" + +"Well, John, when Aunt Ann keeps on and on in her gently obstinate, I +mean resolute, way, it is best to give up and make believe a little that +you agree with her. My hair was to be singed--I gave up."-- + +"Oh, Leila!" exclaimed Penhallow, rocking in the saddle with laughter, +while John looked up smiling. "Go on." + +"So aunt's new maid got her orders, and while aunt was asleep in her room +the maid brought up Josiah. It was as good as a play. He was very civil +and quiet. You know how he loved to talk. He singed my hair, and it was +horrid--like the smell of singeing a plucked chicken. After that he sent +the maid to his shop for some hair-wash. As soon as she was gone, he +said, 'I'm done for, Miss Leila. I met Mr. George Grey on the beach this +morning. He knew me and I knew him. He said, "What! you here, you +rascally runaway horse-thief!" I said, "I wasn't a thief or a rascal." +Then he said something I didn't hear, for I just left him and--I can't +stay here--he'll do something, and I can't run no risks--oh, Lord!'"-- + +"I thought," said the Squire, "we were done with that tiresome fool, +George Grey. Whether he will write again to Woodburn about Josiah or not, +no one can say. Woodburn did tell me that if at any time he could easily +get hold of his slave, he would feel it to be a duty to make use of the +Fugitive-Slave Law. I do not think he will be very eager, but after all +it is uncertain, and if I were Josiah, I would run away." + +As he talked, the horses walked on through the forest wood-roads. For a +moment he said nothing, and then, "It is hard to put yourself in another +man's place; that means to be for the time of decision that man with his +inheritances, all his memories, all his hopes and all his fears." + +This was felt by the lad to be somehow unlike his uncle, who added, "I +heard Mark Rivers say that about Peter, but it applies here. I would run. +But go on with your letter. What else does Leila say?" + +John read on: + +"Josiah was so scared that I could not even get him to listen to me. He +gathered up his barber things in haste, and kept on saying over and over, +'I have got to go, missy.' Now he has gone and his shop is shut up. I was +so sorry for him, I must have cried, for aunt's maid asked me what was +the matter. This is all. It is late. I shall mail this to-morrow. Aunt +Ann has been expecting Mr. George Grey, my far-away cousin. I wish he was +further away! "-- + +"Good gracious! Leila. Well, John, any more?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"He came in this morning, I mean Mr. Grey, and began to talk and was so +pleased to see his dear cousin. Aunt Ann went on knitting and saying +something pleasant now and then. At last he asked if she knew that +runaway horse-thief we called Josiah was the barber here. He said that he +must really write to that rascal's owner, and went over and over the same +thing. Aunt Ann looked at me when he mentioned the barber. Then she sat +up and said, 'If you have done talking, I desire to say a word.' Of +course, he was at her service. You know, John, how he talks. Aunt Ann +said, 'You made quite enough trouble, George, about this man at Westways. +I told you then that he had done us a service I could never forget. I +won't have him disturbed here. Mr. Woodburn behaved with discretion and +courtesy. If you make any more trouble, I shall never forgive you. I +won't have it, George Grey.' I never saw any one so embarrassed, John. He +put his hat on the floor and picked it up, and then he sat down in his +chair and, I call it, wilted. He said that he had not quite made up his +mind. At this Aunt Ann stood up, letting her knitting drop, and said, +'Then you had better; you've got no mind.' After this he got up and said +that she had insulted him. Aunt Ann was red and angry. She said, 'Tell +James Penhallow that, Mr. Grey.' After this he went away, and Aunt Ann +said to me, 'Tell Josiah if you can find him that he need not be afraid; +the man will not write to Mr. Woodburn.' After that I told her all about +Mr. Johnson and got a good scolding for not having told her before, and +that Josiah had gone away scared. She was tired and angry and sent me +away. That is all. Let Uncle Jim get this letter. + +"Yours truly, + +"LEILA. + +"P.S. Oh, I forgot. Josiah gave me a letter for Uncle Jim. I enclose it. +I did not give it to Aunt Ann; perhaps I ought to have done so. But it +would have been useless because it is sealed, and you know the rule at +Grey Pine." + +"Poor Josiah!" said Penhallow, "I wonder where he has gone." + +"He may say in his letter," said John. + +"Read it to me, my son. I forgot my glasses." + +"It is addressed to Captain Penhallow." + +"Yes, I was always that to Josiah--always." + +John opened the letter, which was carefully sealed with a large red +wafer. + +"It is well written, uncle." + +"Yes--yes. Rivers taught him--and he speaks nearly as good English as +George Grey." + +John looked up from the letter. "Oh, that is funny! It begins, +'Respectable Sir.'" + +"My dear John, that isn't funny at all--it's old-fashioned. I have seen a +letter from the great Dr. Rush in which the mother of Washington is +mentioned as 'that respectable lady.' But now, sir, you will be good +enough to let me hear that letter without your valuable comments." + +The tone was impatient. John said, "Excuse me, uncle, but I couldn't help +it." + +"Oh, read it." + +"I am driven away again. I write this to thank you for all you done for +me at Westways. Mr. Grey he met me here on the beach and I'm afraid--I +don't take no chances. I saved money here. I can get on anywhere. It's +awful to have to ran away, and that drunkard Peter Lamb all the while +safe with his mother. I can't get him out of my mind. I'm a Christian +man--and I tried to forgive him. I can't do it. If I am quiet and let +alone, I forget. I've got to get up and go and hide, and I curse him that +done it. Please, sir, not tell Mr. Rivers what I say. I seen Miss Leila. +I always said Miss Leila would be a beauty. There ain't no young lady +here can hold a candle to her. I want to say I did have hope to see Mr. +John. + +"God bless you, Captain. + +"Your obedient servant, + +"JOSIAH." + +The Squire halted in the open pine forest on a wood-road behind the +cabin. He threw one leg over the pommel and sat still with the ease of a +horseman in any of the postures the saddle affords. "Read me both of +those letters again, and slowly." + +This time John made no remarks. When he came to the end of Josiah's +letter, he looked towards the silent figure seated sideways. The Squire +made no comment, but searched his pockets for the flint and steel he +always carried. Lighting his pipe he slid to the ground. + +"Take the rein, John," he said, "or the mare will follow me." + +Penhallow was deep in the story these letters told, and he thought best +when walking. John sat in his saddle watching the tall soldierly figure +move up the road and back again to the cabin his ancestors had held +through one long night of fear. John caught sight of the face as +Penhallow came and then turned away on his slow walk, smoking furiously. +He sat still, having learned to be respectful of the long silences to +which at times Penhallow was given. Now and then with a word he quieted +the uneasy mare--a favourite taught to follow the master. At last +Penhallow struck his pipe on a stone to empty it, and by habit carefully +set a foot on the live coal. Then he came to the off side of his mare and +took the rein. Facing John, he set an elbow on the horse's back and a +hand on his own cheek. This was no unusual attitude. He did not mount, +but stood still. The ruddy good-humoured face, clean-shaven and large of +feature, had lost its look of constant good-humour. In fact, the feature +language expressed the minute's mood in a way which any one less familiar +with the man than John might have read with ease. Then he said, in an +absent way, "Are we men of the North all cowards like Josiah? They think +so--they do really think so. It is helping to make trouble." Then he +lifted himself lightly into the saddle, with swift change of mood and an +odd laugh of comment on his conclusion, as he broke into a gallop. "Let +us get into the sun." + +John followed him as they rode swiftly over a cross-road and out on to +the highway. Again the horses were walking, and Penhallow said, "I +suppose you may not have understood me. I was suddenly angry. It is a +relief sometimes to let off steam. Well, I fancy time will answer me--or +that is what I try not to believe--but it may--it may. Let us talk of +something else. I must find out from Rivers just how well you are +prepared for the Point. Then I mean to give you every night an hour or so +of what he cannot teach. You ride well, you know French and German, you +box--it may be of service, keep it up once a week at least. I envy you +the young disciplined life--the simpleness of it--the want of +responsibilities." + +"Thank you, sir," returned John, "I hope to like it and to do you credit, +uncle." + +"You will, I am sure. Let us go to the mills." + +John hesitated before he asked, "Could not I have, sir, a few days with +Aunt Ann at the Cape?" + +"No, I shall want you here." + +John was silent and disappointed. The Squire saw it. "It can't be +helped--I do not feel able to be alone. Leila will be away a year more +and you will be gone for several years. For your sake and mine I want you +this summer. Take care! You lost a stirrup when Dixy shied. Oh! here are +the mills. Good morning, McGregor. All well?" + +"Yes, sir. Tom has gone to the city. He is to be in the office of a +friend of mine this summer. I shall be alone." + +"John goes to West Point this September, Doctor." + +"Indeed! You too will be alone. Next it will be Leila. How the young +birds are leaving the nests! Even that slow lad of Grace's is going. He +is to learn farming with old Roberts. He has a broad back and the +advantage of not being a thinking-machine." + +"He may have made the best choice, McGregor." + +"No, sir," said the Doctor, "my son has the best of it." + +John laughed. "I don't think I should like either farm or medicine." + +"No," returned the Doctor, with his queer way of stating things, "there +must be some one to feed the people; Tom is to be trained to cure, and +you to kill." + +"I don't want to kill anybody," said John, laughing. + +"But that is the business you are going to learn, young man." John was +silent. The idea of killing anybody! + +"Heard from Mrs. Penhallow lately?" asked the doctor. + +"No, but from Leila to-day; and, you will be surprised, from Josiah too." + +"Is that so?" + +"Yes. Give him the two letters, John. Let me have them to-morrow, Doctor. +Good-bye," and they rode on to the mills. + +"It is a pity, John, Josiah gave no address," said Penhallow,--"a +childlike man, intelligent, and with some underlying temper of the old +African barbarian." The summer days ran on with plenty of work for John +and without incidents of moment, until the rector went away as was his +habit the first of August, more moody than usual. If the rectory were +finished, he would go there in September, and Mrs. Ann had written to him +about the needed furniture. + +On August 20th that lady wrote from Cape May that she must go home, and +Leila that her aunt was well but homesick. The Squire, who missed her +greatly, unreluctantly yielded, and on August 25th she was met at the +station by Penhallow and John. To the surprise of both, she had brought +Leila, as her school was not to begin until September 10th. + +"My dear James," cried Mrs. Ann, "it is worth while to have been away to +learn how good it is to get home again. I thought I would surprise you +with Leila." As the Squire kissed her, Leila and the maid came from the +car to the platform loaded with bundles. + +John stood still. Nature had been busy with her artist-work. A year had +gone by--the year of maturing growth of mind and body for a girl nearing +sixteen. Unprepared for her change, John felt at once that this was a +woman, who quickly smiling gave him a cordial greeting and her hand. +"Why, John Penhallow," she said, "what a big boy you are grown!" It was +as if an older person had spoken to a younger. A head taller than the +little Mrs. Ann, she was in the bloom of maiden loveliness, rosy, joyous, +a certain new stateliness in her movements. The gift of grace had been +added by the fairy godmother nature. + +John said, with gravity, "You are most welcome home, Leila," and then +quickly aware of some coldness in his words, "Oh, I am so very glad to +see you!" She had gone by him in the swift changes of life. Without so +putting it distinctly into the words of a mental soliloquy, John was +conscious that here was another Leila. + +"Come, in with you," said the happy master of Grey Pine. + +"How well you look, Ann, and how young! The cart will bring your +bundles." + +John Penhallow on an August afternoon was of Billy's opinion that Leila +had "rowed a lot" as she came out upon the porch and gaily laughing +cried, "At last,--Aunt Ann has done with me." + +They were both suffering from one of those dislocations of relation which +even in adult life are felt when friends long apart come together again. +The feeling of loss, as far as John was concerned, grew less as Leila +with return of childlike joy roamed with him over the house and through +the stables, and next day through Westways, with a pleasant word for +every one and on busying errands for her aunt. He was himself occupied +with study; but now the Squire had said it would be wise to drop his +work. + +With something of timidity he said to Leila, "I am free for this +afternoon; come and see again our old playgrounds. It will be a long +while before we can take another walk." + +"Certainly, John. And isn't it a nice, good-natured day? The summer is +over. Sometimes I wish we had no divisions of months, and the life of the +year was one quiet flow of days--oh, with no names to remind you." + +"But think, Leila, of losing all the poetry of the months. Why not have +no day or night? Oh, come along. What do you want with a sunshade and a +veil--we will be mostly in the woods." + +"My complexion, Mr. Penhallow," cried Miss Grey gaily. + +He watched her young figure as she went upstairs--the mass of darkened +gold hair coiled in the classic fashion of the day on the back of her +head. She looked around from the stair. "I shall be ready in a minute, +John. It rained yesterday--will it be wet in the woods?" + +"No," cried John, "and what does it matter?" He had a dull feeling of +resentment, of loss, of consciousness of new barriers and of distance +from the old comrade. + +Their way led across the garden, which was showing signs of feeling the +chilly nights of the close of summer in this upland, where the seasons +sometimes change abruptly. + +"The garden has missed Aunt Ann," said Leila. "Uncle Jim looks at it from +the porch, says 'How pretty!' and expects to see roses on his table every +day. I do believe he considers a garden as merely a kind of flower-farm." + +"Aunt Ann's garden interests her the way Westways does. There are sick +flowers and weeds like human weeds, and bugs and diseases that need a +flower-doctor, and flowers that are morbid or ill-humoured. That is not +my wisdom, Leila, it is Mr. Rivers's." + +"No, John, it isn't at all like you." + +"Aunt Ann didn't like it, and yet I think he meant it to be a compliment, +for he really considers Aunt Ann a model of what a woman ought to be." + +"I know that pretty well," said Leila. "When I used to lose my temper +over that horrid algebra, I was told to consider how Aunt Ann kept her +temper no matter what happened, as if that had anything to do with +algebra and equations. If he had seen her when she talked to George Grey +about Josiah, he would have known Aunt Ann better. I was proud of her." + +"Aunt Ann angry!" said John. "I should have liked to have seen that. Poor +Josiah!" + +They talked of the unlucky runaway, and were presently among the familiar +pine and spruce, far beyond the garden bounds. "Do put up that veil," +said John, "and you have not the least excuse for your parasol." + +"Oh, if you like, John. Tell me about West Point. It was such a +surprise." + +"I will when I am there, if I am able to pass the examinations." + +"You will--you will. Uncle Jim told me you would pass easily." + +"Indeed! He never told me that. I have my doubts." + +"And I have none," she returned, smiling. "Mr. Rivers dislikes it. +He wrote to me about it just before he left. Do you know, he did +really think that you ought to be a clergyman. He said you were so +serious-minded for--for a boy." + +John laughed, "nice clergyman I'd have made." Did Leila too consider him +a boy? "Oh! here we are at the old cabin. I never forget the first day we +came here--and the graves. The older I grow, Leila, the more clearly I +can see the fight and the rifle-flashes, and the rescue--and the night--I +can feel their terror." + +"Oh, we were mere children, John; and I do suppose that it is a pretty +well decorated tradition." He looked at her with surprise, as she added, +"I used to believe it all, now it seems strange to me, John--like a dream +of childhood. I think you really are a good deal of a boy yet." + +"No, I am not a boy. I sometimes fancy I never was a boy--I came here a +child." And then, "I think you like to tease me, Leila," and this was +true, although she was not pleased to be told so. "You think, Leila, that +it teases me to be called a boy by your ladyship. I think it is because +you remember what a boy once said to you here--right here." + +"What do you mean?" She knew very well what he meant, but quickly +repenting of her feminine fib, said, "Oh, I do know, but I wanted to +forget--I wanted to pretend to forget, because you know what friends we +have been, and it was really so foolish." + +He had been lying at her feet; now he rose slowly. "You are not like my +Leila to-day." + +"Oh, John!" + +"No--and it is hard, because I am going away--and--it will not be +pleasant to think how you are changed." + +"I wish you wouldn't say such things to me, John." + +"I had to--because--I love you. If I was a boy when I was, as you say, +silly, I was in earnest. It was nonsense to ask you, to say you would +marry me some day. It wasn't so very long ago after all; but I agree with +you, it _was_ foolish. Now I mean to make no such proposal." + +"Please, John." She looked up at him as he stood over her so grave, so +earnest--and so like Uncle Jim. For the time she got the fleeting +impression of this being a man. + +He hardly heard her appeal. "I want to say now that I love you." For a +moment the 'boy's will, the wind's will,' blew a gale. "I love you and I +always shall. Some day I shall ask you that foolish question again, and +again." + +She too was after all very young and had been playing a bit at being a +woman. Now his expression of passion embarrassed her--because she had no +answer ready; nor was it all entirely disagreeable. + +He stood still a moment, and added, "That is all--I ask nothing now." + +Then she stood up, having to say something and unwilling to hurt +him--wanting not to say too much or too little, and ending by a childlike +reply. "Oh, John, I do wish you would never say such things to me. I am +too young to listen to such nonsense." + +"And I am young too," he laughed. "Well--well--let us go home and confess +like children." + +"Now I know you are a fool, John Penhallow, and very disagreeable." + +"When we were ever so young, Leila, and we quarrelled, we used to agree +not to speak to one another for a day. Are you cross enough for that +now?" + +"No, I am not; but I want to feel sure that you will not say such things +to me again." + +"I make no promise, Leila; I should break it. If I gave you a boy's love, +forget it, laugh at it; but if I give you a man's love, take care." + +This odd drama--girl and woman, boy and maturing man--held the stage; now +one, now the other. + +"Take care, indeed!" she said, repeating his words and turning on him +with sudden ungraciousness, "I think we have had enough of this +nonsense." + +She was in fact the more disturbed of the two, and knowing it let anger +loose to chase away she knew not what, which was troubling her with +emotion she could neither entirely control nor explain later as the +result of what seemed to her mere foolishness. If he was himself +disturbed by his storm of primitive passion, he did not show it as she +did. + +"Yes," he said in reply, "we have had for the present enough of +this--enough talk, I mean--" + +"We!" she exclaimed. + +"Leila! do you want me to apologize?" + +"No." + +"Then--let us get those roses for Aunt Ann--what are left of them." + +She was glad to escape further discussion--not sure of her capacity to +keep in order this cousin who was now so young and now so alarmingly old. +His abrupt use of self-control she recognised--liked and then disliked, +for a little wrath in his reply would have made her feel more at ease. +With well-reassumed good-humour, she said, "Now you are my nice old +playmate, but never, never bother me that way again." + +"Yes, ma'am," said John, laughing. "I can hear Aunt Ann say, 'Run, dears, +and get me flowers--and--there will be cakes for you.'" + +"No, bread and apple-butter, John." They went along merry, making believe +to be at ease. + +"The robins are gone," said Leila. "I haven't seen one today; and the +warblers are getting uneasy and will be gone soon. I haven't seen a +squirrel lately. Josiah used to say that meant an early winter." + +"Oh, but the asters! What colour! And the golden-rod! Look at it close, +Leila. Each little flower is a star of gold." + +"How pretty!" She bent down over the flowers to pay the homage of honest +pleasure. "How you always see, John, so easily, the pretty little wild +beauties of the woods; I never could." She was "making up" as children +say. + +"Oh, you were the schoolmaster once," he laughed. "Come, we have enough; +now for the garden." + +They passed through the paling fence and along the disordered beds, where +a night of too early frost had touched with chill fingers of disaster the +latest buds. Leila moved about looking at the garden, fingering a bud +here and there with gentle epitaphs of "late," "too late," or gathering +the more matronly roses which had bloomed in time. John watched her bend +over them, and then where there were none but frost-wilted buds stand +still and fondle with tender touch the withered maidens of the garden. + +He came to her side, "Well, Leila, I'll swap thoughts with you." + +She looked up, "Your's first then." + +"I was thinking it must be hard to die before you came to be a rose--like +some other more human things." + +"Is that a charade, John? You will be writing poems about the lament of +the belated virgin roses that had not gathered more timely sunshine and +were alas! too late." + +He looked at her with a smile of pleased surprise. "Thanks, cousin; it is +you who should be the laureate of the garden. Shelley would envy you." + +"Indeed! I am flattered, sir, but I have not read any of Shelley as yet. +You have, I suppose? He is supposed to be very wicked. Get me some more +golden-rod, John." He went back to the edge of the wood and came again +laden, rejoining her at the porch. + +For two days her aunt kept her busy. Early in the week she went away to +be met in Philadelphia by her Uncle Charles, and to be returned to her +Maryland school. + +A day or two later John too left to undergo the dreaded examination at +West Point. The two older people were left alone at Grey Pine with the +rector, who had returned from his annual holiday later than usual. Always +depressed at these seasons, he was now indisposed for the society of even +the two people who were his most valued friends. He dined with them the +day John went away and took up the many duties of his clerical life, +until as was his custom, a week later he came in smiling for the Saturday +dinner, saying, "Well, here comes the old house-dog for his bone." + +They made him welcome as gaily. "Has the town wickedness accumulated in +your absence, Mark?" said Penhallow. + +"Mine has," said Ann Penhallow, "but I never confess except to myself." + +"Ann Penhallow might be a severe confessor," said Rivers as they sat +down. "How you must miss John and Leila. I shall most sadly." + +"Oh, for my part," said Ann, "I have made up my mind not to lament the +inevitable, but my husband is like a lost dog and--oh!--heart-hungry +for Leila, and worried about that boy's examination--his passing." + +"Have I said a word?" said the Squire indignantly. "Pass! Of course, he +will pass." + +"No one doubts that, James; but you are afraid he will not be near the +top." + +"You are a witch, Ann. How did you know that?" + +"How?" and she laughed. "How long have we been married!" + +"Nonsense, Ann! What has that got to do with the matter?" + +"Well," said Rivers, a little amused, "we shall know in a day or two. He +will pass high." + +"Of course," said Penhallow. + +Then the talk drifted away to the mills, the village and the farm work. +When after dinner Rivers declined to smoke with the Squire, Ann walked +with the clergyman down the avenue and said presently, "Dine with us on +Monday, Mark, and as often as possible. My husband is really worrying +about John." + +"And you, dear lady?" + +"I--oh, of course, I miss them greatly; but Leila needs the contact with +the social life she now has in the weekly holiday at Baltimore; and as +for John, did it never occur to you that he ought to be among men of his +age--and social position--and women too, who will not, I fancy, count for +much in the 'West Point education.' + +"Yes--yes, what you say is true of course, but ah! I dread for him the +temptations of another life than this." + +"Would you keep him here longer, if you could?" she asked. + +"No. What would life be worth or how could character be developed without +temptation? That is one of my puzzles about the world to come, a world +where there would be no 'yes and no' would hardly be worth while." + +"And quite beyond me," cried Ann, laughing. "We have done our best for +them. Let us pray that they will not forget. I have no fear for Leila. I +do not know about John. I must go home. Come often. Good-night. I suppose +the sermon takes you away so early." + +"Yes--more or less, and I am poor company just now. Good-night." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +When at breakfast on a Monday morning Penhallow said, "That mail is late +again," his wife knew that he was still eager for news from John. + +"The mail is always late on Monday morning, James. If you are in haste to +get to the mills, I will send it after you." + +"No, it is unimportant, Ann. Another cup, please. Ah! there it is now." +He went out on to the porch. "You are late, Billy." + +"I ain't late--it was Mrs. Crocker--she kept me." + +Penhallow selected two letters postmarked West Point, and opening one as +he went in to the breakfast-room, said, "My dear, it is rather +satisfactory--quite as much as could be expected." + +"Well, James! What is rather satisfactory? You are really exasperating at +times." + +"Am I? Well, John has passed in the first half dozen--he does not yet +know just where--" + +"And are you not entirely contented? You ought to be. What is the other +letter?" + +He opened it. "It is only a line from the old drawing-master to say that +John did well and would have been second or third, they said, except for +not being higher in mathematics." As he spoke he rose and put both +letters in his pocket. "Now I must go." + +"But let me see them, James." + +"Oh, John's is only a half dozen lines, and I must go at once--I have an +appointment at the mills--I want to look over the letters again, and +shall write to him from the office." Ann was slightly annoyed, but said +no more until on the porch before he mounted she took a mild revenge. +"I know where you are going." + +"Well, and where, please?" He fell into her trap. + +"First, you will stop at the rectory and read those letters to Mark +Rivers; then the belated mail will excuse a pause at the post-office to +scold Mrs. Crocker. Tell Pole as you go by that last mutton was +atrociously tough. Of course, you won't mention John." + +"Well, are you done?" he said, as he mounted Dixy. "I can wait, Ann, +until you read the letters." + +"Thanks, I am in no hurry." He turned in the saddle and gave her the +letters. She put aside her brief feeling of annoyance and stood beside +him as she read them. "Thank you, James. What an uneasy old uncle you +are. Now go. Oh, be off with you--and don't forget Dr. McGregor." As he +rode away, she called after him, "James--James--I forgot something." + +He turned, checking Dixy. "Oh, I forgot to say that you must not forget +the office clerks, because you know they are all so fond of John." + +"What a wretch you are, Ann Penhallow! Go in and repent." + +"I don't," and laughing, joyously, she stood and looked after the tall +figure as he rode away happy and gaily singing, as he was apt to do if +pleased, the first army carol the satisfaction of the moment suggested: + +Come out to the stable +As soon as you 're able, +And see that the horses +That they get some corn. +For if you don't do it, +The colonel will know it, +And then you will rue it +As sure as you're born. + +"Ah!" said his wife, "how he goes back--always goes back--to the wild +army life when something pleases him. Thank God that can never come +again." She recalled her first year of married life, the dull garrison +routine, the weeks of her husband's absences, and when the troop came +back and there were empty saddles and weeping women. + +At dinner the Squire must needs drink the young cadet's health and +express to Rivers his regret that there was not a West Point for Leila. +Mrs. Ann was of opinion that she had had too much of it already. Rivers +agreed with his hostess, and in one of his darkest days won the privilege +of long silences by questioning the Squire in regard to the studies and +life at West Point, while Mrs. Ann more socially observant than her +husband saw how moody was Rivers and with what effort he manufactured +an appearance of interest in the captain's enthusiasm concerning +educative methods at the great army school. She was relieved when he +carried off Rivers to the library. + +"It is chilly, Mark; would you like a fire?" he asked. + +"Yes, I am never too warm." + +The Squire set the logs ablaze. "No pipe, Mark?" + +"Not yet." He stretched out his lean length before the ruddy birch blaze +and was silent. The Squire watched him and made no attempt to disturb the +deep reverie in which the young clergyman remained. At last the great +grey eyes turned from the fire, and Rivers sat up in his chair, as he +said, "You must have seen how inconsiderately I have allowed my +depression to dismiss the courtesies of life. I owe you and my dear Mrs. +Penhallow both an apology and an explanation."-- + +"But really, Mark--" + +"Oh, let me go on. I have long wanted to talk myself out, and as often my +courage has failed. I have had a most unhappy life, Penhallow. All the +pleasant things in it--the past few years--have been given me here. I +married young--" + +"One moment, Mark. Before you came to us the Bishop wrote me in +confidence of your life. Not even Mrs. Penhallow has seen that letter." + +"Then you knew--but not all. Now I have had a sad relief. He told you +of--well, of my life, of my mother's hopeless insanity--and the rest." + +"Yes--yes--all, I believe--all." + +"Not quite all. I have spent a part at least of every August with her; +now at last she is dead. But my family story has left with me the fear of +dying like my brothers or of becoming as she became. When I came to you I +was a lonely soul, sick in mind and weak in body. I am better--far +better--and now with some renewal of hope and courage I shall face my +world again. You have had--you will have charity for my days of +melancholy. I never believed that a priest should marry--and yet I +did. I suffered, and never again can I dream of love. I am doubly armed +by memory and by the horror of continuing a race doomed to disaster. +There you have it all to my relief. There is some mysterious consolation +in unloading one's mind. How good you have been to me! and I have been so +useless--so little of what I might have been." + +Penhallow rose, set a hand on Rivers's shoulder, seeing the sweat on his +forehead and the appeal of the sad eyes turned up to meet his gaze. +"What," he said, "would our children have been without you? God knows I +have been a better man for your company, and the mills--the village--how +can you fail to see what you have done--" + +"No--no--I am a failure. It may be that the moods of self-reproach are +morbid. That too torments me. Even to-day I was thinking of how Christ +would have dealt with that miserable man, Peter Lamb, and how +uncharitable I was, how crude, how void of sympathy--" + +"You--you--" said Penhallow, as he moved away. "My own regret is that +I did not turn him over to the law. Well, points of view do differ +curiously. We will let him drop. He will come to grief some day. And now +take my thanks and my dear Ann's for what you have told me. Let us drop +that too. Take a pipe." + +"No, I must go. I am the easier in my mind, but I am tired and not at +all in the pipe mood." He went out through the hall, and with a hasty +"good-night" to his hostess and "pleasant dreams--or none," went slowly +down the avenue. + +The woman he left, with her knitting needles at rest a moment, was +considering the man and his moods with such intuitive sympathy and +comprehension as belongs to the sex which is physiologically the more +subject to abrupt changes in the climate of the mind. As her husband +entered, she began anew the small steadying industry for which man has no +substitute. + +"Upon my word, James, when you desire to exchange confidences, you must +get further away from me." + +"You don't mean me to believe you overheard our talk in the library, with +the door closed and the curtain across it." Her acuteness of hearing +often puzzled him, and he had always to ask for proof. + +She nodded gay assurance, and said again, ceasing to knit, "I overheard +too much--oh, not all--bits--enough to trouble me. I moved away so as not +to hear. All I care to know is how to be of real service to a friend to +whom we owe so much." + +"I want you--in fact, Mark wants you--to hear in full what you know in +part." + +"Well, James, I have very little curiosity about the details of the +misfortunes of my friends unless to know is to obtain means of +helpfulness." + +"You won't get any here, I fear, but as he has been often strange and +depressed and, as he says, unresponsive to your kindness, he does want +you now to see what cause there was." + +"Very well, if he wants it. I see you have a letter." + +"Yes, I kept it. It was marked strictly confidential--I hate that--" She +smiled as he added, "It seems to imply the possibility of indiscretion on +my part." + +"Oh, James! Oh, you dear man!" and she laughed outright, liking to tease +where she deeply loved, knowing him through and through, as he never +could know her. Then she saw that he was not in the mood for jesting with +an edge to it; nor was she. "At all events, you did not let me see that +letter--now I am to see it." + +"Yes, you are to see it. You might at any time have seen it." + +"Yes, read it to me." + +"When our good Bishop sent Mark Rivers here to us, he wrote me this +letter--" + +"Well, go on." + +"MY DEAR SIR: I send you the one of my young clergy with whom I am the +most reluctant to part. You will soon learn why, and learning will be +thankful. But to make clear to you why I urge him--in fact, order him to +go--requires a word of explanation. He is now only twenty-six years of +age but looks older. He married young and not wisely a woman who lived a +childlike dissatisfied life, and died after two years. One of his +brothers died an epileptic; the other, a promising lawyer, became insane +and killed himself. This so affected their widowed mother that she fell +into a speechless melancholy and has ever since been in the care of +nurses in a farmer's family--a hopeless case. I became of late alarmed at +his increasing depression and evident failure in bodily strength. He was +advised to take a small country parish, and so I send him to you and my +friend, Mrs. Penhallow, sure that he will give as much as he gets. I need +not say more. He is well worth saving--one of God's best--with too +exacting a conscience--learned, eloquent and earnest, and to end, a +gentleman." + +"There is a lot more about Indian missions, which I think are hopeless, +but I sent him a cheque, of course." + +"I supposed, James, that his depression was owing to his want of vigorous +health. Now I see, but how very sorrowful it is! What else is there? I +did not mean to listen, but something was said about his mother." + +"Yes. He has spent with her a large part of every August--he called it +his holiday. My God, Ann! Poor fellow! This August she died. It must be a +relief." + +"Perhaps." + +"Oh, surely. This is all, Ann." + +"I wish you had been less discreet long ago, James. I think that the +Bishop knowing how sensitive, how very reticent Mark is, meant only that +he should not learn what was confided to you." + +"I never thought of that, Ann. You may be right." + +She made no further comment, except to say, "But to know clears the air +and leaves me free to talk to him at need." Penhallow felt that where he +himself might be a useless confessor, his wife was surely to be trusted. + +"If, Ann, the man could only be got on to the back of a horse--" She won +the desirable relief of laughter, and the eyes that were full of the +tears of pity for this disastrous life overflowed of a sudden with mirth +at the Squire's one remedy for the troubles of this earthly existence. + +"Oh, I am in earnest," he said. "Now I must write to John." + +When after a week or more she did talk to Mark Rivers, he was the better +for it and felt free to speak to her as a younger man may to an older +woman and can rarely do to the closest of male friends, for, after all, +most friendships have their personal limitations and the man who has not +both men and women friends may at some time miss what the double +intimacies alone can give. + + * * * * * + +The uneasy sense of something lost was more felt than mentioned that fall +at Grey Pine, where quick feet on the stair and the sound of young +laughter were no longer heard. Rivers saw too how distinctly the village +folk missed these gay young people. Mrs. Crocker, of the shop where +everything was to be bought, bewailed herself to Rivers, who was the +receiver of all manner of woes. "Mrs. Penhallow is getting to be so +particular no one knows where to find her. You would never think it, sir, +but she says my tea is not fit to drink, and she is going to get her +sugar from Philadelphia. It's awful! She says it isn't as sweet as it +used to be--as if sugar wasn't always the same--" + +"Which it isn't," laughed Rivers. + +"And my tea!--Then here comes in the Squire to get a dog-collar, and +roars to my poor deaf Job, 'that last tea was the best we have ever had. +Send five pounds to Dr. McGregor from me--charge it to me--and a pound to +Mrs. Lamb.' It wasn't but ten minutes later. Do set down, Mr. Rivers." He +accepted the chair she dusted with her apron and quietly enjoyed the +little drama. The facts were plain, the small influential motives as +clear. + +Secure of her hearer, Mrs. Crocker went on: "I was saying it wasn't ten +minutes later that same morning Mrs. Penhallow came down on me about the +sugar and the tea--worst she ever had. She--oh, Lord!--She wouldn't +listen, and declared that she would return the tea and get sugar from +town." + +"Pretty bad that," said Rivers, sympathetic. "Did she send back the tea?" + +"No, sir. In came Pole grinning that very evening. He said she had made +an awful row about the last leg of mutton he sent. Pole said she was that +bad--She didn't show no temper, but she kept on a sort of quiet mad about +the mutton." + +"Well, what did Pole do?" + +"You'd never guess. It was one of the Squire's own sheep. Pole he just +sent her the other leg of the same sheep!" + +Again the rector laughed. "Well, and what did Mrs. Penhallow do?" + +"She told him that was all right. Pole he guessed I'd better send her a +pound of the same tea." + +"Did you?" + +"I did--ain't heard yet. Now what would you advise? Never saw her this +way before." + +"Well," said Rivers, "tell her how the town misses Leila and John." + +"They do. I do wonder if it's just missing those children upsets her so." + +Whether his advice were taken or not, Rivers did not learn directly, but +Mrs. Crocker said things were better when next they met, and the +clergyman asked no questions. + +Penhallow had his own distracting troubles. The financial condition which +became serious in the spring and summer of 1857 was beginning to cause +him alarm, and soon after the new year came in he felt obliged to talk +over his affairs and to advise his wife to loan the mill company money +not elsewhere to be had except at ruinous interest. She wished simply to +give him the sum needed, but he said no, and made clear to her why he +required help. She was pleased to be consulted, and showing, as usual, +notable comprehension of the business situation, at once did as he +desired. + +Rivers not aware of what was so completely occupying Penhallow's mind, +wondered later why he would not discuss the decision of the Supreme Court +in the Dred Scott case and did not share his own indignation. "But," he +urged, "it declares the Missouri Compromise not warranted by the +Constitution!" + +"I can't talk about it, Mark," said Penhallow, "I am too worried by my +own affairs." + +Then Rivers asked no further questions; he hoped he would read the +masterly dissenting opinion of Justices McLean and Curtis. Penhallow +returned impatiently that he had no time, and that the slavery question +were better left to the decision of "Chief Justice Time." + +It was unlike the Squire, and Rivers perplexed and more or less ignorant +concerning his friend's affairs left him, in wonder that what was so +angrily disturbing the Northern States should quite fail to interest +Penhallow. + +Meanwhile there were pleasant letters from Leila. She thought it hard to +be denied correspondence with John, and wrote of the satisfaction felt by +her Uncle Henry and his friends in regard to the Dred Scott decision. She +had been wise enough to take her Uncle Charles's advice and to hold her +Republican tongue, as he with a minority in Baltimore was wisely doing. + +The money crisis came with full force while the affairs of Kansas were +troubling both North and South. In August there was widespread ruin. +Banks failed, money was held hard, contracts were broken and to avoid a +worse calamity the Penhallow mills discharged half of the men. Meanwhile +under Governor Walker's just and firm rule, for a brief season 'Bleeding +Kansas' was no longer heard of. To add to the confusion of parties, +Douglas broke with the Administration and damaged the powerful Democratic +machine when he came out with changed opinions and dauntless courage +against the new Lecompton constitution. + +In June Leila's school life came to a close, and to the delight of her +relations she came home. When that afternoon Rivers came into the hall, a +tall young woman rose of a sudden and swept him a curtsey, saying, "I am +Leila Grey, sir. Please to be glad to see me." + +"Good gracious, Leila! You are a woman!" + +"And what else should I be?" + +"Alas! what? My little friend and scholar--oh! the evil magic of time." + +"Oh! Friend--friend!" she exclaimed, "then, now, and always." She gave +him both hands. + +"Yes, always," he said quickly. "And this," he said to himself, "is the +child who used to give me the morning kiss. It is very wonderful!" + +"I really think, Aunt Ann, that Mr. Rivers just for a moment did not know +me." + +"Indeed! That must have amused him." + +"Oh, here is James." There was laughter at dinner and a little gay +venture into the politics of Leila's school, which appeared to have been +disagreeable to Miss Grey. + +Rivers watched the animated face as she gave her account of how the +school took a vote in the garden and were all Democrats. The Squire a +little puzzled by his wife's evident disinclination to interfere with the +dinner-table politics got a faint suspicion that here had come into Grey +Pine a new and positive influence. He was more surprised that Mrs. Ann +asked, "What did you say, Leila?" + +"I? Now, Aunt Ann, what would you have done or said?" + +"Oh, voted with the Democrats, of course." + +"Oh, Mrs. Penhallow!" cried the Rector. + +The Squire much amused asked, "Well, Leila, did you run away?" + +"I--Oh, Uncle Jim! I said I was a democrat--I voted the Democratic +ticket." + +"Did you?" exclaimed Rivers. + +"So James Penhallow and my brother Charles have lost a Republican vote," +laughed Ann. + +"But, Aunt Ann, I added that I was a Douglas Democrat." + +The Squire exploded into peals of laughter. Ann said, "For shame!" + +"They decided to lynch me, but no one of them could catch me before Miss +Mayo appeared on the playground and we all became demure as pussy cats. +She was cross." + +"She was quite right," said her aunt. "I do not see why girls should be +discussing politics." + +Rivers became silently regardant, and Penhallow frowning sat still. The +anticipated bolt had fallen--it fell in vain. Leila did not accept the +decree, but defended herself gaily. "Aunt Ann," she said, "Douglas is +right, or at least half right. And do tell me how old must a girl be +before she has a right to think?" + +"Think! Oh, if you like, think. But, my dear Leila, your uncle, Mr. +Rivers and I, although we think and hold very diverse opinions, feel that +on such matters discussion only leaves a sting, and so we tacitly leave +it out of our talk. There, my dear, you have my opinion." + +There was a moment of silence. Leila looked up. "Oh, my dear Aunt Ann, if +you were on the side of old Nick, Mr. Rivers wouldn't care a penny less +for you, and I never could see why to differ in talk about politics is +going to hurt past anything love could accept. Aunt Helen and Uncle +Charles both talk politics and they do love one another, although Aunt +Helen is tremendously Democratic." + +"My dear Leila!" + +"Oh, Aunt Ann! I will not say a word more if you want me to hold my +tongue." + +"Wouldn't the other way be more wholesome on the whole?" said Rivers. + +"I have long thought so," said the Squire. "There are ways and ways--" + +"Perhaps," said Ann. "Shall you ride with your uncle tomorrow, Leila?" + +"Oh, shall I! I long for it--I dream about it. May I ride Dixy, Uncle +Jim?" + +"Yes, if you have a riding-habit you can wear. We will see to that. You +have grown a good bit, but I fancy we can manage." + +"And how is Pole, aunt; and the doctor and Crocker and his fat wife--oh, +and everybody?" + +"Oh, much, as usual. We had a skirmish about mutton, but the last Pole +sent is good--in fact, excellent. He needs watching." + +Then the talk fell on the lessened work at the mills, and there being now +four players the Squire had his whist again, and later carried Rivers +away to smoke in the library, leaving Ann and Leila. + +As the library door closed, Leila dropped on a cushion at her aunt's +feet, and with her head in Ann's lap expressed her contentment by a few +moments of silence. Then sitting up, she said, "I am so happy I should +like to purr. I was naughty at dinner, but it was just because I wanted +to make Uncle Jim laugh. He looks--Don't you think he looks worried, +aunt? Is it the mills and--the men out of work? Dear Aunt Ann, how can +one keep on not talking about politics and things that are next to one's +religion--and concerning our country--my country?" + +Ann made no direct reply, but went back to what was nearer than any creed +of politics. "Yes, dear. When one big thing worries James, then +everything worries him. The state of the money market makes all business +difficult, and he feels uncomfortable because the mill company is in want +of work, and because their debts are overdue and not likely to be paid in +full or at all." + +"I wish I could do something to help Uncle Jim." + +"You can ride with him and I cannot. You can talk to him without +limitations; I cannot. He is reasonable about this grave question of +slavery. He does not think it right; I do--oh, good for master and best +for the black. When, soon after our marriage, we spoke of it, he was +positive and told me to read what Washington had said about slavery. We +were both young and said angry things which left a pang of remembrance. +After that we were careful. But now this terrible question comes up in +the village and in every paper. It will get worse, and I see no end to +it." + +Leila was silent, remembering too her aunt's share in Josiah's escape. +The advice implied in her aunt's frank talk she saw was to be accepted. +"I will remember, Aunt Ann." At least she was free to talk to her uncle. + +"Has any one heard of Josiah?" asked Leila. + +"No, I was sorry for him. He had so many good traits. I think he would +have been more happy if he had remained with his master." + +Leila had her doubts, but was self-advised to say no more than, "I often +think of him. Now I shall go to bed." + +"Yes, you must be tired." + +"I am never tired, but to be free to sit up late or go to bed and read +what I want to--and to ride! Good-night. I can write to John--now there's +another bit of freedom. Oh, dear, how delightful it all is!" She went +upstairs thinking how hard it would be to keep off of the forbidden +ground, and after all was her aunt entirely wise? Well, there was Uncle +Jim and John. + +While this talk went on the rector alone with his host said, "You are +evidently to have a fresh and very positive factor in your household +life--" + +"Hush," said the Squire. "Talk low--Ann Penhallow has incredible +hearing." + +"True--quite true--I forgot. How amazingly the child has changed. She +will be a useful ferment, I fancy. How strange it is always--this abrupt +leap of the girl into the heritage of womanhood. The boy matures slowly, +by imperceptible gradations. Now Leila seems to me years older than John, +and the change is really somewhat startling; but then I have seen very +little of young women. There is the girl, the maid, the woman." + +"Oh, but there is boy, lad, and man." + +"Not comparable, Squire; continuously growing in one case, and in the +other developmental surprises and, ever after, fall and rise of energy. +The general trouble about understanding women is that men judge them by +some one well-known woman. I heard a famous doctor say that no man need +pretend to understand women unless he had been familiar with sick women." + +The Squire recalling the case of Ann Penhallow was silent. The clergyman +thinking too of his own bitter experience lapsed into contemplative +cleaning of a much valued meerschaum pipe. The Squire not given to morbid +or other psychological studies made brief reply. "I hope that Leila will +remain half boy." + +"Too late, Squire--too late. You've got a woman on your hands. There will +be two heads to Grey Pine." + +"And may I ask where do I come in?" He was at times almost dull-witted, +and yet in danger swift to think and quick to act. + +Rivers filling the well-cleaned pipe looked up. There was something of +unwonted gaiety in the moving face-lines which frame the eyes and give to +them the appearance of change of expression. "My dear friend, you were as +dough that is kneaded in the hands of Leila, the girl; you will be no +less so now in the hands of this splendid young woman." + +"Oh, now--by George! Rivers, you must think me--" + +"Think you! Oh, like other men. And as concerns Mrs. Ann, there +will sometimes be a firm alliance with Leila before which you will +wilt--or--no, I will not venture further." + +"You had better not, or you may fail like other prophets." + +"No, I was thinking as you spoke of the fact that Leila has seen a good +deal of a very interesting society in Baltimore, and has had the chance, +and I am sure the desire, to hear more of the wild Southern party-talk +than most girls have." + +"Yes, she has been in both camps." + +"And always was and is, I fancy, eagerly curious in the best sense. More +than my dear Mrs. Ann, she has wide intellectual sympathies--and +appetites." + +"That's a very fine phrase, Mark." + +"Isn't it, Squire? I was also comparing in my mind John's want of +association with men of his own social accident of position. He lived +here with some rough country lads and with you and me. He has had no such +chance as Leila's." + +"Oh, the Point will mature him. Then two years on the Plains--and after +that the mills." + +"Perhaps--two years! But, Penhallow, who can dare to predict what God has +in store for us. Two years!" + +"Yes--too true--who can! Just now we are financially diseased, and men +are thinking more of the bread and butter and debts of to-morrow than of +Mr. Buchanan in the toils of his Southern Cabinet." + +"That's so. Good-night." + +Leila took upstairs with her John's last letter to her aunt, and sitting +down read it eagerly: + +"WEST POINT. + +"MY DEAR AUNT: The life here, as I wrote you, is something almost +monastic in its systematic regularity, and its despotic claims on one's +time. It leaves small leisure for letters except on Sundays; and if a +fellow means to be well placed, even then he is wise to do some work. The +outside world seems far away, and we read and can read few papers. + +"I am of Uncle Jim's politics, but although there are many pretty +sensitive cadets from the South, some of them my friends, there is so +pleasant a camaraderie among us that there are few quarrels, and +certainly none of the bitterness of the two sections. + +"I think I may have told you that we have no furlough until we have been +here two years, but I hope some time for a visit from Uncle Jim and you, +or at least from him and Leila. How she would enjoy it! The wonderful +beauty of the great river in the embrace of these wooded mountains, the +charm of the heroic lives it has nourished and the romance of its early +history are delightful--" + +"Enjoy it," murmured Leila, "oh, would I not indeed!" Then she read on: + +"Tell Leila to write me all about the horses and the town, and if Josiah +has been heard of. Tom McGregor writes me that after he is graduated next +year, he means to try for a place in the army and get a year or two of +army life before he settles down to help his father. So it takes only two +years to learn how to keep people alive and four to learn how to kill +them." + +"I wonder who John means to kill." She sat in thought a while, and rising +to undress said, "He must be greatly changed, my dear boy, Jack. Jack!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +The widespread disapproval at the North of the Dred Scott Decision was +somewhat less manifest in the middle months of the year because of the +general financial distress, which diverted attention from what was so +agreeable to the slave States, where in fact the stringency in the money +market had been felt but little. + +At Grey Pine, as elsewhere in Pennsylvania, the evil influence of the +depression in trade was felt as never before. More men were discharged, +and Penhallow and his wife practised economy which to him was difficult +and distasteful. To limit expenditure on herself was of little moment to +Ann Penhallow, but to have to limit her ability to give where more and +more were needing help was to her at least a hard trial. With the spring +of 1858, business had begun to revive, while more bitterness arose when +in the senatorial contest Stephen Douglas encountered the soil-born +vigorous intellect of the little known lawyer Lincoln. The debate put +fresh life into the increasing power of the Republican party in the West. + +"Listen to this," said Rivers to the Squire in July of 1858. "Here is a +new choice. Long ago I got touch of this man, when he said, 'A house +divided against itself cannot stand.'" He went on to read aloud parts of +the famous speech. + +Leila sitting with them on the porch looked round to hear her uncle's +comment. He said, "It is too radical, Rivers. It leaves no chance for +compromise--it is a declaration of war." + +"It is God's truth," said Rivers. + +"The Democrats will rejoice," said Penhallow. "The Administration will be +as I am against Douglas and against this man's views." + +"I wish he were even more of an abolitionist, Squire. The right to life, +liberty and the pursuit of happiness, ought to apply to all men, black +and white." + +"Yes, but are there to be further applications. Shall your free black +vote? Does he say that?" + +"No, but I do." + +"Good gracious!" exclaimed the Squire. "I move we adjourn. Here comes +Ann." + +Keen to have the last word, Rivers urged, "He is not against some +fugitive-slave law--not for abolition of slavery in the District of +Columbia--or the slave trade between the States." + +"But," said Leila, "I read it all last night in my room. He said it was +the right and duty of Congress to prohibit slavery in all the +territories." + +"The right," said Penhallow, "Miss Politician?" + +"And the duty," returned Rivers. They rose as Ann came up the steps. + +Billy was carrying the baskets she had emptied in the village, and as +usual with Ann when there had been much to do, she came home, Rivers +said, refreshed by the exercise of her gentle despotisms as a man may be +by use of competent muscles. "You are all struck dumb," she cried. "I +smell the sulphur of bad politics." + +"I'm for Buch and Breck," said Billy. "Misses she give me a dollar to +vote for Buchanan, I know--" + +Leila delightedly encouraged him. "Did you?" + +"No, it was for poll-tax. Take in those baskets at once," said Ann. + +"Yes, ma'am. Bought a fishing-pole." + +The confusion of mind which had made this practical use of Ann's mild +political contribution was new to the Squire, and deliciously funny to +Leila. Penhallow laughed outright. Rivers was silent watching Mrs. Ann. + +To his surprise, she said, "You are bad--all of you. If the women could +vote we would cease to have trouble. It may please you all to know that +since that idiot Pole has mortgaged his farm to Swallow and bought out +the butcher at the mills, he has repented of his Democratic wickedness +and says, 'After all the Squire was right.'" + +"And where, my dear, did you get all this gossip?" asked Penhallow. + +"It is complicated; ask Pole." + +"I could guess," laughed Leila. + +"And I," cried the Squire. + +"You will all suffer," cried Ann, "and don't complain, James Penhallow, +if tough beef is the final result of political complications." Whereupon +she gathered her skirts and fled laughing. + +"Pole will pay dearly," said the Squire, who was secretly securing meat +for the discharged mill-hands and understood what had influenced Pole. + +Grey Pine and Westways during the summer and fall of 1858 felt, like many +in the Northern States, the need to live with economy. Want of employment +added to the unrest, and the idle men found time to discuss the angry +politics which rang through the debates in the Senate. The changed tariff +on iron, to which Pennsylvania was always selfishly sensitive, affected +the voting, and Penhallow was pleased when the Administration suffered +disaster in the October elections. All parties--Republican, American and +Douglas Democrats--united to cast discredit on the President's policy, +but Penhallow knew that the change of duties on iron had little to do +with the far-spread ruin of trade and manufactures the result of long +credits and the careless finance of an over-prosperous people. The +electoral results were looked upon as a Republican victory. He so +explained it on a November afternoon, as he rode through the still forest +with Leila Grey, when the faint haze and warmer days told of that +mysterious arrest of decay we call the Indian summer. + +As they rode, the long lapses into silence told of the pleasant relations +of two people entirely at ease with one another. Now it was a question +asked--and now quick discussion. She had slowly won with maidenhood what +few children have, more or less of the varied forms of imagination, which +once had rather amused or puzzled her in John Penhallow. Her uncle, who +thought slowly unless in danger, rode on with his mind upon a small order +for rails and was far from feeling the mystery of the autumn days. The +girl beside him was reading into the slow rocking to and fro of the +falling leaves some reluctance to become forever a part of the decaying +mould. + +"Please, Uncle Jim, don't trot. Let them walk. It is so full of tender +deaths." + +"What do you mean, Leila?--as if death were ever beautiful or tender. You +and your aunt bother me with your absurd manufacture of some relation to +nature--" + +"Oh, Uncle Jim! Once I saw you pat a big pine and say 'how are you, old +fellow?' I told John it was nonsense, but he said it was fine." + +"Oh, but that was a tree." + +Leila laughed. "Of that there can be no doubt." + +"Well, and what of it? It was half fun. You and John and your aunt sit up +and explode into enthusiasm over verse, when it could all be said far +better in simple prose." + +"I should like to put that to the test some night." + +"Not I, Miss Grey. I have no poetry in me. I am cold prose through and +through." + +"You--you!" she cried. "Some people like poetry--some people are poetry." + +"What--what?" + +"Wasn't your hero Cromwell just magnificent, stately blank verse?" + +"What confounded nonsense!" She glanced at the manly figure with the +cavalry seat, erect, handsome, to her heroic--an ideal gentleman in all +his ways. "Stuff and nonsense!" he added. + +"Well, Uncle Jim--to talk prose--the elections please you?" + +"Yes. The North is stiffening up. It is as well. Did you see what Seward +said, 'An irrepressible conflict,' and that man Lincoln, 'The house +divided against itself cannot stand'? Now I should like to think them +both wrong." + +"And do you not?" she asked. + +"No. Some devilish fate seems to be at the helm, as Rivers says. We avoid +one rock to fall into wild breakers of exasperation; with fugitive-slave +cases on one side, and on the other importations of slaves. Where will it +end?" + +"But what would you do, uncle?" + +"Oh, amend the Fugitive-Slave Law. Try the cases by jury. Let slavery +alone to cure itself, as it would in time. It would if we let it alone." + +"And Kansas?" asked Leila. + +"Oh, Douglas is right, but his view of the matter will never satisfy the +South nor the extreme men at the North. My dear Leila, the days are dark +and will be darker, and worst of all they really think we are afraid." +His face grew stern. "I hate to talk about it. Have you heard from John +lately?" + +"Yes, only last week." + +"And you write to him, of course?" + +"Yes, I answer his letters. Aunt Ann writes every Sunday. Are things +better at the mills?" + +"Rather. Now for a gallop--it puts me always in a more hopeful humour. +Don't let your aunt overwork you, Leila; she will." + +"She can't, Uncle Jim." It was true. Leila gently rebelled against +incessant good works--sewing-classes for the village girls, Sunday +school, and the endless errands which left no time for books. Her +occasional walks with Marks Rivers enabled her to form some clear idea of +the difference of opinion which so sharply divided parties north of +Maryland. His own belief was that slavery was a sinful thing with which +there should be no truce and no patient waiting upon the influence of +time. He combated the Squire's equally simple creed--the unbroken union +of the States. She fought the rector hard, to his delight. Far more +pleasant on three afternoons in the week were the lessons in Italian with +her aunt, and Rivers's brilliant commentary on Dante. The months ran on +into and through the winter, with an economical Christmas to Ann's +regret. + + * * * * * + +As a rule the political contests of our country go on without deeply +affecting the peace of families. In the cotton States opinion was or had +to appear to be at one. In the North the bitterness and unreason of +limited groups of anti-slavery people excited the anger of men who saw in +their ways and speeches continual sources of irritation, which made all +compromise difficult. The strife of parties where now men were earnest as +they never were before since revolutionary days was felt most seriously +in the border States. + +"James," said Ann after breakfast, when Leila had gone to dress for a +ride, "I think I ought to tell you that I have had this morning letters +from both my brothers. I wrote, you know, asking them to bring the girls +to us. Leila is too much alone. They both decline. Charles has come out +for the Republicans, and now--it is too dreadful--they do not speak. +Charles tells me there is a strong minority with him and that the State +is not all for the South. I cannot believe it." + +"Indeed!" He was not altogether displeased. "I am sorry for you, Ann, as +their sister." + +"And as a man, you are not! Where will it all end? There is neither +charity nor reason at the North. I am disturbed for our country." + +"You ask where it will all end. Where will it end? God alone knows. Let +us at least wait quietly the course of events we cannot control. I at +least try to be reasonable." He left her standing in tears, for which he +had no comfort in thought or word. Over all the land, North and South, +there were such differences of opinion between wife and husband, +brothers, friends and kinsmen. As he stood at the door about to ride to +the mills he looked back and heard her delayed comment. + +"One moment, James--" + +"Oh, what is the matter?" cried Leila at the foot of the stairs. To see +Ann Penhallow in tears was strange indeed. + +Her uncle standing with his hand on his wife's shoulder had just spoken. +Turning to Leila, he said: "Your aunt and I have had some unpleasant news +from your uncles in Baltimore--a political quarrel." + +"I knew it in the spring, Uncle Jim." + +The girl's thoughtful reticence surprised him. Neither to him nor to Ann +had she said a word of this family feud. + +"Thank you, Leila," murmured her aunt. The Squire wondered why, as her +aunt added, "I am greatly troubled. We have always been a most united +family; but, dear, this--this has brought home to me, as nothing else +has, the breaking up of the ties which bound the South and North +together. It is only the sign of worse things to come." + +"But, Ann," said Penhallow, "I must say"--A sharp grip on his arm by +Leila's hand stopped him. He checked himself in time--"it is all very +sad, but neither you nor I can help it." + +"That is too true, James. I should not have said what I did. I want to +see one of the men at the mills. His children are ill, his wife is in +great distress." + +"I will drive you myself this morning. I will send Dixy away and order +the gig." + +"Thank you; I shall like that, James." + +Meanwhile Leila rode away, having in a moment of tactful interference +made her influence felt. She was well aware of it and smiled as she +walked her horse down the avenue, murmuring, + +"I suppose I shall catch it from Uncle Jim." And then, "No, he will be +glad I pinched him, but he did look cross for a moment." No word of the +family dissension reached John in their ever cheerful letters. + +On a wild windy afternoon in February, the snow falling heavily, Leila on +her way to the village rang at the Rector's door. Getting no answer, she +went in and passing through the front room knocked at the library door. + +"Come in." Rivers was at his table in a room littered with books and +newspapers. The gentle smile of his usual greeting was missing. She saw +at once that he was in one of his moods of melancholy--rare of late. Her +eyes quick to see when she was interested noted that where he sat there +was neither book nor paper in front of him. He rose as she entered, tall, +stooping, lean, and so thin-featured that his large eyes were the more +notable. + +"Aunt Ann has a cold, and Joe Grace was at the house to say that his +father is ill, and aunt wishes you to go with me and see what is wanted. +He has no way to send for the doctor; and so you see, as he is in bed, +you must go with me." + +"Oh, I saw him this morning. It is of no moment. I did what was needed." + +"But I have to see Mrs. Lamb too. Come for the walk. It is blowing a gale +and the snow is splendid--do come." + +Of late he had rarely walked with her. He hesitated. + +"Do come." + +"If I die of cold, Leila." + +"Die! You do not take exercise enough to keep your blood in motion. Come, +please!" + +He said no more except "Wait a moment," and returned fitly clad. A fury +of charging battalions of snow met them in the avenue. She faced it +gallantly, joyous and rosy. He bent to avoid the sting of the driven +snow, shivering, and more at ease when in the town the houses broke the +force of the gale. + +"You won't need to go to Grace's," he urged. + +"I am under orders. Don't you know Aunt Ann?" + +Presently plunging through the snow-drifts they came into the dreary +disordered back room which had so troubled Penhallow. It was cold with +that indoor cold which is so unpleasant. Joe Grace came in--a big +strapping young fellow. "I came from the farm and found father in bed and +no wood in the stack. Some one has just fetched a load." He began to +make a fire. + +"Go up to your father," said Rivers. "Make a fire in his room. You ought +to have come sooner. Oh, that poor helpless Baptist saint--there isn't +much wrong, but the man is half frozen--and it is so needless." + +"Come," said Leila. "Does he require anything?" + +"No, I saw to that." As he spoke, he piled log on log and warmed his long +thin hands. "Wait a little, Leila." She sat down, while the loose +casements rattled. + +"Leila," he said, "there is no chance to talk to you at Grey Pine. I am +troubled about these, my friends. What I now have of health and mental +wholesomeness in my life, I owe to them. I came hither a broken, hopeless +man. Now they are in trouble." She looked up at him in some surprise at +his confession. "I want to help them. Your uncle told me of your aunt's +new distress and the cause. Then I made him talk business, and asked him +to let me lend him thirty thousand dollars. He said no, but I did see how +it pleased him. He said that it would be lost. At all events his refusal +was decisive." + +"But," said Leila, increasingly surprised, "that was noble of you." + +"Nonsense, my dear Leila; I have more than I need--enough to help +others--and would still have enough." + +She had a feeling of astonishment at the idea of his being so well-off, +and now from his words some explanation of the mysterious aid which had +so helped at the mills and so puzzled Mrs. Ann. Why had he talked to her? +He himself could not have told why. As he stood at the fire he went on +talking, while she made her quick mental comments. + +"You call it noble. It is a rather strange thing; but to go to a friend +in financial despair with a cheque-book is a test of friendship before +which many friendships fail. Before my uncle left me rich beyond my +needs, I had an unpleasant experience on a small scale, but it was a +useful example in the conduct of life." He paused for a moment, and then +said, "I shall try the Squire again." + +"I think you will fail--I know Uncle Jim. But what you tell me--is it +very bad? I mean, is he--are the mills--likely to fail?" + +"That depends as I see it on the summer nominations and the fall +elections, and their result no one can predict. The future looks to me +full of peril." + +"But why?" she asked, and had some surprise when he said, "I have lived +in the South. I taught school in Macon. I know the South, its increasing +belief in the despotic power of cotton and tobacco, its splendid courage, +and the sense of mastery given by the ownership of man. Why do I talk my +despair out to a young life like yours? I suppose confession to be a +relief--the tears of the soul. I suppose it is easier to talk to a +woman." "Then why not to Aunt Ann?" thought Leila, as he went on to say, +"I have often asked myself why confession is such a relief." He smiled as +he added, "I wonder if St. Francis ever confessed to Monica." Then he was +silent, turning round before the fire, unwilling to leave it. + +Leila had been but recently introduced to the knowledge of St. Francis, +and was struck with the oddity of representing Monica; and the tall, +gaunt figure with the sad eyes, as the joyful St. Francis. + +"Now, I must go home," he said. + +"Indeed, no! You are to go with me to the post-office and then to see +Mrs. Lamb." + +He had some pleasant sense of liking to be ordered about by this young +woman. As they faced the snow, he asked, "How tall are you, Leila?" + +"Five feet ten inches and--to be accurate--a quarter. Why do you ask?" + +"Idle curiosity." + +"Curiosity is never idle, Mr. Rivers. It is industrious. I proved that in +a composition I wrote at school. It did bother Miss Mayo." + +"I should think it might," said Rivers. "Any letters, Mrs. Crocker?" + +"No, sir; none for Squire's folk. Two newspapers. Awful cold, Miss Leila. +Molasses so hard to-day, had to be chopped--" + +"Oh, now, Mrs. Crocker!" + +The fat post-mistress was still handling the pile of finger-soiled +letters. "Oh, there's one for Mrs. Lamb." + +"We are going there. I'll take it." + +"Thanks, miss. She's right constant in coming for letters, but the +letters they don't come, and now here's one at last." Leila tucked it +into her belt. "I tell you, Miss Leila, a post-office is a place to make +you laugh one day and cry the next. When you see a girl from the country +come here twice a week for maybe two months and then go away trying that +hard to make believe it wasn't of any account. There ought to be some one +to write 'em letters--just to say, 'Don't cry, he'll come.' It might be a +queer letter." + +Rivers wondered at the very abrupt and very American introduction of +unexpected sentiment and humour. + +"Let me know and I'll write them, Mrs. Crocker," cried Leila. She had the +very youthful reflection that it was odd for such a fat woman to be +sentimental. + +"I should like to open all the letters for a week, Mrs. Crocker," said +Rivers. + +"Wouldn't Uncle Sam make a row?" + +"He would, indeed!" + +"Idle curiosity," laughed Leila, as they went out into the storm. + +He made no reply and reflected on this young woman's developmental change +and the gaiety which he so lacked. + +Leila, wondering what Peter wrote to the lonely old widow, went to look +for her in the kitchen, while Rivers sat down in the neatly kept front +room. He waited long. At last Leila came out alone, and as they walked +away she said, "The letter was from Peter." + +"Indeed!" + +"Yes, I got it all out of her." + +"Got what?" + +"She gets three dollars a week from Aunt Ann and all her vegetables from +Aunt Ann, and she is all the time complaining to Uncle Jim. Then, of +course, Uncle Jim gives her more money--and Peter gets it--" + +"Where is he?" + +"Oh, in Philadelphia, and here and there." + +"You should tell the Squire." + +"No, I think not." + +"Perhaps--yes--perhaps you are right." And facing the wild norther she +left him at his door and went homewards with a new burden of thought on +her mind. + +The winter broke up and late in May Penhallow left home on business. He +wrote from Philadelphia: + +"My dear Ann: Trade is dead, money still locked up, and the railways +hesitating to give orders for much-needed rails. I have one small order, +which will keep us going, but will hardly pay. + +"I never talk of the political disorder, but now you will feel as I do a +certain dismay at the action of the Vicksburg Convention in the interest +of the slave States. Not all were represented--Tennessee and Florida +voted against the resolution that all State and Federal laws prohibiting +the African slave trade ought to be repealed. South Carolina to my +surprise divided its vote; there were forty for, nineteen against this +resolution. It seems made to exasperate the North and build up the +Republican party. I who am simply for the Union most deeply regret this +action. + +"I want Leila to meet me here to-day week. We will take the steamer and +go to West Point, let her see the place, and bring John home for his +month of furlough. + +"I have talked here to the Mayor and other moderate Union men, and find +them more hopeful than I of a peaceful ending. + +"Yours always, + +"JAMES PENHALLOW." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +When Leila sat upon the upper deck of the great Hudson River steamer, she +was in a condition of excitement natural to an imaginative nature unused +to travel. Her mind was like a fresh canvas ready for the hand of the +artist. She was wondering at times what John Penhallow would look like +after over two years of absence and hardly heard the murmur of talk +around her, and was as unconscious of the interested glances of the young +men attracted by the tall figure standing in the bow as the great river +opened before her. + +"That," said her uncle, "is Weehawken. There--just there--Hamilton was +killed by Burr, and near by Hamilton's son four years before was killed +in a duel--a political quarrel." She knew the sad story well, and with +the gift of visualization saw the scene and the red pistol-flashes which +meant the death of a statesman of genius. + +"And there are the palisades, Leila." The young summer was clothing the +banks with leafage not yet dark green, and translucent in the morning +sun. No railroads marred the loveliness of the lawns on the East bank, +and the grey architecture of the palisades rose in solemn grandeur to +westward. + +"It is full of history, Leila. There is Tarrytown, where André was +taken." She listened in silence. The day ran on--the palisades fell away. +"Dobbs's Ferry, my dear;" and pointing across the river, "on that hill +André died." + +Presently the mountains rose before them, and in the afternoon they drew +up at the old wharf. "We stay at Cozzen's Hotel, Leila. I will send on +the baggage and we will walk up to the Point." + +She hardly heard him. A tall young man in white pantaloons and blue +jacket stood on the pier. "Good gracious, Uncle Jim, it is John!" A +strange sense of disappointed remembrance possessed her. The boy playmate +of her youth was gone. He gave both hands of welcome, as he said, "By +George, Leila, I am glad to see you." + +"You may thank uncle for our visit. Aunt Ann was not very willing to part +with me." + +He was about to make the obvious reply of the man, but refrained. They +talked lightly of the place, of her journey, and at last he said very +quietly, even coldly, as if it were merely a natural history observation, +"You are amazingly grown, Cousin Leila. It is as well for cadets and +officers that your stay is to be brief." + +"John, I have been in Baltimore. You will have to put it stronger than +that--I am used to it." + +"I will see if I can improve on it, Leila." + +Now this was not at all the way she meant to meet him, nor these the +words they meant to use--or rather, she--for John Penhallow had given it +no thought, except to be glad as a child promised a gift and then +embarrassed into a word of simple descriptive admiration. When John +Penhallow said, with a curious gravity and a little of his old formal +manner, "I will reflect on it," she knew with the quick perception of her +sex that here was a new masculine study for the great naturalist woman. +The boy--the lad--she knew were no more. + +"Who is that with Uncle James?" she asked. + +"The Commandant." + +"My niece, Miss Grey. Colonel Beauregard, my dear. Let us walk up to the +Point." The Commandant, who made good his name, took possession of the +delighted young woman and carried her away to his home with Penhallow, +leaving the cadet to return to his routine of duty. As they parted, he +said, "I am set free to-morrow, Leila, at five, and excused from the +afternoon parade. If you and Uncle Jim will walk up to Port Putnam, I +will join you." + +"I will tell Uncle Jim. You will be at the hop of course? I have been +thinking of nothing else for a week." + +"I may be late." + +"Oh, why?" + +"We are in the midst of our examinations. Even to get time for a walk +with you and uncle was hard. I wrote Uncle Jim not to come now. He must +have missed it." + +"And so I am to suffer." + +"I doubt the anguish," he returned, laughing, as he touched his cap, and +left her to brief consideration of the cadet cousin. + +"Uncle Jim might have been just like that--looked like that. They are +very unlike too. I used to be able to tell just what Jack would do when +we were children--don't think I can now. How tall he is and how handsome. +The uniform is becoming. I wonder if I too am so greatly changed." + +It is well here to betray the secrets of the novelists' confessional. +Leila Grey had seen in the South much of an interesting society where +love affairs were brief, lightly taken, easily ended, or hardly more than +the mid-air flirtations of butterflies. No such perilous approaches to +the most intimate relations of men and women were for this young woman, +on whom the love and tactful friendship of the married life of Grey Pine +had left a lasting impression. One must have known her well to become +aware of the sense of duty to her ideals which lay behind her alert +appearance of joyous gaiety and capacity to see the mirthful aspects of +life. Once long ago the lad's moment of passionate longing had but +lightly stirred the dreamless sleep of unawakened power to love. Even the +memory of John's boy-folly had faded with time. Her relation to him had +been little more than warm friendship. Even that tie--and she was +abruptly aware of it--had become less close. She was directly conscious +of the fact and wondered if this grave young man felt as she did. She lay +awake that night and wondered too if his ideals of heroism and ambition +were still actively present, and where too was his imagination--ever on +the wing and far beyond her mental flight? She also had changed. Did he +know it or care? Then she dismissed him and fell asleep. + +As John Penhallow near to noon came out a little weary and anxious from +the examination ordeal, he chanced on his uncle and Leila waiting with +the officer of the day, who said to him, "After dinner you are free for +the rest of the afternoon. Mr. Penhallow has asked me to relieve you." + +As he bade them good-morning, his uncle said, "How goes the examination?" + +"Don't ask me yet, sir; but I cannot go home until the end of next week. +Then I shall know the result." + +"But what examination remains?" persisted the Squire. + +"Don't ask him, Uncle Jim." + +"Well--all right." + +"Thank you, Leila. I am worn out. I am glad of a let-up. I dream +equations and pontoon bridges--and I must do some work after dinner. Then +I will find you and Uncle Jim on Fort Putnam, at five." + +"I want to talk with Beauregard," said Penhallow, "about the South. Leila +can find her way." + +"I can," she said. "I want to sketch the river, and that will give me +time." + +"Oh, there goes the dinner call. Come in at a quarter to one with Uncle +Jim. I have leave to admit you. There will be something to interest you." + +"And what, John--men eating?" + +"No. One of my best friends, Gresham from South Carolina, has been +ordered home by his father." + +"And why?" asked Penhallow. + +"Oh, merely because his people are very bitter, and, as he tells me, they +write about secession as if it were merely needed to say to the North 'We +mean to cut loose'--and go; it is just to be as simple as 'Good-bye, +children.' I think I wrote you, uncle, that we do not talk politics here, +but this quiet assumption of being able to do with us what they please is +not the ordinary tone of the Southern cadets. Now and then there is +a row--" + +Leila listened with interest and some presently gratified desire to hear +her cousin declare his own political creed. She spoke, as they stood +beside the staff from which the flag was streaming in the north wind, +"Would it not be better, John, as Mr. Rivers desires, to let the Southern +States go in peace?" As she spoke, she was aware of something more than +being merely anxious that he should make the one gallant answer to the +words that challenged opinion. The Squire caught on to some comprehension +of the earnestness with which she put the question. + +To his uncle's surprise, the cadet said, "Ah, my dear Leila, that is +really asking me on which side I should be if we come to an open +rupture." + +"I did not mean quite that, John, and I spoke rather lightly; but you do +not answer." + +He somewhat resented this inquisition, but as he saw his uncle turn, +apparently expectant, he said quietly and speaking with the low voice +which may be so surpassingly expressive, "I hardly see, Leila, why +you put such a question to me here under the flag. If there is to be +war--secession, I shall stand by the flag, my country, and an unbroken +union." The young face flushed a little, the mouth, which was of singular +beauty, closed with a grip on the strong jaw. Then, to Leila's surprise, +the Captain and John suddenly uncovered as music rang out from the +quarters of the band. + +"Why do you do that, Uncle Jim?" + +"Don't you hear, Leila? It is the 'Star Spangled Banner'--we all +uncover." Here and there on the parade ground, far and near, officers, +cadets and soldiers, stood still an instant bareheaded. + +"Oh," murmured Leila. "How wonderful! How beautiful!" Surprised at the +effect of this ceremonial usage upon herself, she stood a moment with +that sense of constriction in the throat which is so common a signal of +emotion. The music ceased, and as they moved on Penhallow asked, "What +about Gresham, your friend?" + +"Oh, you know, uncle, when a cadet resigns for any cause which involves +no dishonour, we have a little ceremony. I want you to see it. No college +has that kind of thing. Don't be late. I will join you in time." + +The captain and Leila attracted much attention from the cadets at dinner +in the Mess Hall. "Now, dear, look!" said Penhallow. At the end of the +long table a cadet rose--the captain of the corps in charge of the +battalion. There was absolute silence. The young officer spoke: + +"You all know that to our regret one of us leaves to-day. Mr. Gresham, +you have the privilege of calling the battalion to attention." + +A slightly built young fellow in citizen's dress rose at his side. For a +moment he could not fully command his voice; then his tones rang clear: +"Most unwillingly I take my farewell. I am given the privilege of those +who depart with honour. Battalion! Attention! God bless you! Good-bye!" + +The class filed out, and lifting the departing man on their shoulders +bore him down to the old south dock and bade him farewell. + +Penhallow looked after them. "There goes the first, Leila. There will be +more--many more--to follow, unless things greatly change--and they will +not. I hoped to take John home with us, but he will come in a week. I +must leave to-morrow morning. John is in the dumps just now, but +Beauregard has only pleasant things to say of him. I wish he were as +agreeable about the polities of his own State." + +"Are they so bad?" + +"Don't ask me, Leila." + +The capital of available energy in the young may be so exhausted by +mental labour, when accompanied by anxiety, that the whole body for a +time feels the effect. Muscular action becomes overconscious, and intense +use of the mind seems to rob the motor centres of easy capacity to use +the muscles. John Penhallow walked slowly up the rough road to where the +ruined bastions of Port Putnam rose high above the Hudson. He was aware +of being tired as he had not been for years. The hot close air and the +long hours of concentration of mind left him discouraged as well as +exhausted. He was still in the toils of the might-have-been, of that +wasting process--an examination, and turning over in his mind logistics, +logarithms, trajectories, equations, and a mob of disconnected questions. +"Oh, by George!" he exclaimed, "what's the worth while of it?" All the +pleasantly estimated assets of life and love and friendship became +unavailable securities in the presence of a mood of depression which came +of breathing air which had lost its vitalizing ozone. And now at a turn +in the road nature fed her child with a freshening change of horizon. + +Looking up he saw a hawk in circling flight set against the blue sky. He +never saw this without thinking of Josiah, and then of prisoned things +like a young hawk he had seen sitting dejected in a cage in the barracks. +Did he have dreams of airy freedom? It had affected him as an image of +caged energy--of useless power. With contrasted remembrance he went +back to the guarded procession of boys from the lyceum in France, the +flower-stalls, and the bird-market, the larks singing merrily in their +small wicker cages. Yes, he had them--the two lines he wanted--a poet's +condensed statement of the thought he could not fully phrase: + +Ah! the lark! +He hath the heaven which he sings,-- +But my poor hawk hath only wings. + +The success of the capture of this final perfection of statement of his +own thought refreshed him in a way which is one of the mysteries of that +wild charlatan imagination, who now and then administers tonics to the +weary which are of inexplicable value. John Penhallow felt the sudden +uplift and quickened his pace until he paused within the bastion lines of +the fort. Before him, with her back to him, sat Leila. Her hat lay beside +her finished sketch. She was thinking that John Penhallow, the boy +friend, was to-day in its accepted sense but an acquaintance, of whom she +desired, without knowing why, to know more. That he had changed was +obvious. In fact, he had only developed on the lines of his inherited +character, while in the revolutionary alterations of perfected womanhood +she had undergone a far more radical transformation. + +The young woman, whom now he watched unseen, rose and stood on the +crumbling wall. A roughly caressing northwest wind blew back her skirts. +She threw out her wide-sleeved arms in exultant pleasure at the +magnificence of the vast river, with its forest boundaries, and the +rock-ribbed heights of Crow's Nest. As she stood looking "taller than +human," she reminded him of the figure of victory he had seen as a boy +on the stairway of the Louvre. He stood still--again refreshed. The +figure he then saw lived with him through life, strangely recurrent in +moments of peril, on the march, or in the loneliness of his tent. + +"Good evening," he said as he came near. She sat down on the low wall and +he at her feet. "Ah, it is good to get you alone for a quiet talk, +Leila." + +She was aware of a wild desire to lay a hand among the curls his +cadet-cropped hair still left over his forehead. "Do you really like the +life here, John?" + +"Oh, yes. It is so definite--its duties are so plain--nothing is left to +choice. Like it? Yes, I like it." + +"But, isn't it very limited?" + +"All good education must be--it is only a preparation; but one's +imagination is free--as to a man's future, and as to ambitions. There +one can use one's wings." + +She continued her investigation. "Then you have ambitions. Yes, you must +have," she cried with animation. "Oh, I want you to have them--ideals too +of life. We used to discuss them." + +He looked up. "You think I have changed. You want to know how. It is all +vague--very vague. Yet, I could put my creed of what conduct is desirable +in life in a phrase--in a text." + +"Do, John." She leaned over in her interest. + +"Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's and to God the things +which are God's." The seriousness of the upturned face for a moment kept +her silently reflective. + +"Caesar! What of Caesar, John?" + +"My country, of course; that is simple. The rest, Leila, covers +all--almost all of life and needs no comment. But how serious we are. +Tell me all about home and the village and the horses and Uncle Jim. +He has some grey hairs." + +"He may well have grey hairs, John. The times are bad. He is worried. +Imagine Uncle Jim economical!" + +"Incredible." + +"Yes. He told me that his talk with Colonel Beauregard had made him +despair of a peaceful ending, and usually he is hopeful." + +"Well, don't make me talk politics. We rarely do. Isn't this outlook +beautiful? People rarely come here and it often gives me a chance to be +alone and to think." + +"And what do you think about, John?" She was again curious. + +"Oh, many things, big and little. Uncle Jim, Aunt Ann, Mr. Rivers, +Dixy--hornets, muskrats," he laughed. She noted the omission of Leila +Grey. + +"And what else?" + +"Oh, the tragedy of Arnold,--the pathos of Washington's despair,--his +words, 'Who is there now I can trust?'" + +"It came home to me, John, this morning when Colonel Beauregard showed us +the portraits of the major-generals of the Revolution. I saw a vacant +place and a tablet like the rest, but with 'Major General--Born 1740' and +no name! I asked what it meant. The Colonel said only, 'Arnold.' That is +too pitiful--and his wife--I read somewhere that she was young, +beautiful, and innocent of his horrible treason." + +"Yes, what crime could be worse than his, and, too, such a gallant +soldier. Let us walk around the fort. Oh, by the way, I found here last +week two Continental buttons, Third Pennsylvania Infantry. Like to have +them, Leila? I thought you might." + +"Would I like?" She took them eagerly. "They ought to be gilded and used +as sleeve-links." But where she kept them John Penhallow never knew. They +did not make the sleeve-links for which she agreed they were so suitable. + +"Isn't there a walk down through the woods?" asked Leila. + +"Yes, this way." Leaving the road they followed a rough trail through the +woods to a more open space half-way down the hill. Here he paused. "This +is our last chance to talk until I am at Grey Pine." + +"That will be very soon, John." She sat down amid numberless violets, +adding, "There will be the hop to-night, as you call it." + +"Yes, the hop. I forgot. You will give me the first dance?" + +To her surprise he asked no others. "Cadets have to learn to dance, but +Baltimore may have left you critical." + +Still on her investigation track, she returned, "Oh, Baltimore! It seems +odd to me that I should have seen so much of the world of men and women +and you who are older so little in this military monastery." + +He laughed outright. "We have the officers' families, and if we are +allowed to visit, the Kembles and Gouverneurs and Pauldings across the +river--no better social life anywhere. And as for young women--sisters, +cousins--_embarras de choix_, Miss Grey. They come in flocks like the +blackbirds. I assure you that this branch of natural history is pretty +well illustrated at the Point. We are apt to be rather over-supplied in +June." + +"Indeed!--all sorts, I suppose." + +"Yes, a variety, and just now three charming young women from the South." + +"Rather a strong adjective--charming. I might hesitate to apply it to a +whole flock. I think men are more apt to use it than women." + +"I stand by my adjective. Take care of your laurels, Miss Grey. I am +lucky enough to have two dances with Miss Ramsay. Her brother is a +cadet." + +"Introduce him to me. What myriads of violets!" + +"Do you remember how, when we were small, we used to fight violets?" + +"How long ago it seems, John. It must have been the first June after you +appeared in that amazing cap and--the cane I have it yet. Let's fight +violets. It may have a charm to make me look young again--I feel so old +sometimes." + +Intent on her game, she was already gathering the flowers in her lap, +while the young man a little puzzled and a little amused watched the face +which she described for his benefit as needing to look young. She ran on +gaily, "You will pick five and I will pick five. I never heard of any +other children fighting violets. It is a neglected branch of education. I +got it from the Westways children. Now, fair play, John Penhallow." He +was carelessly taking his five violets, while Leila was testing hers, +choosing them with care. The charm she sought was working--they were +children again. + +"That's not fair, Leila." + +"Why not?" + +"You are testing yours. It is a mean advantage. I would scorn to do such +a thing. It is just like a woman--the way you do about dress. All women +ought to dress alike--then the competition would be fair." + +Leila looked up from her lap full of violets. "I should like to see +_your_ Miss Ramsay in one of my gowns." + +"_My_ Miss Ramsay! No such luck." + +"You're a goose, Jack." + +"You're a silly, Leila." + +"Oh, now, we are children, John. This is the magic of the June violets." + +"And you are just fourteen, Leila. The wrinkles of age are gone--they +used to be dimples." + +"Nonsense! Let's play." + +They hooked together the bent stems of the flowers. Then there was a +quick jerk, and one violet was decapitated. "One for you, Leila;--and +another." + +"You are not paying any attention to the game. Please to keep young a +little while." He was watching the sunlight as it fell upon her neck when +it bent over the flowers. + +"And how am I to keep young, Miss Grey?" + +"Oh, any woman can answer that--ask Miss Ramsay." + +"I will. There! you have won, Leila, three to two. There used always to +be a forfeit. What must I pay?" + +"Now, John, what terrible task shall I put upon you? I have it. You shall +ask me to give you the third dance." + +"That is Miss Ramsay's. I am sorry." + +"Oh, one girl is as good as another." + +"Perhaps--for women." He did not ask of her any other dances. "But +really, Leila, the better bred of these Southern girls we see here are +most pleasant acquaintances, more socially easy of acquaintance than +Northern girls. As they are butterflies of the hour--their frank ways are +valuable in what you call our monastery." + +"Yes, I know them well. There may be time here for some brief +flirtations. I used to see them in Maryland, and once when Aunt Margaret +took me on visits to some old Virginia homes. These pleasant girls take +to it with no more conscience than birds in the spring. I used to see it +in Maryland." + +"Oh, yes," he said, "but it means very little;--quite harmless--mere +practice, like our fencing bouts." + +"Did you ever kiss a woman, John--just for practice?" "Why did I say +that!" thought Leila. "Come, sir, confess!" + +"Yes," he said, not liking it and far from any conception of the little +mob of motives which betrayed to her a state of mind he had not the +daring to guess. "Did I? That requires courage. Have I--ever kissed a +woman? Yes, often--" + +"Oh, I did not ask who." + +"Aunt Ann--and a girl once--" + +"Indeed!" + +"Yes--Leila Grey, aged fifteen--and got my ears boxed. This confession +being at an end, I want absolution." The air was cleared. + +"How about the first polka as absolution?" said Leila. + +"It is unusual, but as penance it may answer." + +"The penance may be mine. I shall know better after the first round, Mr. +Penhallow." + +"You are complimentary, Miss Grey," he added, with the whimsical display +of mirth which was more than a smile and not a laugh, and was singularly +attractive. + +In place of keeping up the gay game of trifles as shuttle-cocks, Leila +stood still upon the edge of the wood, "I don't think you liked what I +asked." + +"What, about kissing? I did not, but upon my honour I answered you +truly." He was grave as he replied. + +"You did not think it impertinent, Jack?" + +"I don't know what I thought it." And then, as if to avoid need to defend +or explain contradictory statements, he said, "Put yourself in my place. +Suppose I had dared to ask you if ever a man had kissed you--" + +"Oh, that's the difference between kissing and being kissed." + +"Then put it my way." + +"John Penhallow, I should dearly like to box your ears. Once a man did +kiss me. He was tall, handsome, and had the formal courtly manners you +have at times. He was General Winfield Scott. He kissed my hand." + +"You minx!" cried John, "you are no better than you used to be. There +goes the bugle!" And laughing as he deserted her, he ran down the hill +and across the parade ground. + +"He is not really handsome," said the young woman, "but no man ought to +have so beautiful a mouth--I could have made him do it in a minute. Why +did I not? What's the matter? I merely couldn't. He hasn't the remotest +idea that if he were to kiss me--I--" She reddened at the thought and +went with quick steps of "virgin liberty" to take tea with the +Commandant. + +In New York, on his way home, Penhallow received a telegram, "I am third. +John Penhallow." Then the Squire presented Leila with a bracelet, to the +belated indignation of Aunt Ann, who was practising the most disagreeable +economy. Her husband wrote her that the best policy for a man financially +in peril was to be extravagant enough to discredit belief in his need to +lessen expenditure. He was, moreover, pleasantly aware that the improving +conditions of trade this summer of 1859 had enabled him to collect some +large outstanding debts. He encouraged Leila to remember their old +village friends, but when he proposed a set of furs for Ann Penhallow's +winter wear Leila became ingeniously impossible about choice, and the +Squire's too lavish generosity somehow failed to materialize; but why or +how was not clear to him because of their being feminine diplomatic +ways--which attain results and leave with the male a mildly felt +resentment without apparent cause of defeat. + +As Cadet No. 3 of his class in this year's studies made the railway +journey of a warm June day, he recalled with wondering amusement his +first lonely railway travel. "I was a perfect little snob." The formal, +too old-mannered politeness of his childhood had left, if the child is +father of the man, an inheritance of pleasant courtesy which was unusual +and had varied values in the intercourse of life. Rivers said of him +later that the manner of John Penhallow's manners had the mystery of +charm. Even when younger, at Grey Pine, he liked to talk to people, with +curiosity about their lives and their work. Now, as the train moved on, +he fell into chat with the country folk who got on the train for short +travel. Soon or late they all talked politics, but 'generally guessed +things would be settled somehow'--which is the easily reached conclusion +of the American. When the old conductor, with the confidence John's +manner invited, asked what uniform he wore, John said, laughing, "Do you +not remember the boy with a cane who got out at Westways Crossing?" + +"You ain't him--?? not really? Why it's years ago! You are quite a bit +changed." + +"For the better, I hope." + +"Well, here's your station, and Miss Grey waiting." + +"Oh, John, glad to see you! I told aunt no one must go for you but me. +Get in. And Billy, look out how you drive." + +Billy, bewildered by the tall figure in cadet jacket and grey pantaloons, +needed the warning. + +Then there was the avenue, the big grey pine, home, and Aunt Ann's kiss +of welcome. The old familiar life was again his. He rode with the Squire +or Leila, swam, and talked to Rivers whenever he could induce the too +easily tired man to walk with him. He was best pleased to do so when +Leila was of the party. Then at least the talk was free and wandered from +poetry and village news to discussion of the last addition to the causes +of quarrel between the North and South. When tempted to speak at length, +Rivers sat down. + +"How can a man venture to speak, John, like Mr. Jefferson Davis? Have you +read his speech?" + +"No, sir." + +"Well, he says the importation of Africans ought to be left to the +States--and the President. He thinks that as Cuba is the only spot in the +civilized world where the African slave-trade is permitted, its cession +to us would put an end to that blot on civilization. An end to it, +indeed! Think of it!" His voice rose as he spoke. "End slavery and you +end that accursed trade. And to think that a woman like Ann Penhallow +should think it right!" Neither John nor Leila were willing to discuss +their aunt's definitely held views. + +"I think," said Leila, who had listened silently, "Aunt Ann has lost or +put aside her interest in politics." + +"I wish I could," said John. "But what do you mean, Leila? She has never +said so." + +"It's just this. Aunt Ann told me two weeks ago that Uncle Henry Grey was +talked of as a delegate to the Democratic Convention to meet next year. +Now her newspapers remain unopened. They are feeding these dissensions +North and South. No wonder she is tired of it all. I am with Uncle Jim, +but I hate to wrangle over politics like Senator Davis and this new man +Lincoln--oh, and the rest. No good comes of it. I can't see it as you do, +Mr. Rivers." + +"And yet, I am right," said Rivers gravely. "God knows. It is in His +hands." + +"What Aunt Ann thinks right," said Leila, "can't be so unpardonably +wicked." She spoke softly. "Oh, John, look at that squirrel. She is +carrying a young one on her back--how pretty! She has to do it. What a +lovely instinct. It must be heavy." + +"I suppose," said Rivers, "we all have loads we must carry, are born to +carry--" + +"Like the South, sir," said John. "We can help neither the squirrel nor +the South. You think we can throw stones at the chipmunk and make her +drop it--and--" + +"Bad logic, John," returned Rivers. "But soon there will be stones +thrown." + +"And who will cast the first stone?" rejoined Leila, rising. + +"It is an ancient crime," said Rivers. "It was once ours, and it will +be ours to end it. Now I leave you to finish your walk; I am tired." As +they moved away, he looked after them. "Beauty, intelligence, perfect +health--oh, my God!" + +In August with ever resisted temptation John Penhallow went back to West +Point to take up his work again. + +The autumn came, and in October, at night, the Squire read with dismay +and anger of the tragic attempt of John Brown at Harper's Ferry. "My poor +Ann," he exclaimed. He went at once from his library back to the hall, +where Leila was reading aloud. "Ann," he said, "have you seen the papers +to-day?" + +"I have read no paper for a month, James. They only fill me with grief +and the sense of how helpless I am--even--even--with those I love. What +is it now, James?" + +"An insane murderer named John Brown has made an attack on Harper's Perry +with a dozen or so of infatuated followers." He went on to tell briefly +the miserable story of a madman's folly. + +"The whole North is mad," said Ann, not looking up, but knitting faster +as she spoke, "mad--the abolitionists of Boston are behind it." It was +too miserably true. "Thank you, James, for wanting to make me see in this +only insanity." + +The Squire stood still, watched by the pitiful gaze of Leila. "I want +you, Ann--I wanted you to see, dear, to feel how every thoughtful man in +the North condemns the wickedness of this, and of any, attempt to cause +insurrection among the slaves." + +"Yes--yes, of course--no doubt--but it is the natural result of Northern +sentiment." + +"Oh, Aunt Ann!" + +"Keep quiet, child!" + +"You should not have talked politics to me, James." + +"But, my God, Ann, this is not politics!" He looked down at her +flushed face and with the fatal newspaper in his hand stood still a +moment, and then went back to his library. There he stayed before the +fire, distressed beyond measure. "Just so," he said, "the South will +take it--just so." + +Ann Penhallow said, "Where did you leave off, Leila? Go on, my dear, with +the book." + +"I can't. You were cruel to Uncle Jim--and he was so dear and sweet." + +"If you can't read, you had better go to bed." Leila broke into tears and +stumbled up the stairs with half-blinded eyes. + +Ann sat long, hearing Penhallow's steps as he walked to and fro. Then she +let fall her knitting, rose, and went into the library. + +"James, forgive me. I was unjust to say such things--I was--" + +"Please don't," he cried, and took her in his arms. "Oh, my love," he +said, "we have darker days than this before us. If only there was between +North and South love like ours--there is not. We at least shall love on +to the end--no matter what happens." + +The tearful face looked up, "And you do forgive me?" "Forgive! There +is no need for any such word in the dictionary of love." Between +half-hysterical laughter and ready tears, she gasped, "Where did you +get that prettiness?" + +"Read it in a book, you goosey. Go to bed." + +"No, not yet. This crime or craze will make mischief?" + +"Yes, Ann, out of all proportion to the thing. The South will be in a +frenzy, and the North filled with regret and horror. Now go to bed--we +have behaved like naughty children." + +"Oh, James, must I be put in a corner?" + +"Yes--of my heart. Now, good night." + +November passed. The man who had sinned was fairly tried, and on December +2nd went to a well-deserved death. Penhallow refused to talk of him to +Rivers, who praised the courage of his last hours. + +"Mark," he said, "have been twice or thrice sure I was to die--and I +have seen two murderers hanged, and I do assure you that neither they +nor I were visibly disturbed. The fact is, when a fellow is sure to be +put to death, he is either dramatic--as this madman was--or quietly +undemonstrative. Martyr! Nonsense! It was simply stupid. I don't want +to talk about it. Those mischief-makers in Congress will howl over it." +They did, and secession was ever in the air. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +The figure of Lincoln had been set on the by-ways of State politics by +his debate with Douglas. His address in New York in February of 1860 set +him on the highways of the nation's life. Meanwhile there were no talks +about politics at Grey Pine. The Christmas Season had again gone by with +unwonted economies. + +While Douglas defined his opinions in the Senate and Jefferson Davis made +plain that the Union would be dissolved if a radical Republican were +elected, it became clear that the Democratic party which in April was to +nominate candidates would be other than of one mind. Penhallow in +Washington heard Seward in the Senate. Of this memorable occasion he +wrote with such enthusiasm to Leila as he rarely showed: + +"I may not write to your aunt, and I am moved to write to you by the +effect Mr. Seward's speech had on me. He is not much of a man in his +make-up. His voice is husky and his gestures are awkward and have no +relation to what he says. It seemed a dried-up sort of talk, but he held +the Senate and galleries to fascinated attention for two hours, and was +so appealing, so moderate. The questions at issue were handled with what +Rivers calls and never uses--the eloquence of moderation. I suppose he +will be the nominee of the Republican party. It won't please the +abolitionists at all. I wish you could have heard it. + +"I came here to see two Southern Senators who have been counsel for us in +regard to debts owing the mills by Southern railways. I gathered easily +that my well-known Republican views made collection difficult. I was +about to say something angry--it would have done no good, and I am +opposed to useless anger. It is all pretty bad, because the South has +hardly felt the panic, or its continued effect on our trade. + +"I am wrong to trouble you with my troubles. We shall pull through. + +"Yours, + +"JAMES PENHALLOW." + +"P.S. I should have been prepared for my failure to get fair treatment. +I had learned in New York that lists of abolition houses have been +published in the South, and Southern buyers warned not to place orders +with them. I wonder if I am thus listed. Our agent in Savannah writes +that it is quite useless to solicit orders on account of the prevalent +sentiment, and he is leaving the town." + +Penhallow went home disappointed and discouraged, and called a private +meeting of his Pittsburgh partners. He set before them the state of their +affairs. There would be no debts collectible in the South. He smiled as +he added that he had collected certain vague promises, which could hardly +be used to pay notes. These could and would be met, they said, but +finally agreed with him that unless they had other orders, it might be +necessary to further reduce their small force. His partners were richer +than he, but indisposed to take risks until the fall conventions were +over. It was so agreed. As they were leaving, Penhallow said, "But there +will be our workmen--what will become of them?" They were sure times +would get better, and did not feel his nearness of responsibility for +workmen he knew so long and so well. + +He rode home at a walk. The situation of his firm was like that of many +others, and now this April of 1860 business doubts, sectional feeling and +love of country seemed to intensify the interest with which all classes +looked forward to the Charleston Democratic Convention. + +The Convention met on April 23rd. It was grave and able. There were daily +prayers in the churches of Charleston for the success of Southern +principles. Henry Grey, a delegate, wrote to his sister: + +"The Douglas platform was adopted and at once the delegations of six +cotton States withdrew. We who cannot accept Douglas meet in Richmond. It +means secession unless the Republicans are reasonable when they nominate +in Chicago. Mr. Alexander Stephens predicts a civil war, which most men I +meet here consider very unlikely." + +Ann handed this letter to her husband, saying, "This will interest you." + +He read it twice, and then said, "There is at least one man in the South +who believes the North will fight--Stephens." + +"But will it, James?" A predictive spectre of fear rose before her. + +Slowly folding the letter he said, "Yes, the South does not know us." She +walked away. + +On May 16th the Republicans met in Chicago. The news of the nomination of +Lincoln came to the Squire as riding from the mills he met Dr. McGregor +afoot. + +"What, walking!" he said. "I never before saw you afoot--away from that +saint of a mare." + +"Yes, my old mare got bit by something yesterday and kicked the gig to +smithereens, and lamed her off hind-leg." + +"I will lend you a horse and a gig," said Penhallow. + +"Thanks," said McGregor simply. "I am sweating through my coat." + +"But don't leave my horse half a day tied to a post--any animal with +horse-sense would kick." + +"As if I ever did--but when the ladies keep me waiting. Heard the good +news? No--We have nominated Lincoln--and Hamlin." + +"I preferred Seward. You surprise me. What of the platform?" + +"Oh, good! The Union, tariff, free soil. You will like it. The October +elections in Pennsylvania will tell us who will win--later you will have +to take an active part." + +"No. Come up to-morrow and get that horse--No, I'll send it." + +The Squire met Rivers on the avenue. As he walked beside the horse, he +said, "I am going to dine with you." + +"That is always good, but be on your guard about politics at Grey Pine. +Lincoln is nominated." + +"Thank God! What do you think of it, Squire?" + +"I think with you. This is definite--no more wabbling. But rest assured, +it means, if he is elected, secession, and in the end war. We will try to +avert it. We will invent compromises, at which the South will laugh; at +last, we will fight, Mark. But we are a quiet commercial people and will +not fight if we can avoid it. They believe nothing will make us fight. +The average, every-day Northerner thinks the threat of secession is +mere bluff." + +"Do you recall, Squire, what Thucydides said of the Greeks at the time of +the Peloponnesian War?" + +"I--how the deuce should I?--what did he say?" + +"He said the Greeks did not understand each other any longer, although +they spoke the same language. The same words in Boston and in Charleston +have different meanings." + +"But," said Penhallow, "we never did understand one another." + +"No, never. War--even war--is better than to keep up a partnership in +slavery--a sleeping partnership. Oh, I would let them go--or accept the +gage of battle." + +"Pretty well that, for a clergyman, Mark. As for me, having seen war, I +want never to see it again. This may please you." As he spoke, he +extracted a slip of paper from his pocket-book, where to Leila's +amusement queer bits of all kinds of matters were collected. Now it was +verse. "Read that. You might have written it. I kept it for you. There is +Ann on the porch. Don't read it now." + +Late that evening Rivers sat down to think over the sermon of the next +Sunday. The Squire had once said to him, "War brings out all that is best +and all that is worst in a nation." He read the verses, and then read +them aloud. + +"They say that war is hell, the great accursed, + The sin impossible to be forgiven; +Yet I can look beyond it at its worst + And still find blue in Heaven. + +"And as I note how nobly natures form + Under the war's red reign, I deem it true +That He who made the earthquake and the storm + Perchance makes battles too. + +"The life He loves is not the life of span + Abbreviated by each passing breath; +It is the true humanity of man + Victorious over death." + +"No great thing in the way of poetry--but--a thought--a thought. Oh, I +should like to preach of men's duty to their country just now. I envy +Grace his freedom. If I preached as he does, people would say it was none +of a preacher's business to apply Christ's creed of conduct to a question +like slavery. Mrs. Penhallow would walk out of the church. But before +long men will blame the preacher who does not say, 'Thou shalt love thy +country as thyself'--ah, and better, yes, and preach it too." + +During the early summer of 1860, James Penhallow guarded an awkward +silence about politics. Leila found that her uncle would not talk of what +the closing months of Buchanan's administration might contribute to +insure peaceful settlement. John Penhallow was as averse to answering her +eager questions. Their silence on matters which concerned a nation's +possible dismemberment and her aunt's too evident distress weighed +heavily upon Leila. The newspapers bewildered her. The _Tribune_ was for +peaceful separation, and then later was against it. Uncle Jim had said he +was too worried about the mills to talk politics, "Don't ask me, Leila." +At last, an errand to Dr. McGregor's gave her the chance she desired. + +"Yes," said the doctor, "I'll come to-day. One of the maids? Well, what +else, Leila?" seeing that she still lingered. + +"I want to know something about all this tangle of politics. There's +Breckinridge, Douglas, Bell and Lincoln--four candidates. Uncle Jim gets +almost cross when I ask him what they all stand for. Mr. Rivers told me +to be thankful I have no vote. If there is to be war, have I no interest? +There is Uncle Jim--and--and John." + +The doctor said, "Sit down, Leila. Your uncle could answer you. He won't +talk. I don't believe John Penhallow owns any politics except a soldier's +blind creed of devotion to the Flag." + +"Oh, the Flag, Doctor! But it is a symbol--it is history. I won't write +to a man any more who has no certain opinions. He never answers." + +"Well, my dear, see how hard it is to know what to think! One State after +another is seceding. The old juggle of compromises goes on in that circus +we call Congress. The audience is grimly silent. Crittenden's compromise +has failed. The President is at last against secession--and makes no +vigorous effort to reinforce Fort Sumter. The Cabinet was distinctly with +the South--the new men came in too late. You--a girl--may well call it a +tangle. It is a diabolical cat's-cradle. My only hope, my dear, is in a +new and practically untried man--Abraham Lincoln. The South is one in +opinion--we are perplexed by the fears of commerce and are split. There +you have all my wisdom. Read the news, but not the weathercock essays +called editorials. Oh! I forgot to tell the Squire that Tom, my young +doctor, has passed the Army Board and is awaiting orders in Washington. +By-bye!" + +"Tom as a doctor--and in uniform," Leila murmured, as her horse walked +away. "How these boys go on and on, and we women just wait and wait while +men dispose of our fates." + +In February the Confederacy of the South was organising, and in March of +1861 Mr. Lincoln was President. Penhallow groaned over Cameron as +Secretary of War, smiled approval of the Cabinet with Seward and Chase +and anxiously waited to see what Lincoln would do. + +Events followed fast in those eventful days. On the thirteenth of April +Ann Penhallow sat in the spring sunshine on the porch, while Leila read +aloud to her with entranced attention "The Marble Faun." The advent of an +early spring in the uplands was to be seen in the ruddy colour of the +maples. Bees were busy among the young flowers. There was noiseless peace +in the moveless infant foliage. + +"How still it is!" said Leila looking up from the book. They were far +from the madding crowd. "What is it, Billy?" + +He was red, breathless, excited, and suddenly broke out in his thin +boy-like voice, "Hurrah! They've fired on the flag." + +"Who--what flag?" + +"Don't know." He had no least idea of what his words meant. "Don't know," +and crying "Hurrah! They've fired on the flag," fled away. + +Ann said, "Go to the village and find out what that idiot meant." + +In a half hour Leila came back. "Well, what is it?" + +"The Charleston troops have fired on Fort Sumter--My God! Aunt Ann--on +the flag--our flag!" + +Ann rose, gathered up her work, hesitated a moment, and saying, "That is +bad news, indeed," went into the house. + +Leila sat down on the step of the porch and broke into a passion of +tears, as James Penhallow coming through the woods dismounted at her +side. "What is the matter, my dear child?" + +"They have fired on the flag at Sumter--it is an insult!" + +"Yes, my child, that--and much more. A blunder too! Mr. Lincoln should +thank God to-day. He will have with him now the North as one man. Colonel +Anderson must surrender; he will be helpless. Alas for his wife, a +Georgia woman!--and my Ann, my dear Ann." + +There are few alive to-day who recall the effect caused in the States of +the North by what thousands of men and women, rich and poor, felt to be +an insult, and for the hour, far more to them than the material +consequences which were to follow. + +When Rivers saw the working people of the little town passionately +enraged, the women in tears, he read in this outbreak of a class not +given to sentimental emotion what was felt when the fatal news came home +to lonely farms or great cities over all the North and West. + +Memorable events followed in bewildering succession during the early +spring and summer of 1861. John wrote that Beauregard and all but a score +of Southern cadets had left the Point. Robert Lee's decision to resign +from the army was to the Squire far more sorrowfully important. + +When Lincoln's call to arms was followed in July by the defeat of Bull +Run, James Penhallow wrote to his nephew: + +"My Dear John: Your aunt is beyond measure disturbed. I have been more at +ease now that this terrible decision as to whether we are to be one or +God knows how many is to be settled by the ordeal of battle. I am amazed +that no one has dwelt upon what would have followed accepted secession. +We should have had a long frontier of custom houses, endless rows over +escaping slaves, and the outlet of the Mississippi in the possession of a +foreign country. Within ten years war would have followed; better let it +come now. + +"I am offered a regiment by Governor Curtin. To accept would be fatal to +our interests in the mills. It may become an imperative duty to accept; +but this war will last long, or I much underestimate the difficulties of +overcoming a gallant people waging a defensive war in a country where +every road and creek is familiar. + +"Yours, in haste, + +"JAMES PENHALLOW." + +John wrote later: + +"MY DEAR UNCLE: Here is news for you! All of my class are ordered to +Washington. I shall be in the engineer corps. I see General McClellan is +put in command of the army. I will write again from Washington." + +Ann Penhallow heard the letter, and saying merely, "It had to come!" made +the bitter forecast that it would be James Penhallow's turn next. + +John wrote again as he had promised, but now to Leila: + +"At last we are in this crowded city. We get our uniforms in a day or +two. I am a lieutenant of engineers. We are now in tents. On arrival we +were marched to General Scott's headquarters, and while drawn up in line +Mr. Lincoln came out. He said a few words to us. His appearance was +strange to me. A tall stooping figure, in what our village calls 'store +clothes,' but very neat; the face big, homely, with a look of sadness in +the eyes. He shook hands with each of us in turn, saying a word of +encouragement. Why he spoke specially to me, I do not know. He asked my +name. I said 'Penhallow.' 'Oh,' he said, 'a Cornish name--the great +iron-works. Do you know the Cornish rhyme? It rings right true.' I said, +'No, sir.' 'Well, it is good. Do your duty. There is a whole creed in the +word--man needs no other. God bless you, boys.' It was great, Leila. What +is the Cornish rhyme? Ask Uncle Jim. Write me care of the Engineer Camp. + +"I put this on a separate slip for you. In Baltimore we were delayed and +I had an hour's leave. I called on your uncle, Charles Grey. He is Union +through and through. His brother Henry has gone South. While I was +walking with Mr. Charles Grey, a lady went by us, drawing away her skirts +with quite unmistakable contempt and staring at your uncle in a way which +was so singular that I asked what it all meant. He replied, 'It is your +United States cadet uniform--and the lady is Mrs. Henry Grey. I am not of +their acquaintance.' This, Leila, was my first taste of the bitterness of +feeling here. It is the worse for the uprising of union feeling all over +Maryland. + +"My class-mates are rather jolly about their commissions and the prospect +of active war. I have myself a certain sense of being a mere cipher, a +dread too of failure. I can say so to you and to no one else. I am going +where death is in the air--and there are things which make me eager to +live--and--to be able to live to feel that I have done my duty. Thinking +of how intensely you feel and how you grieve over being unable to do more +than pray, I mean to pet a little the idea that I am your substitute." + +At this point she sat a while with the letter on her lap. Then +she read on: + +"I hoped for a brief furlough, but got none, and so I shall apply to +memory and imagination for frequent leave of absence,--from duty. + +"Yours, + +"JOHN PENHALLOW." + +"To pet a little the idea! That is so like John. Well, yes--I don't mind +being petted as a substitute and at a distance. It's rather confusing." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +It was late in October and ten at night, when Leila with her uncle was +endeavouring to discover on one of the large maps, then so much in +demand, the situation of the many small conflicts which local feeling +brought about. + +"It all wants a head--one head, Leila. Now it is here, there and +everywhere, useless gain or loss--and no large scheme. John left +Washington two weeks ago. You saw his letter?" + +"No." + +"Then I may have told you--I am sure I did. Damn it, Leila! I am so +bothered. I did tell Ann, I suppose." + +"Why, of course, Uncle Jim. I wish I could help you. Is it the mills?" + +"Yes. Your little property, part of John's--your aunt's--are all in the +family business. Ann says, 'What's the difference? Nothing matters now.' +It isn't like her." + +"I'm sure I don't care, Uncle Jim." + +"Don't talk nonsense. In a month we shall know if we are bankrupt. I did +not mean to trouble you. I did mean to tell you that to my relief John is +out of Washington and ordered to report to General Grant at Cairo. See, +dear, there is a pin marking it on the map." + +"Do you know this General?" + +"Yes. He took no special rank at the Point, but--who can tell! Generals +are born, not made. I saw a beautiful water-colour by him at the Point. +That's all I know of him. Now, go to bed--and don't take with you my +worries and fight battles in your dreams." + +There was in fact no one on whom he could willingly unload all of his +burdens. The need to relieve the hands out of work--two-thirds of his +force--was growing less of late, as men drifted off into the State force +which the able Governor Curtin was sending to McClellan. Penhallow's +friends in Pittsburgh had been able to secure a mortgage on Grey Pine, +and thus aided by his partners he won a little relief, while Rivers +watched him with increasing anxiety. + +On the 17th of January, 1862, he walked into McGregor's office and said +to his stout friend, "McGregor, I am in the utmost distress about my +wife. Inside my home and at the mills I am beset with enough difficulties +to drive a man wild. We have a meeting in half an hour to decide what we +shall do. I used to talk to Ann of my affairs. No one has or had a +clearer head. Now, I can't." + +"Why not, my friend?" + +"She will not talk. Henry Grey is in the Confederate service; Charles is +out and out for the Union; we have no later news of John. We miserably +sit and eat and manufacture feeble talk at table. It is pitiful. Her +duties she does, as you may know, but comes home worn out and goes to bed +at nine. Even the village people see it and ask me about her. If it were +not for Leila, I should have no one to talk to." + +A boy came in. "You are wanted, sir, at the mill office." + +"Say I will come at once. I'll see you after the meeting, McGregor." + +"One moment, Squire. Here's a bit of good news for you. Cameron has +resigned, and Edwin Stanton is Secretary of War." + +"Stanton! Indeed! Thank Heaven for that. Now things will move, I am +sure." + +The Squire found in his office Sibley, one of his partners, a heavy old +man, who carried the indifferent manners of a farmer's son into a middle +age of successful business. He sat with his chair tilted back, a huge +Cabana cigar hanging unlighted from the corner of his mouth. He made no +movement towards rising, but gave his hand as he sat, and said: "There, +Penhallow, just read that!" + +As the Squire took the telegram, Sibley scratched a match on the back of +his pantaloons and waiting for the sulphur to burn out lit his cigar. +Ever after the smell of sulphur brought to the Squire of Grey Pine the +sense of some pleasant association and then a less agreeable remembrance. + +"Read it--read it out loud, Penhallow! It was a near thing. Wardlow +couldn't meet us--be here at noon. Read it--I've read it about ten +times--want to hear it again. I've been as near broke as you--but that's +an old story. When you're at your last dollar, buy a fast pair of +trotters--one thousand-dollar pair--and drive them. Up goes your credit! +Told you that once." + +Penhallow looked up from the telegram. "Is this certain?" + +"Yes, it has been repeated--you can rely on it." + +"WASHINGTON, Willard's Hotel. + +"Mr. Stanton has given contract for field artillery to the Penhallow +Mills. + +"RICHARD AINSELEY." + +Penhallow had read it aloud as he stood. Then he sat down. + +"Don't speak to me for a moment, Sibley. Thank God!" he murmured, while +the care-wrinkled face of the veteran speculator looked at him with a +faint smile of affectionate regard. + +"Well," said Penhallow, "is this all?" + +"No. While Cameron was in office the contract was drawn in favour of the +Lancaster Works. We have been urging our own claims, and their Washington +agent, your very particular friend, Mr. Swallow, would have had the job +in a week more. When Stanton saw our bid and that it was really a more +advantageous offer, he sent first for Swallow and then for Ainseley +and settled it at once. I believe your name and well-known character did +the business. Do you know--do you realize what it means to us?" + +"Hardly. I had no hope while Cameron was in office. I left it to you and +Ainseley." + +"Well, you will see the contract to-morrow." He wriggled on to one leg of +the frail office chair and came down with a crash. He gathered up his two +hundred pounds and laughing said, as he looked at the wreck, "That's what +we would have been tomorrow but for that bit of yellow paper. In six +months you will be a rich man, my friend. Cannon--shells--the whole +outfit. We must get to work at once. An ordnance officer will be here +to-morrow with specifications, and your own knowledge will be invaluable. +I'd like to see Swallow again. He was so darned sure!" + +Wardlow turned up by the noon train, and they worked until dusk, when his +partners left him to secure hands in Pittsburgh, while the good news +spread among the men still at work. Penhallow rode home through the woods +humming his old army songs--a relieved and happy man. + +The Doctor waited a half-hour in vain, and after his noonday dinner was +about to go out when Mrs. Penhallow was driven to his door. Somewhat +surprised, he went back with her. + +"Sit down," he said. "What can I do for you?" + +"Oh, for me nothing! I want to talk about my husband. He is ill, I am +sure--he is ill. He eats little, he sleeps badly, he has lost--oh, +altogether lost--his natural gaiety. He hardly speaks at all." + +The Doctor was silent. + +"Well," she said. + +"Can you bear a little frank talk?" he asked. + +"Yes--why not?" + +"Do you know that he is on the verge of complete financial ruin?" + +"What does that matter? I can--I can bear anything--give up anything--" + +"You have the woman's--the good woman's--indifference about money. Do you +talk to him about it?" + +"No. We get on at once to the causes of trouble--this unrighteous +war--that I can't stand." + +"Ah, Mrs. Penhallow, there must be in the North and South many families +divided in opinion; what do you suppose they do? This absolute silence is +fatal. You two are drifting apart--" + +"Oh, not that! Surely not that!" + +"Yes! The man is worried past endurance. If he really were to fall ill--a +serious typhoid, for instance, the South and your brother and John, +everything would be forgotten--there would be only James Penhallow. It +would be better to talk of the war--to quarrel over it--to make him talk +business--oh, anything rather than to live as you are living. He is not +ill. Go home and comfort him. He needs it. He has become a lonely man, +and it is your fault. He was here to-day in the utmost distress about +you--" + +"About me?" + +"Yes." + +"There is nothing the matter with me!" + +"Yes, there is--oh, with both of you. This war will last for years--and +so will you. All I have to say is that my friend, James Penhallow, is +worth all the South, and that soon or late he will stand it no longer and +will go where he ought to be--into the army." + +"You are talking nonsense--he will never leave the mills." He had called +up her constant fear. + +"It is not nonsense. When he is a broken man and you and he are become +irritable over a war you did not make and cannot end, he will choose +absence and imperative duty as his only relief." + +As she stood up, red and angry, she said, "You have only hurt and not +helped me." She said no other word as he went with her to the wagon. He +looked after her a moment. + +"Well, well! There are many kinds of fools--an intelligent fool is the +worst. I didn't help her any, and by George! I am sorry." + +When at twilight the doctor came home from distant visits to farms, he +met Leila near to his door. "I want to see you a minute," she said, as +she slipped out of her saddle. + +"A woman's minute or a man's minute?" + +"A man's." + +She secured her mare as he said, "Well, come in. It's rather amusing, +Leila. Sit down. I've had James Penhallow here to say his wife's breaking +down. I've had Mrs. Penhallow here to say James Penhallow is ill. Except +the maids and the cats and you, all Grey Pine is diagnosing one another. +And now, you come! Don't tell me you're ill--I won't have it." + +"Please don't joke, Doctor. I am troubled about these dear people. I +talked to Mr. Rivers about it, and he is troubled and says it is the +mills and money. I know that, but at the bottom of it all is the war. Now +Aunt Ann is reading the papers again--I think it is very strange; it's +confusing, Doctor." + +"Here," reflected the doctor, "is at least one person with some sense." + +She went on, speaking slowly, "Uncle Jim comes home tired. Aunt Ann eats +her dinner and reads, and is in bed by nine. The house is as melancholy +as--I feel as if I were in a mousetrap--" + +"Why mouse-trap, my dear?" + +"It sounds all right. The mouse is waiting for something awful to +happen--and so am I. Uncle Jim talked of asking people to stay with us. +It's just to please Aunt Ann. She said, 'No, James, I don't want any +one.' He wished to please her. She really thinks of nothing but the war +and Uncle Jim, and when Uncle Jim is away she will spend an hour alone +over his maps. She has--what do you call it--?" + +"Is obsession the word you want?" + +"Yes--that's it." + +"Now, Leila, neither you nor I nor Mark Rivers can help those two people +we love. Don't cry, Leila; or cry if it will help you. When you marry, be +sure to ask, 'what are your politics, Jeremiah?'" His diversion answered +his purpose. + +"I never would marry a man named Jeremiah." + +"I recommend a well-trained widower." + +"I prefer to attend to my husband's education myself. I should like a man +who is single-minded when I marry him." + +"Well, for perversion of English you are quite unequalled. Go and flirt a +bit for relief of mind with Mark Rivers." + +"I would as soon flirt with an undertaker. Why not with Dr. McGregor?" + +"It would be comparable, Leila, to a flirtation between a June rose and a +frost-bitten cabbage. Now, go away. These people's fates are on the lap +of the gods." + +"Of the god of war, I fear," said Leila. + +"Yes, more or less." He sent her away mysteriously relieved, she knew not +why. "A little humour," he reflected, "is as the Indians say, _big +medicine_." + +Whether the good doctor's advisory prescription would have served +as useful a purpose in the case of Ann Penhallow, he doubted. That +heart-sick little lady was driven swiftly homeward, the sleigh-runners +creaking on the frozen snow: "Walk the horses," she said to Billy, as +they entered the long avenue, "and quit talking." + +While with the doctor and when angrily leaving him, she was the easy +victim of a storm of emotions. As she felt the healthy sting of the dry +cold, she began the process of re-adjustment we are wise to practise +after a time of passion when by degrees facts and motives begin to +reassume more just proportions. He had said, the war would last long. +That she had not believed. Could she and James live for years afraid to +speak of what was going on? The fact that her much-loved Maryland did not +rise as one man and join the Confederacy had disturbed her with her first +doubt as to the final result of the great conflict. She thought it over +with lessening anger at the terrible thing McGregor had said, "You two +are drifting apart." This sentence kept saying itself over and over. + +"Stop, Billy." She was back again in the world of everyday. "Get in, Mr. +Rivers. We are both late for our Dante." As she spoke, an oppressed pine +below which he stood under a big umbrella was of a mind to bear its load +no longer and let fall a bushel or so of snow on the clergyman's cover. +His look of bewilderment and his upward glance as if for some human +explanation routed from Ann's mind everything except amusement over this +calamity. + +"You must not mind if I laugh." She took for granted the leave to +laugh, as he said, "I don't see where the fun comes in. It is most +disagreeable." The eloquent eyes expressed calamity. It was really +felt as if it had been a personal attack. + +"It was a punishment for your utterly abominable politics." For the first +time for months she was her unfettered self. His mind was still on his +calamity. "I really staggered under it." + +"Shake it off and get in to the sleigh. My husband ought to have all the +big pines cut down." Rivers's mind had many levels. Sometimes they were +on spiritual heights, or as now--almost childlike. + +"To stay indoors would be on the whole more reasonable," he said, "or to +have these trees along the avenue shaken." + +"I'd like the job," ventured Billy. + +"Keep quiet," said Mrs. Ann. + +"It is most uncomfortable as it melts," said Rivers. + +Ann thought of John Penhallow's early adventure in the snow, and seeing +how strangely real was Mark Rivers's discomfort, remarked to herself that +he was like a cat for dislike of being wet, and was thankful for her +privilege of laughing inwardly. + +Billy, who was, as Leila said, an unexpectable person, contributed to Ann +Penhallow's sense of there being still some available fun in a world +where men were feebly imitating the vast slaughters of nature. He +considered the crushed umbrella, the felt hat awry, and the disconsolate +figure. "Parson do look crosser than a wet hen." + +Then too Rivers's laugh set free her mirth, and Ann Penhallow laughed as +she had not done for many a day. "That is about my condition," said +Rivers. "I shall go home and get into dry clothes. Billy, you're a poet." + +"Don't like nobody to call me names," grunted Billy. + +"I wish James had heard that," cried Ann, while Rivers gathered up the +remains of his umbrella. + +As Billy drove away, Mrs. Penhallow called back, "You will come to dinner +to-day?" + +"Thank you, but not to-day." + +As Ann came down the stairs to the hall, Penhallow was in the man's +attitude, with his back to the fire. Leila with a hand on the mantel and +a foot on the fender was talking to her uncle, an open letter in her +hand. Ann heard him say, "That was in October"--and then--"Why this must +be a month old!" + +"It must have been delayed. He wrote a note after the fight at Belmont, +and that was in October. He did write once since then, but it was hardly +worth sending. As a letter writer, John is rather a failure, but this is +longer." She laughed gaily as she spread open the letter. + +"He has got a new hero, uncle--General Grant. John is strong on +heroes--he began with you." + +"Stuff and nonsense," said the Squire. "Read it." + +Leila hesitated. + +"Oh, let's hear it," cried her aunt. + +"Go on, dear," said the Squire. + +Leila still hesitated. Usually Ann Penhallow carried away John's rare +letters to be read when alone. Now she said, with unnatural deliberation. +"Read it; one may as well hear his news; we can't always just ignore what +goes on." + +Leila a little puzzled glanced at her aunt. The Squire pleased and +astonished said, "Go on, my dear." + +Turning to the candles on the hall table, Leila read the letter:--"Why +how long it has been! It is dated November 20th." + +"DEAR LEILA: We have been moving from place to place, and although I know +or guess why, it is best left out of letters. At Belmont General Grant +had a narrow escape from capture. He was the last man on board the boat. +He is a slightly built, grave, tired-looking man, middle-aged, carelessly +dressed and eternally smoking. I was in the thick of the row--a sort of +aide, as there was no engineer work. He was as cool as a cucumber--" + +"Why are cucumbers cool?" asked Leila, looking up. "Oh, bother! Go on!" +said Penhallow. + +"We shall move soon. Good-bye. + +"JOHN PENHALLOW." + +Ann made no comment. The Squire said, "It might have been longer. Come, +there's dinner, and I am hungry." + +Ann looked at him. He was gay, and laughed at her account of Rivers's +disaster. + +"I have some good news for you, Ann. I shall keep it until after dinner. +Then we can talk it over at leisure. It concerns all of us, even John." + +"I don't see how I am to wait," said Leila. + +"You will have to." + +Ann made an effort to meet the tone of gaiety in her husband's talk, and +when the wine was set before him, he said, "Now, Ann, a glass--and Leila, +'To our good news and good luck--and to John.'" + +They followed him into the library, and being in sacrificial mood, Ann +filled a pipe, lighted a match, and said, "I want you to smoke, James." + +"Not yet, dear. Sit down." + +"No, I want to stand." She stood beside the fire, a little lady, with an +arm around the waist of her niece. The Squire seated was enjoying the +suspense of his eager audience. + +"You know, dear Ann, that for two years or more the mills have been +without large orders. We have been in the most embarrassing situation. +Our debts"--he was about to say, 'in the South'--"unpaid. I had to ask +you to help us." + +This was news to Leila. "Why mention that, James?" said her aunt. + +"Well, we long ago lessened our force. To shut down entirely was ruin, +but when we met to-day we were to decide whether it was honest to borrow +more money and stagger on, or as I thought, honourable to close the mills +and realize for our creditors all we could." + +Ann sat down with some feeling of remorse. Why had she not known all +this? Was it her fault? He had borne it for the most part without her +knowledge--alone. "My God! It is true," she reflected, "we have drifted +apart." He had hopefully waited, not wanting to trouble a woman already +so obviously sorrow-laden. He seemed to echo her thought. + +"You see, dear," and the strong face grew tender, "I did not mean to +disturb you until it became inevitable. I am glad I waited." + +Ann, about to speak, was checked by his lifted hand. "Now, dear, all my +troubles are over. Mr. Stanton, the new Secretary of War, has signed a +contract with our firm for field artillery. It is a fortune. Our bid was +low. A year's work--shot, shell--and so on. Congratulate me, Ann." + +"My God!" he cried, "what is the matter?" + +Ann Penhallow turned quickly, a hand on the table staying herself. "And +you--you are to make cannon--you--and I--and with my money!" she laughed +hysterical laughter--"to kill my people the North has robbed and driven +into war and insulted for years--I--I--" her voice broke--she stood +speechless, pale and more pale. + +Penhallow was appalled. He ran to catch her as she swayed. + +"Don't touch me," she cried. "I feared for--you--the army--but never +this--this!" Despite her resistance, he laid her on the lounge. + +"Leila," she said, "I want to go upstairs to bed." The face became white; +she had fainted. + +"Is she dead?" he said hoarsely, looking down at her pale face. + +"No--no. Carry her upstairs, uncle." He picked up the slight form and +presently laid her on her bed. "Leave her to me, Uncle Jim. I have seen +girls in hysterics. Send up a maid--the doctor! No, I will come down when +she is undressed. See, her colour is better." + +He went downstairs, reluctant to leave her. In the library he sat down +and waited. An hour passed by, and at last Leila reappeared. She kissed +him with more than her usual tenderness, saying, "She is quiet now. I +will lie down on her lounge to-night. Don't worry, Uncle Jim." + +This advice so often given was felt by him to be out of his power to +follow. He knew very well that this he would have now to consider was not +only a mere business affair. It ceased to be that when he heard with the +shock of bewilderment his wife's outburst of angry protest. He loved her +as few men love after many years of married life, and his affection was +still singularly young. His desire to content her had made him unwisely +avoid talk about differences of opinion. In fact his normal attitude was +dictated by such gentle solicitude as is not uncommon in very virile men, +who have long memory for the careless or casual sharp word. To the end of +his days he never suspected that to have been less the lover and more the +clear-sighted outspoken friend would have been better for her and for +him. He sat into the night smoking pipe after pipe, grappling with a +situation which would have presented no difficulties to a coarser nature. +At last he went upstairs, listened a moment at Ann's chamber door, and +having smoked too much spent a thought-tormented night, out of which he +won one conclusion--the need to discuss his trouble with some friend. At +six he rose and dressed, asked the astonished cook for an egg and coffee, +went to the stables, and ordered a groom to saddle horses and follow him. + +A wild gallop over perilously slippery roads brought him to McGregor's +door, a quarter of a mile from the mills. The doctor was at breakfast, +and rose up astonished. "What's wrong now, Penhallow?" he said. + +"Oh, everything--everything." + +"Then sit down and let us talk. What is it?" + +The Squire took himself in hand and quietly related his story of the +contract and his wife's reception of what had been to him so agreeable +until she had spoken. + +"Can you bear--I said it yesterday to Mrs. Penhallow--a frank opinion?" + +"Yes, from you--anything." + +"Have no alarm about her health, my friend. It is only the hysteria of a +woman a little spoiled by too tender indulgence." + +The Squire did not like it, but said, "Oh, perhaps! But now--the +rest--the rest--what am I to do?" The doctor sat still a while in +perplexed thought. "Take your time," said Penhallow. "I have sent the +horses to the stable at the mills, where my partners are to meet me +early to-day." + +The doctor said, "Mrs. Penhallow will be more or less herself to-day. I +will see her early. There are several ways of dealing with this matter. +You can take out of the business her share of the stock." + +"That would be simple. My partners would take it now and gladly." + +"What else you do depends on her condition of mind and the extent to +which you are willing to give way before the persistency of a woman who +feels and does not or can not reason." + +"Then I am not now to do anything but tell her that I will take her stock +out of the business." + +"That may relieve her. So far I can go with you. But, my dear Penhallow, +she may be utterly unreasonable about your manufacture of cannon, and +what then you may do I cannot say. How long will it be before you begin +to turn out cannon?" + +"Oh, two months or more. Many changes will be needed, but we have +meanwhile an order for rails from the Baltimore and Ohio." + +"Then we can wait. Now I am off for Grey Pine. See me about noon. Don't +go back home now. That's all." + +While the Squire walked away to the mills, McGregor was uneasily moving +his ponderous bulk to and fro in the room. + +"It's his damn tender, soft-hearted ways that will win in the end. My old +Indian guide used to say, 'Much stick, good squaw.' Ann Penhallow has +never in her whole life had any stick. Damn these sugar plum husbands! +I'd like to know what Miss Leila Grey thinks of this performance. Now, +there's a woman!" + +When after a night of deep sleep Ann woke to find Leila standing by her +bed, she rose on an elbow saying, "What time is it? Why are you here?" + +"It is eight, aunt. You were ill last night; I stayed on your lounge." + +Now her aunt sat up. "I was ill, you say--something happened." The thing +pieced itself together--ragged bits of memories storm-scattered by +emotion were reassembled, vague at first, then quickly more clear. She +broke into unnaturally rapid speech, reddening darkly, with ominous +dilatation of the pupils of her large blue eyes. "And so James Penhallow +is to be made rich by making cannon to kill my people--oh, I remember!" +It seemed absurdly childlike to Leila, who heard her with amazement. "And +with my money--it is easy to stay at home and murder--and be paid for it. +Let him go and--fight. That's bad enough--I--" + +"God of Heaven, Aunt Ann!" the girl broke in, "don't dare to say that to +Uncle Jim. Are you crazy--to say such things." + +"I don't know what I am. Oh, those cannon! I hear them. He shall not do +it--do you hear me? Now send me up a cup of tea--and don't come in again. +I want James--tell him--tell him." + +"He went away to the mills at six o'clock." + +"I know. He is afraid to talk to me--I want to see him--send for him at +once. I said at once--do you hear! Now go." + +As Leila turned to leave, she heard a knock at the door, said "Come in," +and to her relief saw enter large and smiling the trusted doctor. As he +neared the bed, Ann fell back speechless and rigid. + +"Ah, Leila! That makes it all plain. There is no danger. Close the +blinds; I want the room darkened. So! Come into the back room--leave the +door ajar." He selected a trustworthy chair and sat down with deliberate +care. "Now listen to me, my dear. This is pure hysteria. It may last for +days or weeks--it will get well. It is the natural result of birth, +education, worry, etc.--and a lot of darned et ceteras. When you let +loose a mob of emotions, you get into trouble--they smash things, and +this is what has become of one of God's sweetest, purest souls." + +"It is most dreadful, Doctor; but what shall we do with Uncle Jim. If she +has a mere cold in the head, he is troubled." + +"Yes--yes." The doctor took counsel with himself. "I will send up old +Mrs. Lamb to help you--she is wise in the ways of sick women. Take your +rides--and don't fret over this suicide of reason." He was pleased with +his phrase. "Let her see Penhallow if she asks for him, but not if you +can help it. It is all as plain as day. She has been living of late a +life of unwholesome suppression. She has been alarmed by Penhallow's +looks, hurt by her brothers' quarrels, and heart-sick about the war and +John. Then your uncle springs on her this contract business and there is +an explosion." + +After giving careful orders, he went away. To Penhallow he said, "When +you are at home keep out of her room. If you have to see her, tell her +nothing has been done or will be for months. The time will come when you +will have to discuss matters." + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +Leila Grey never forgot the month which followed. Penhallow was +mercifully spared the sight of the drama of hysteria, and when not at +the mills went about the house and farm like a lost dog; or, if Leila +was busy, took refuge with Rivers. Even the war maps claimed no present +interest until a letter came from John after the capture of Port +Donaldson. At evening they found the place on the map. + +"Well, now let's hear it. Ann is better, McGregor says," He was as +readily elated as depressed. "Does she ask for me?" + +"No," said Leila, "at first she did, but not now." + +"Read the letter, my dear." + +"DEAR LEILA: I wrote to Aunt Ann and Uncle Jim a fortnight ago--" + +"Never came," said Penhallow. + +"I am called an engineer, but there is no engineering required, so I am +any General's nigger. I have been frozen and thawed over and over. No +camp fires allowed, and our frozen 15,000 besieged 21,000 men. General +S.T. Smith picked me up as an aide, and on the 15th personally led a +charge on the Rebel lines, walking quietly in front of our men to keep +them from firing. It did not prevent the Rebs from abusing our +neutrality. It was not very agreeable, but we stormed their lines and I +got off with a bit out of my left shoulder--nothing of moment. Now we +have them. If this war goes on, Grant will be the man who will end it. I +am too cold to write more. Love to all. + +"General Smith desires to be remembered to Uncle Jim, and told me he was +more than satisfied with + +"Yours, + +"JOHN PENHALLOW." + +"Isn't that delightful, Uncle Jim? But every night I think of it--this +facing of death. I see battles and storming parties. Don't you see things +before you fall asleep? I can see whatever I want to see--or don't want +to." + +"Never saw anything of the kind--I just go to sleep." + +"I thought everybody could see things as I do." + +"See John too, Leila? Wish I could." + +"Yes," she said, "sometimes." In fact, she could see at will the man who +was so near and so dear and a friend to-day--and in that very lonely time +when the house was still and the mind going off guard, the something +indefinitely more. + +The Squire, who had been studying the map, was now standing before the +fire looking up where hung over the mantel his sword and the heavy army +pistols. He turned away as he said, "Life is pretty hard, Leila. I ought +to be here--here making guns. I want to be where my class-mates are in +the field. I can't see my way, Leila. When I see a duty clearly, I can do +it. Now here I have to decide what is my duty. There is no devil like +indecision. What would you do?" + +"It is a question as to what you will do, not I--and--oh, dear Uncle Jim, +it is, you know, what we call in that horrid algebra the X of the +equation." + +"I must see your Aunt Ann. Is she"--and he hesitated--"is she +herself?"--he would not say, quite, sane. + +"She is not at all times." + +"How far must I consider her, or be guided by the effect my decision will +have on her? There are my partners to consider. The money does not +influence me--it is Ann--Ann." Then she knew that he would make any +sacrifice necessary to set Ann Penhallow at ease. "I think," she said as +she rose, "that we had better go to bed." + +"I suppose so," he said. "Wait a moment. Your aunt told me that I had +better go where there was war--she could not have guessed that I have +lived for months with that temptation. I shall end by accepting a +command. Now since her reproach I shall feel that war offers the bribe of +ease and relief from care." + +"I know, the call of duty--you will have to go. But, oh, my God! it is +very terrible." + +"The fact is, this sudden good fortune for a time so set me at ease that +I lost sight of my honest craving for action. Now I ought to thank Ann +for making me see what I ought to do--must do. But how--how? It will +clear up somehow. Goodnight." + +It was the end of March before McGregor told Penhallow that Mrs. +Penhallow insisted on seeing him. "Now, Squire," he said, "you will be +shocked at her appearance, but she is really well in body, and this thing +has got to be set at rest. She talks of it incessantly." + +Penhallow entered the dimly lighted room and passed his old nurse, Mrs. +Lamb, as she whispered, "Don't stay long, sir." He was shocked as he won +clearer vision in the dim light. + +"Oh, James!" she said, "they wouldn't let me see you. Open the shutters." +He obeyed, and kneeling kissed the wasted face he loved so well. The +commonplaces of life came to his aid as he kissed her again, and she +said, "Dear me, James, you haven't shaved to-day." + +"No, I am going to stop at the barber's--but I miss Josiah." + +She smiled. "Yes, poor Josiah." + +Then he took courage, fearfully timid as men are when they confront the +illness of women. "I want to say to you, Ann, that having your power of +attorney I have withdrawn your fifty thousand dollars you had lent to the +mills. My partners were glad to take it." He said nothing of their +surprise at the offer. + +"Thank you," she returned feebly. "And you are going on with the +business?" her voice rising as she spoke. + +"We will talk of that later, Ann. I was told not to let you talk long. +I shall endeavour to invest your money so as to give you a reasonable +return--it will take time." + +He did not succeed in diverting her attention. She put out a thin hand +and caught his sleeve. "Do you think me unreasonable, James?" + +"Yes," he said, and it needed courage. + +"I was sure you would say so." The great blue eyes, larger for the wasted +setting of nature's wonderful jewels, looked up at him in dumb appeal. +"Won't you think a little of how I feel--and--and shall feel?" + +"Think a little--a little?" he returned; "I have done nothing else but +think." + +"You don't answer me, James." There was the old quiet, persistent way +he had known in many happy days, reinforced by hysteric incapacity to +comprehend the maze of difficulties in which he was caught. + +"It is a pity I did not die," she said, "that would have saved you all +this trouble." + +He felt the cruelty of her words as he broke away and left the room. +McGregor had waited, and hearing his story said, "It will pass. You must +not mind it--she is hardly sane." + +James Penhallow mounted and rode to the village, was duly shaved, and +went on to the post-office. Mrs. Crocker rotund and rosy came out and +handed him as he sat in the saddle a sheaf of letters. "Yes, Mrs. +Penhallow is better, thank you." As he rode away the reins on Dixy's +neck, he read his letters and stuffed them in his pocket until he came +to one, over which he lingered long. It ran thus: + +"MY DEAR SIR: Will you not reconsider the offer of the colonelcy of a +regiment? It will not require your presence until July. There is no need +to reply at once. There is no one else so entirely fit for such a charge, +and the Attorney-General, your friend Meredith, unites with me in my +appeal to you. The State and the country need you. + +"Yours truly, + +"ANDREW CURTIN." + +He reached but one conclusion as he turned the tempting offer over in +his mind, and acting on it wrote the Governor from his office that his +wife was at present too ill for him to consider the offer of a command. + +As day by day he sat with Ann, to his relief she ceased to dwell on the +matter which had so disturbed her, and rapidly regaining health, flesh +and strength, began to ask about the house and the village people. It was +a happy day when in May he carried her down to a hammock on the porch. A +week later she spoke again, "What conclusion have you reached?" she said. + +"About the mills?" + +"Yes." + +"Ask me in a week, Ann. Do you want to read John's letters? There are +several--one about a battle at Pittsburgh Landing in Tennessee." + +"I want to hear nothing of the war. Is he well?" + +"Yes, thank God." The news of McClellan's army was anything but +satisfactory, and more and more the soldier longed to be in the field. + +Early in June, Penhallow on his way to meet his partners paused at +McGregor's house to ask his opinion of his wife. "How do I find her? +Better every day--more herself. But what of you?" + +"Of me? I can stand it no longer, Doctor. I cannot see this war +in Virginia go on to the end without taking part in it. I must--do +anything--anything--make any sacrifice." + +"But your wife--the mills--" + +"I have but one answer--my country! I told you I had refused Governor +Curtin's offer--what to do about our contract I do not yet know. They +are reorganizing the artillery service." + +"And you would like that best?" + +"Yes. What amuses you?" + +The doctor smiled often, but as Mrs. Crocker said, when he did laugh it +was as good as a Fourth of July celebration and the house shook. As the +Squire watched him, the smile broadened out in circles from the mouth +like the ripples cast by a stone on still water; then the eyes grew +merrily busy and the big frame shook with laughter. + +"Well, now, Squire! To give up making guns and go in for using +them--well--well!" + +"Don't chaff me, McGregor; I mean to be in it, cost what it may. I am to +meet my partners--good-bye." + +The doctor wondered what Ann Penhallow would do or say. It was past +guessing but he saw clearly that Penhallow was glad of any excuse to get +into the field. + +"Glad to see you, Ainseley," said Penhallow. "Good morning, Sibley. You +will find things moving. Many casting moulds will be ready by this day +week." + +"Last night," said Sibley, the richer member of the firm, "I had a +telegram from Austin, the iron-man. He asks what we would take to +transfer our contract. I replied that we did not deal that way with +Government contracts. To-day I got this other--read it." + +"On what terms will you take me in? My ore, as you know, is not hematite +and is better than yours." + +Penhallow sat still reading the telegram again and again. Here was an +unlooked-for way out of his troubles. At last he looked up, and to their +surprise said, "My capital in the business is one hundred and fifty +thousand dollars, and you--the firm--pay me a rental of ten thousand." + +"Not last year," said Ainseley; "we could not, as you know." + +"Yes. Our partnership ends this July 1st. Wire Austin that I will sell +him my share and go out. You may ask him what bonus you please--I mean, +I will sell to you at one hundred and fifty thousand dollars--the rental +will go on, of course." + +"My heavens!" cried Sibley, "what do you mean? It is throwing away a +fortune, man--a fortune." + +Penhallow laughed. "And yet I mean to do it. The work is ready to go on. +You will have ordnance officers here--you won't miss me." + +They argued with him in vain. Waldron not altogether dissatisfied sat +still, wondering how much bonus Austin would stand, while Ainseley and +Sibley troubled for their friend and not well pleased, fought his +decision. "Are you fully resolved on this, Penhallow?" said Sibley. + +"I am. I cannot take out the small amount of money John Penhallow owns. +It must remain, at least for a time, and will be a convenience to you. +My wife's money is already out. It was only a loan." + +"But why should not you sell out to Austin," said Sibley, "if you mean +to leave us, and get out of him a profit--and why after all this act of +supreme folly? Pardon me, it is that--really that" + +Penhallow smiled. "I go out of this business because I simply cannot stay +out of the army. I could not be a soldier and accept continuous profits +from a Government contract. Imagine what would be said! For the same +reason I cannot sell to Austin at an advance. That is clear--is it not?" + +"Yes," said Ainseley, "and I am sorry. Think it over." + +"I have done my thinking. It will take the lawyers and you at least two +months to settle it and make out the papers. After July 1st I shall not +come to the mills. I mean to leave no occasion for unpleasant comment +when I re-enter the service. Of course, you will advertise your new +partnership and make plain my position. I am sorry to leave you, but +most glad to leave you prosperous. I will put it all on paper, with a +condition that at the close of the war--I give it three years--I shall be +free to replace Austin--that is, if the Rebs don't kill me." + +As he mounted at evening to ride home, he was aware of Leila. "Halloa, +Uncle Jim! As Mr. Rivers was reading Dante to Aunt Ann, I begged off, and +so here I am--thought I would catch you. I haven't been on a horse for a +week. The mare knows it and enjoyed the holiday. She kicked Pole's bull +terrier into the middle of next week." + +"A notable feat. I wish some one would kick me into the middle of +August." + +"What's wrong, Uncle Jim? Aunt Ann is every day better; John is well; you +don't look unhappy. Oh, I know when anything really is the matter." + +"No, I am happier than I have been for many a day. You know what Rivers +says, 'In the Inn of Decision there is rest,'--some oriental nonsense. +Well, I am a guest in the Inn of Decision, but I've got to pay the bill." + +"Please not to talk riddles, uncle. I have gone through so much this +spring--what with aunt and this terrible war--and where John is we don't +know. I heard from Aunt Margaret. She says that we escape the endless +reminders of war--the extras called at night, heard in church, great +battle on the Potomac, lists of killed and wounded. It must be awful. You +buy a paper--and find there was no battle." + +"Yes, we escape that at least. I have made arrangements to close my +partnership on July 1st." + +"Oh, Uncle Jim!" + +"The President, I hear, will call for three hundred thousand men--I can +stand it no longer--I am eating my heart out. I refused a regiment some +time ago; now I shall ask for one. I wrote at once to the Governor." + +She leaned over, laid a hand on his arm and said, "Is not one dear life +enough?" + +"My child, John had to go. I could, of course, find some excuse for not +going. I set myself free to-day. But now I am to settle with Ann. Except +for that I would be supremely contented. You would not keep me here if +you had the power, nor would you bring home John if you could, dear." + +"No," she said faintly. Some quickly dismissed suspicion rose to +consciousness as he stole a glance at her face. "I understand," she +added, "it is a question of honour--you must go." + +"It is a question of duty, dear; but what Ann will say I do not know--but +I shall go." + +She turned. "Uncle Jim, if you did not go and the war went on to--God +alone knows what end--she would be sick with shame. I know. You see I am +a woman and I know. She will suffer, but she will not break down again +and she will not try to hold you back. But this house without you and +John will be rather lonely. How did you get out of the mills, uncle?" + +He answered her at length as they rode homeward with more to think of +than was pleasant. At the avenue gate she said earnestly, "Don't wait +too long before telling Aunt Ann." + +"Upon my word, I am sorry," returned the Squire, "for the unfortunate +man who may become your husband. If you undertake to offer advice at +your tender years, what will you do when you are older?" + +"My husband-that-is-to-be sends you his compliments," laughed Leila, +"and says--I don't know what he says, but it is exactly the right thing, +Captain Penhallow. But really, don't wait, uncle." + +"You are quite right, my dear." Nevertheless he waited. Decisiveness +in affairs and in moments of peril he had, but where Ann was concerned +he became easily unsure, and as McGregor said, "wabbled awful." This +was to Leila. "What gets the matter with men? The finer they are, the +braver--the more can a woman bother their judgment. He wires for a +regimental command--gets it; and, by George, throws away a fortune to +get the privilege of firing a cannon at Mrs. Ann's beloved Rebels. He +mustn't make guns it seems--he tries not to believe her hysterics at +all affected by his tossing away this big contract." + +"Now, Doctor, you are in one of your cynical moods. I hate you to talk +this way about the finest gentleman I ever knew, or ever shall know. You +delight to tease me." + +"Yes--you are so real. No one could get hysterics out of you. Now why do +you suppose James Penhallow wants to plunge into this chaotic war?" + +"Or your son, Tom? Why do you get up of a winter night to ride miles to +see some poor woman who will never pay you a penny?" + +"Pure habit." + +"Nonsense. You go--and Uncle Jim goes--because to go is duty." + +"Then I think duty is a woman--that accounts for it, Leila. I retire +beaten." + +"You are very bad to-day--but make Uncle Jim talk it all out to Aunt +Ann." + +"He will, and soon. He has been routed by a dozen excuses. I told him at +last that the mill business has leaked out and the village is saying +things. I told him it must not come to her except through him, and that +he could not now use her health as an excuse for delay. It is strange a +man should be so timid." + +And still Penhallow lingered, finding more or less of reason in the +delays created by the lawyers. Meanwhile he had accepted the command of +the 129th Pennsylvania infantry which was being drilled at Harrisburg, so +that he was told there was no occasion for haste in assuming charge. But +at last he felt that he must no longer delay. + +The sun was setting on an afternoon in July when Penhallow, seeing as she +sat on the porch how the roses of the spring of health were blooming on +his wife's cheeks, said, "I want to talk to you alone, Ann. Can you walk +to the river?" + +"Yes, I was there yesterday." + +The cat-birds, most delightful of the love-poets of summer, were singing +in the hedges, and as they walked through the garden Penhallow said, "The +rose crop is promising, Ann." + +"Yes." She was silent until they sat on the bank above the little river. +Then she said, "You are keeping something from me, James. No news can +trouble me as much as--as to be sure that I am kept in the dark about +your affairs." + +"I meant to be frank, Ann, but I have felt so alarmed about your +health--" + +"You need not be--I can bear anything but not to know--" + +"That is why I brought you here, my dear. You are aware that I took out +of the business the money you loaned to us." + +"Yes--yes--I know." + +"I have given up my partnership and withdrawn my capital. The business +will go on without me." + +"Was this because--I?--but no matter. Go on, please." + +He was incapable of concealing the truth from her, however much he +might have disguised it from others. "You had your share in causing me +to give up, but for a year since this war has gone on from one disaster +to another, I have known that as a soldier I must be in it." + +She was perfectly calm. "I have long known it would come, James. To have +you and John and my brother Henry--all in it, is a hard fate." + +"My dear, Charles writes me that Henry has left the army and gone to +Europe on business for the Confederates." + +"Indeed." Some feeling of annoyance troubled her. "Then he at least is in +no danger." + +"None, my dear." + +"When do you go?" + +"I am to command the 129th Infantry, and I shall leave about August 1st." + +"So soon!" She sat still, thinking over what Grey Pine would be without +him. He explained as she sat that all details of his affairs would be put +for her clearly on paper. He ended by saying, "Ask me any questions you +want answered." + +"Then, James, there will be no income from the mills--from--from that +contract?" + +"None, except my rental. With that you may do as you please. There +will be also, of course, at your disposal the income from my re-invested +capital." + +"Thank you, James." She was by far the less moved of the two. + +"Have I greatly troubled you?" he asked. He was distressed for her. + +"No, James. I knew it would come." As the shadows darkened on the forest +floor and gathered overhead, she rose to her feet. "Whatever happens, +James--whoever wins--I am the loser. I want you to be sorry for me." + +"And, my dear Ann, whichever way this contest ends, I too lose." + +She returned with tender sadness, "Yes, I did not think of that. Give +me your arm, James--I am--tired." + +He wondered that she had said nothing of the immense sacrifice few men +would have made; nor did she seem to have realized what urgency of added +motives she had contributed to bring about his decision. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +Through the great heat of July, 1862, the war went on its inconclusive +way. In Westways, as elsewhere, the call of the people's President for +three hundred thousand men was felt the more thoughtfully because now it +was, of course, known that Penhallow was Colonel of the 129th Infantry; +that he had made a great sacrifice of money was also known, but not +understood, and Ann Penhallow's half-forgotten politics were again +discussed when the village evening parliament met in front of the +post-office. + +Mrs. Crocker, off duty, stood framed in the door, cooling her round +face with a palmetto fan and listening with interest to the talk or +taking part in the discussion in so positive a way as was felt to be +indiscreetly feminine, but respected on account of her official +representation of a husband too deaf to fulfil his duties. + +The Doctor got out of his gig. "Any letters from my boy?" + +"Yes, two. Wanted to send them by Billy, but he's war-wild and wouldn't +go." The Doctor looked over his letters. + +"All right, I hope," said Mrs. Crocker. + +Pole in his shirt sleeves listening said, "Of course, he is all +right--doctors don't fight none." + +"Send your son, Pole, before you talk nonsense," said McGregor. "My boy +got a ball in his leg at Malvern Hill." + +"My son's going along with the Squire," returned Pole, "leaves me short +of help, and my wife's about crazy over it." + +"What about Mrs. Penhallow?" said Mrs. Crocker. "I guess she's the kind +that don't show what she feels." + +"Oh, money's a great comforter," returned the butcher. "What I'm to do, I +don't know." + +"Well, I'm going too," said Joe Grace, "and father says I'm right." + +"Oh, here's the parson," said Pole, as Rivers approached. "He's like the +rest of them--all for war." + +"Well, Pole," said Rivers, "how are you and Mrs. Crocker? I think you are +getting thin this hot weather." + +"Am I? No such good luck. We are talking war, Mr. Rivers. I do hear that +what with the mill-boys and country fellows there's some thirty going +into the Colonel's regiment." + +"So I hear. On Sunday I mean to talk to them after service. You might say +so." + +"I will. If I had a boy, he should go," said Mrs. Crocker. + +"It's easy talking when you haven't none," said Pole. "We are gettin' +licked, and some day Lee will be over the border. It's just useless to +spend money and cripple men." + +There was a moment of silence, when Mrs. Crocker spoke. "Pole, you +aren't ever sure of your legs. You were all for Buchanan, and then all +for Lincoln. Now you're uneasy on the top rail of the fence and the rail +ain't round." The parliament broke into laughter, and with more talk +dissolved after some critical wisdom about the war. + + * * * * * + +It was July 30th, after ten at night, the day before the final Sunday of +the month. The Colonel of the 129th stood with Leila before a big war +map. "This fight at Malvern Hill"--he put a pin on the place--"was a +mistake on the part of Lee, and yet he is a master of the game. He was +terribly beaten--an aggressive general would have attacked at once." + +"Would he have won, uncle?" + +"I think so--but after a defeat these armies are as dangerous as a +cornered cat." + +"But, dear Uncle Jim, what is the matter with us?--We have men, money and +courage." + +"Well, this is how I see it. Neither side has a broad-minded General in +command of the whole field of war. Every day sees bits of fights, +skirmishes, useless loss of life. There is on neither side any connected +scheme of war. God knows how it will end. I do not yet see the man. If +Robert Lee were in absolute command of all the effective force of the +South, we would have trouble." + +"But if he is so good a soldier, why did he make what you call a frontal +attack on entrenched troops at Malvern?" + +"My dear, when two men spar and neither can quite end the fight, one +gets angry or over-confident and loses his head, then he does something +wild--and pays for it." + +"I see. You leave on Monday?" + +"Yes--early." + +"Mr. Rivers means to talk after service to the men who are enlisting." + +"So he told me. I begged him to be moderate." + +"He asked me for a text, uncle." + +"Well!" + +"I gave him the one about Caesar and God." + +"What put that into your head--it does not seem suitable?" + +"Oh, do you think so? Some one once mentioned it to me. I could preach on +it myself, but texts grow wonderfully in his hands. They glow--oh, they +get halos about them. He ought to be in a great city." + +"Oh, my dear, Mark Rivers has his limitations like all of us. He would +die. Even here he has to be watched. McGregor told him last year that he +was suffering from the contagion of other people's wickedness with +occasional acute fits of over-conscientiousness. Rivers said it was +incomprehensible nonsense; he was almost angry." + +"And yet it is true, Uncle Jim." + +"I'm glad I haven't the disease. I told McGregor as much. By George! he +said my variety of the disorder was about other folk's stupidity. Then, +when I said that I didn't understand him, he laughed. He makes me furious +when he only laughs and won't answer--and won't explain." + +"Why, uncle! I love to see him laugh. He laughs all over--he shakes. I +told him it was a mirthquake. That set him off again. Was Tom McGregor +badly hurt?" + +"No, not badly." + +"Will aunt go to church to-morrow?" + +"No." + +"I thought she would not. I should love to see you in uniform." + +"Not here, my dear, but I will send you a daguerreotype." + + * * * * * + +When on this Sunday long remembered in Westways, the tall figure of Mark +Rivers rose to open the service, he saw the little church crowded, the +aisles filled, and in the front pews Penhallow, his niece, and behind +them the young men who were to join his regiment. Grace had asked his own +people to be present, and here and there were the mothers and sisters of +the recruits, and a few men on crutches or wasted by the fevers of the +Virginia marshes. Mark Rivers read the morning service as few men know +how to read it. He rarely needed the prayer-book--he knew it all. He gave +to it the freshness of a new message of love and helpfulness. More than +ever on this Sunday Leila felt a sense of spiritual soaring, of +personally sharing the praises of the angel choir when, looking upwards, +he said: "Therefore with angels and archangels and all the company of +heaven we laud and magnify Thy glorious name." She recalled that John had +said, "When Mark Rivers says 'angels and archangels' it is like the clash +of silver cymbals." + +He gave out at the close his favourite hymn, "Lead, Kindly Light." It was +well and sweetly sung by the girl-choir. As the music closed he rose--a +figure of command, his spare frame looking larger for his robes. For a +silent moment his eloquent eyes wandered over the crowd, gathering the +attentive gaze of young and old, then he said: "I want to talk on this +unusual occasion for a little while, to you who are answering the call of +a man who is like a father calling his sons to a task of danger. My text +is: 'Render, therefore, unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's and unto +God the things that are God's.' The wonder of the great texts is that +they have many applications as time runs on. You know the familiar story. +Payment of the tax meant obedience to the Government, to law, to order. I +would that I had the power to make you see with me the scene. It is to me +so very distinct. The Pharisees desire to tempt him, a Jew, into a +statement treasonable to the Roman rule they had accepted. Was it right +for the Jew to pay the tax which sustained this Government? He had, as +you may remember, already paid it for Peter and himself. He asks for the +penny bearing Caesar's head and answers them in the words of the text, +'Render unto Caesar, therefore, the things which are Caesar's.' He +returns the penny. I wonder where that little coin is to-day? It has +gone, but the lesson it read remains forever; nor even today is the +Pharisee gone with his invidious temptations. _You_ are to-day obeying a +greater than Caesar. _You_ are meeting the material obligations of a day +of discouragement--and for some a day of doubt. + +"The nobler applications which lie within the meaning of the latter part +of the text He answers more fully than was asked: 'Render unto God the +things which are God's.' What are these things which are at need to be +rendered to Him? What larger tax? Ease--comfort--home--the strong bodies +which make work safe and pleasant. He asks of you the exercise of unusual +qualities--the courage which looks death in the face and will not take +the bribe of safety, of life, at the cost of dishonour. Ah! not in battle +is my fear for you. In the long idleness of camps will come your hours of +temptation. Think then of those at home who believe in you. It is a great +thing to have an outside conscience--wife, mother, sister. Those are +hours when it is hard to render unto God what he gave. + +"We are now, as I said, at a time of discouragement. There are cowards +who would yield--who would compromise--men who want peace at any cost. +You answer them nobly. Here, in this sacred cause, if He asks it, we +render life or the easy competencies of youth in its day of vigour." + +The man paused. The strange power of the eyes spoke to them in this +moment of silence. "Oh! I said the cause was sacred--an unbroken land. +_He_ gave you that, just for wide-world uses. Keep it! Guard it!--with +all that Union of the States meant and still means to-day. _You_ are not +to blame for this necessity--war. The man who bends unpaid over the +master's cotton-field is the innocent cause of all this bloodshed. If +there were no slavery, there would have been no war. But let there be +no hatred in the brave hearts you carry. God did not slay Saul, the +earnest--I might say--the honest persecutor. He made him blind for a +time. The awful charity of God is nowhere else so wonderful. These +gallant people you are going to meet will some day see that God was +opening their eyes to better days and nobler ways. They too are honest +in the belief that God is on their side. Therefore, let there be no +bitterness. + +"Some of you are what we call religious. Do not be ashamed of it. +The hardest fighters the world has known were men who went to battle +with arms invisible to man. A word more and I have done. I have the +hope--indeed the certainty--that I shall be sent to the field on errands +of mercy and helpfulness. We may meet again. And now, take with you the +earnest will to render unto God what things He gave for His highest uses. +Now let us offer the prayer for the volunteers our great Bishop desires +the Church to use. Let us pray." + +In unusual silence the congregation moved away, a silence shared by Leila +and her uncle. At last she said, "Uncle Jim, I wish Aunt Ann could have +heard that sermon--it could not have hurt her." + +"Perhaps not." + +"I wonder why she has so great a respect for him, so real a friendship. +He thinks slavery the sin of sins. He has very little charity about +it--oh, none--and Aunt Ann is as sure it is a divinely appointed +relation." + +"They fought it out, my dear, in his early days at Westways, and when +they both found that they were clad in the armour of changeless beliefs +no arguments could penetrate, they gave up and took of two fine natures +what was left for life's uses and became friends. At least, that is how +McGregor put it. He sometimes states things well." + +"I see," said Leila thoughtfully, and set herself to thinking whether if +she had radical differences of opinion with some one, she could settle +into a condition of armed neutrality. Then she wondered if war made +changes in the character of a man. + +Presently she asked, "Why, Uncle Jim, are you suddenly in such haste to +go?" + +"There is need of haste. I could not tell Ann; I can tell you. We were +never worse off since the war began. The Governor asks me to meet him +in Harrisburg. What he fears is that in September Lee will cross the +Potomac, with the hope of Maryland rising. Our Governor will call out +fifty thousand militia. He wants me to take a command; I shall take it, +but Lee's veterans would brush our militia away like summer flies. If he +finds the Army of the Potomac before him, there may be a different story. +I hope, please God, to be with it. There you have all I know, but it is +for you alone. My regiment will go to the front before the end of the +month." + +"You will write to me, uncle." + +"Yes, when I can. Your aunt asks me to write often, but not to write +about the war, as if--well, no matter. But I can write to you. Good +night--and be brave, dear--and Ann! You will watch over her?" + +"Yes, surely." + + * * * * * + +Ann Penhallow having sorrowfully made up her mind that her husband's +honour required his return to the army saw to it with her usual +efficiency that everything he might need was carefully provided. At +bed-time of that Sunday she said quietly, "Good night and good-bye, +James. I do not want to be called to-morrow to say good-bye. You will be +off by six. Leila will give you your breakfast. Write often." She was to +appearance cheerful and even gay, as she paused on the stairs laughing. +"These men," she cried, "I wonder how they do without women orderlies. +At the last moment I found you had left your razors--good-night!" + +The Colonel's eyes followed her slight form a little puzzled and not +entirely pleased at this easy dismissal of sentiment, when he knew what +he himself would have done if she had flown the least signal of distress. +He turned to Leila. "I am very much relieved, my dear, to see that your +aunt is taking my departure quietly. I was afraid of another breakdown, +and I could not have stayed a day longer." + +Leila who had watched this parting with some anxiety said, "I was a +little uneasy myself, but really Aunt Ann was great." She could have +made the well-loved Colonel miserable by translating for him into the +tongue of man the language of the actress on the stairs. "I wonder," +she reflected, "if all men are that blind, or only the heroic or +unimaginative." + + * * * * * + +Colonel Penhallow was detained by consultations with the Governor and by +regimental work until near the close of August, when his command was +hurried forward to join McClellan's army. He followed it a day later. He +wrote long notes to his wife almost daily and then in September after the +battle of Antietam more freely to Leila:-- + +"DEAR LEILA: You will be surprised to hear from me as at Washington on +this September 19th. I overtook my command at noon, in Philadelphia, +where the regiment was being well fed in the big building known as the +Cooper Shop. I was pleased with the look of the men, who have been long +drilled in camp. After the meal I went outside and mounted Dixy, who was +as rebellious as if he knew he was on the side to which his name did +not belong. A soldier was vainly trying to mount my mare. He lost his +temper and struck her. I saw a black man interfering, and rode forward +seeing there was some trouble. By George! it was Josiah. I shook hands +with him and said, 'Where did you come from? He said, 'Saw your name, +sir, in the paper and just quit my work. I'm goin' along with you--I'm +your servant. I've been thinkin' this long while I'd go back to Westways, +but I've been doin' well here, and I just kep' a puttin' it off. I'm +goin' with you.' I said, 'All right, get on that horse.' He patted the +uneasy mare and in a moment was in the saddle and I a well pleased man. +Tell your aunt I am well cared for. + +"We were hurried forward, and I had the pleasure of seeing my men behave +well when we stormed South Mountain--a very gallant affair. Joe Grace was +hurt, but not badly, and was left behind. As to the killed, none are from +Westways. At Antietam we were with the reserve, which I thought should +have been used and was not. It was an attack on an interior line as seems +always to be our luck. McClellan will follow Lee, of course. My regiment +is to be with the Sixth Corps, but I was ordered by the Secretary of War +to report to him in Washington. It is disgusting! But orders are orders. +The Lieutenant-Colonel will have my place, and I hope to get back soon. +Josiah was caught in the thick of the fight at Fox Gap. He was scared a +sort of green. He will get over it--I know the signs. It was pure +nervousness. His explanation was very perfect, 'I just laid down flat +because I was afraid of gittin' this servant of yours killed.' We grinned +mutual approval of the excuse. + +"Yours ever, + +"JAMES PENHALLOW." + +"P.S. You will have found this letter very unsatisfactory, but the fact +is that only people of ample leisure make good correspondents. But now +to sum up: Yesterday I saw Stanton, had a glimpse of Swallow, saw Mr. +Lincoln, and had an adventure so out of the common that it was like +one of the stories of adventure in which Jack used to delight. Now I +cannot--should not tell it--but some day--yes. Send this P.S., bit of +good news, on its way. Read it first." + +"Well, that is exasperating? Surely men are most unsatisfactory letter +writers. No woman with an interesting subject could be so uninteresting. +John is as bad or worse." + +She found enclosed a postscript slip for Mr. Grace. + +"DEAR SIR: That boy of yours is not badly hurt. He behaved with +intelligent courage when for a moment a part of our charging line +hesitated. I was proud of him; I have made him a Corporal. + +"Yours truly, + +"JAMES PENHALLOW." + +The order to report to the former counsel of his firm, Secretary Stanton, +brought an unhappy Colonel to the War Department. He sent in his card, +and was asked to follow an orderly. As he was about to enter the private +office of the War Minister, to his amazement Swallow came out. With a +curt good morning, Penhallow went by him. The great Secretary rose to +greet him, saying, "You are very welcome, Penhallow--never more welcome." + +"You look worn out, Stanton," said the Colonel. + +"No, not yet; but, my God! Penhallow, my life is one to kill the +toughest. What with army mishaps, inefficiency, contractors backed by +Congressmen--all the scum that war brings to the top. Do you know why +I sent for you?" + +"No. It was an order--I ask no questions. I am at your service." + +"You were disappointed, of course." + +"Yes, I was." + +"Well, there were two reasons. One is frankly this. Your firm has a +contract for field artillery--and now you are in the service." + +"I see! It is not now my firm. I gave up my partnership." + +"So I saw, but who of these hungry contractors will believe that you gave +up--a fortune--to enter the army! The facts are either not well known or +have been misstated." + +"Very likely. I gave up what you speak of as a fortune as you gave up a +great income at the bar, and for the same reason I withdrew all my +capital. Even the rental of my mills will go to the Sanitary Commission. +I could not leave a doubt or the least cause for suspicion." + +"I was sure of you, but this has been a well-nursed scandal, due to an +influential lot of disappointed contractors who would have controlled the +giving of that contract had I not come into office. I shall kill it dead. +Trust that to me." + +"Thank you, Stanton, I could have stood it." + +"Yes, but you do not know, my dear Penhallow, what Washington is at +present. Well, let it go. It is now my business. Do you know this Mr. +Swallow?" + +"Know him? Yes--a usurious scamp of a lawyer, who to our relief has left +Westways. Do not trust him. I presume that I owe this talk about me to +him." + +"Well, yes, to him and his associates." + +"What does he want now?" + +"What he will not get. Let him go. I said I had two reasons for ordering +you here. One I have stated. I want some one I can entirely trust, not +merely for honesty and loyalty, but also because of business competence. +All manner of work for the Government is going on here and elsewhere. I +want some one to report on it from time to time. It will keep you here +this winter. You do not like it?" + +"No, but it was an order." + +"Yes, I am sorry to take you for a time out of active service, but +trust me this war will last long. This winter I want you for a variety +of inspection work here or elsewhere. It will be mere business, dull, +unexciting, with unending watchfulness, and advisory technical help +and advice. I want not only personal character--I can get that, but +not easily the combination of technical training and business capacity." +He unrolled a bundle of papers. "There for example, Colonel, are plans +for a new form of ambulance and pontoon wagons ready for approval. I +want a report on both." He went on to speak of the ambulances with +amazing knowledge of the details of their build. Penhallow watched +this earnest, overtasked man, and began to comprehend the vastness of +his daily toil, the weight of his mighty load of care. As he talked, +cards were brought in, messages sent or received, telegrams--the talk +was dropped--resumed--and the Colonel simply listened. At last the +Secretary said, "That will do for to-day. You have room No. 27, and such +clerks and orderlies as you may need. You will find on your table these +specifications--and more--others. And now, how is your beautiful Grey +Pine and its mistress and Leila? You will assure them of my undiminished +affection. And John--where is he?" + +"With General Grant, but where just now I cannot say." + +As he spoke, the door opened and an officer announced--"The President." +The ungainly length of Lincoln appeared. A quiet smile lingered on the +large-featured face, with some humorous appreciation of the War +Secretary's evident annoyance at this abrupt visit. Mr. Stanton's +greeting as he rose was as the Colonel thought coldly civil. + +"My friend, Colonel Penhallow, sir." + +"Glad to see you," said Lincoln, and then with a certain simplicity +explained, "You see, Colonel, sometimes I run away out of the back of +the White House--just to get free of the guards. Don't look so bothered, +Stanton. I'm too fine a failure for any one to want to kill me. Any +news?" + +"None," said the secretary, as he stood not too well pleased; "Colonel +Penhallow is to be in my office on inspection duty." + +"Indeed! Glad to see you." The huge hand closed on Penhallow's with +innocent use of its power. "Name sounds familiar. Yes--there was a cadet +of your name last year. Your son, I suppose?" + +"No, my nephew--in the engineers with General Grant." + +"Tell him I asked for him--handsome fellow. Anything I can do for him?" + +"Nothing, sir." + +"Anything I can do for you?" + +"Nothing, sir." + +"Don't let Stanton kill you. He ought to have a brevet, Stanton. He is +the only man in Washington don't want anything." Even the weary face of +the Secretary smiled under his heavy beard. "Just stepped in to divide +growls with you. Come with me, Colonel, or Stanton will have a brigade of +officers to escort me. Wait for me at the outer door--I'll join you." + +Penhallow pleased and amused, went out taking with him the sense of +puzzle felt by so many over this unusual personage. At the main entrance +the Colonel came on Swallow. + +"A word with you," he said very quietly. "You have been lying about me to +the Secretary and elsewhere. Be careful. I am sometimes short of temper. +You have hurt yourself, not me, and you will get no contracts here." + +"Well, we will see about that," said Swallow, and was about to say more +when the President appeared. + +"Come, Colonel," he said. Swallow fell back and Penhallow walked away as +men touched their hats. For a block or more Lincoln did not speak, and +respecting his silence the soldier was as silent. Then, with his amazing +frankness, Lincoln spoke. + +"Does the Emancipation Proclamation please you?" + +"As a war measure, yes." + +"And not otherwise?" + +"It is none of my business to criticize my Commander-in-Chief." + +"Well, I won't make it an order, but I wish McClellan was of your way of +thinking." Again there was silence. Penhallow was astonished at this +outspoken statement, being aware as few men were of the fact that the +General in question had been disinclined to announce the emancipation +message to the army until he found that his corps commanders were not +cordially with him in opinion. + +As they stopped at the gate of the railing around the White House, +Lincoln said, "When you don't want anything, come and see me--or if you +do." Then, becoming grave, he asked, "What effect will my proclamation of +emancipation have in the South? It takes effect in January, you know." It +was like Lincoln. He asked this question of all manner of people. "I want +to know," he added, as Penhallow hesitated. + +"I am not in a position, sir, to have any opinion about how the Rebels +will be affected by it." + +"Oh, Confederates! Colonel--not Rebels. Calling names only hurts, and +don't ever help. Better to be amiable about labels." + +"It was a slip of the tongue, Mr. President. I usually say Confederates." + +"Quite right--tongue very slippery organ. Reckon my small truant +holiday's over. Everybody generally is letting me know what effect that +emancipation-thunder will have." A strangely tender smile grew upon the +large features. "You see, Colonel, you and I are the only ignorant people +in Washington. Good-bye." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +Saluting the Commander-in-Chief, Penhallow turned away in absent mood +thinking of the burdened man who had passed from sight into the White +House. As he crossed Lafayette Square, he suddenly remembered that the +President's request for his company had caused him to forget to look over +the papers in his office of which the Secretary had spoken. It was +desirable to revisit the War Department. As he walked around the statue +of Andrew Jackson, he came suddenly face to face with his wife's brother, +Henry Grey. For a moment he was in doubt. The man was in United States +uniform, with an army cloak over his shoulders--but it was Grey. +Something like consternation possessed the Federal officer. The +Confederate faced him smiling, as Penhallow said, "My God! Grey, you +here! a spy in our uniform! Many people know you--detection and arrest +would mean--" + +"Don't talk so loud, James. You are excited, and there is really no +reason." + +Penhallow said quietly, "I have good reason to be excited. You will walk +on in front of me to Willard's Hotel. I will go with you to my rooms, +where we can talk freely. Now, sir." + +Grey stood still. "And suppose I decline to obey my rather positive +brother-in-law." + +"You are not a fool. If you were to try to escape me, and you are +thinking of it, I would set on you at once any half dozen of the soldiers +within call." + +"In that case my revolver would settle my earthly accounts--and +pleasantly relieve you." + +"Don't talk. Go on ahead of me." He would not walk beside him. + +"As you please." No more words passed. They moved up Pennsylvania Avenue, +now at mid-day crowded with officers, soldiers, and clerks going to +lunch. Grey was courteously saluting the officers he passed. This +particularly enraged the man who was following him and was hopelessly +trying to see how with regard to his own honour he could save this +easy-going and well-loved brother of Ann Penhallow. If the Confederate +had made his escape, he would have been relieved, but he gave him no +least chance, nor was Grey at all meaning to take any risks. He knew or +believed that his captor could not give him up to justice. He had never +much liked the steady, self-controlled business man, the master of Grey +Pine. Himself a light-hearted, thoughtless character, he quite failed to +comprehend the agony of indecision which was harassing the federal +officer. In fact, then and later in their talk, he found something +amusing in the personal embarrassment Penhallow's recognition had brought +upon him. + +As they approached the hotel, the Confederate had become certain that +he was in no kind of danger. The trapper less at ease than the trapped +was after his habit becoming cool, competent and intensely watchful. +The one man was more and more his careless, rather egotistic self; the +other was of a sudden the rare self of an hour of peril--in a word, +dangerous. As they reached the second floor, Penhallow said, "This way." +Josiah in the dimly lighted corridor was putting the last shine on a +pair of riding-boots. As he rose, his master said, "Stay here--I am not +at home--to anybody--to any one." + +He led the way into his sitting-room; Grey following said, "Excuse me," +as he locked the door. + +"You are quite safe," remarked his host, rather annoyed. + +"Oh, that I take for granted." + +James Penhallow said, "Sit down. There are cigars." + +"A match please. Cigars are rare luxuries with us." + +As the Confederate waited for the sulphur of the match to pass away, +Penhallow took note of the slight, delicate figure, the blue eyes like +Ann's, the well-bred face. Filling his own pipe he sat down with his back +to the window, facing his brother-in-law. + +"You are very comfortable here, James. How is my sister, and your beauty, +Leila?" + +"Well--very well. But let us talk a little. You are a spy in our +uniform." + +"That is obvious enough. I am one of many in your Departments and outside +of them. What do you propose? I am sorry we met." + +"My duty is to turn you over to the Provost-marshal." + +"Of course, but alas! my dear James, there is my sister--you won't do +it--no one would under the circumstances. What the deuce made you speak +to me? You put us both in an awkward position. You became responsible for +a duty you can't fulfil. I am really most sorry for you. It was a bit of +bad luck." + +Penhallow rose to get a match and moved about the room uneasily as Henry +Grey went on talking lightly of the situation which involved for him +possibilities of death as a spy, and for Penhallow a dilemma in which +Grey saw his own safety. + +"Rather disagreeable all round, James. But I trust you won't let it worry +you. I always think a man must be worried when he lets his pipe go out. +There is no need to worry, and after all"--he added smiling--"you created +a situation which might have been avoided. No one would have known--in a +day or two we would have been talking to General Lee. An excellent cigar, +James." + +While his brother-in-law chatted lightly, apparently unconcerned, the +Union officer was considering this way or that out of the toils woven of +duty, affection and honour; but as he kept on seeking a mode of escape, +he was also hearing and watching the man before him with attention which +missed no word. He was barely conscious that the younger man appeared +enough at ease to dare to use language which the Federal officer felt to +be meant to annoy. A single word used by Grey stopped the Colonel's +mental mechanism as if a forceful brake had been applied. The man before +him had said carelessly, "_We_--_we_ would have been talking to General +Lee." The word "we" repeated itself in his mind like an echo. He too +lightly despised Grey's capacity as a spy, but he had said "we." There +were, it seemed, others; how many?--what had they done? This terribly +simplified the game. To arrest Grey would or might be useless. Who were +his companions and where were they? Once missing this confident +Confederate they might escape. To question Grey would be in vain. To give +him any hint that he had been imprudent would be to lose an advantage. He +was so intent on the question of how to carry out a decisive purpose that +he missed for the moment Grey's easy-minded talk, and then was suddenly +aware that Grey was really amusing himself with a cat-and-mouse game. +But now he too was at ease and became quietly civil as he filled another +pipe, and with an air of despair which altogether deceived Grey said, "I +see that I can do nothing, Henry. There is no reason to protract an +unpleasant matter." + +"I supposed you would reach this very obvious conclusion." Then unable to +resist a chance to annoy a man who had given him a needless half hour not +free from unpleasant possibilities, Grey rose and remarked, smiling, "I +hope when we occupy this town to meet you under more agreeable +circumstances." + +"Sir," said Penhallow, "the painful situation in which I am placed does +not give you the freedom to insult me." + +The Confederate was quite unaware that the Colonel was becoming more and +more a man to fear, "I beg pardon, James," he said, "I was only +anticipating history." As he spoke, he stood securing a neglected button +of his neat uniform. This act strangely exasperated the Colonel. "I will +see you out," he said. "The buttons of the Massachusetts Third might +attract attention." + +"Oh, my cloak covers it," and he threw it carelessly over his shoulders. + +Penhallow said, "I have confessed defeat--you may thank Ann Penhallow." + +"Yes--an unfortunate situation, James. May I have another cigar? Thanks." + +"Sorry I have no whisky, Grey." + +"And I--How it pours! What a downfall!" + +The Colonel was becoming more and more outwardly polite. + +"Good-bye, Henry." + +"_Au revoir_," said the younger man. + +Penhallow went with his brother-in-law down the long corridor, neither +man speaking again. As they passed Josiah, Penhallow said, "I shall want +my horse at five, and shall want you with me." At the head of the stairs +he dismissed his visitor without a further word. Then he turned back +quickly to Josiah and said in a low voice, "Follow that man--don't lose +him. Take your time. It is important--a matter of life and death to +me--to know where he lives. Quick now--I trust you." + +"Yes, sir." He was gone. + +Grey feeling entirely safe walked away in the heavy rain with a mind +at ease and a little sorry as a soldier for the hapless situation with +which Penhallow had had to struggle. When we have known men only in the +every-day business of life or in ordinary social relations, we may quite +fail to credit them with qualities which are never called into activity +except by unusual circumstances. Grey, an able engineer, regarded +Penhallow as a rather slow thinker, a good man of business, and now as a +commonplace, well-mannered officer. He smiled as he thought how his +sister had made her husband in this present predicament what algebraists +call a "negligible quantity." He would have been less easy had he known +that the man he left felt keenly a sense of imperilled honour and of +insult which his relation to Grey forbade him to avenge. He had become a +man alert, observant, and quick to see his way and to act. + +Josiah, with all his hunting instincts aroused, loitered idly after Grey +in the rain, one of the scores of lazy, unnoticeable negroes. He was gone +all the afternoon, and at eight o'clock found Penhallow in his room. "Did +you find where he lives?" asked the Colonel. + +"That man, he lives at 229 Sixteenth Street. Two more live there. They +was in and out all day--and he went to shops and carried things away--" + +"What kind of shops?" + +"Where they sell paper and pens--and 'pothecaries." + +"Sit down--you look tired." It was plain that they were soon about to +move and were buying what was needed in the South--quinine, of course. +But what had been their errand? He said, "Get some supper and come back +soon." + +Then he sat down to think. An engineer of competence lately back from +Europe! His errand--their errand--must be of moment. He took a small +revolver out of a drawer, put in shells, placed it in his breast pocket, +and secured a box of matches. About nine, in a summer thunder-shower of +wind and rain, he followed Josiah and walked to No. 229 Sixteenth Street. +As he stood he asked, + +"How did those men get in, Josiah?" + +"All had keys. Want to get in, Colonel?" + +"Yes, I want to get in. Are there any others in the house--servants--any +one?" + +"No, sir," Josiah said. "I went round to an alley at the back of the +house. There are lights on the second storey. You can get in easy at the +back, sir." + +Seeing a policeman on the opposite pavement, Penhallow at once changed +his plan of entrance, and crossing the street said to the policeman, "Is +this your beat?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Very good! You see I am in uniform. Here is my card. I am on duty at the +War Department. Here is my general pass from the Provost-marshal General. +Come to the gas lamp and read it. Here are ten dollars. I have to get +into No. 229 on Government business. If I do not come out in thirty +minutes, give the alarm, call others and go in. Who lives there?" + +"It is a gambling house--or was--not now." + +"Very good. This is my servant, Josiah. If I get out safely, come to +Willard's to-morrow at nine--use my card--ask for me--and you will not be +sorry to have helped me." + +"You want to get in!" + +"Yes." + +"No use to ring, sir," said Josiah. "There ain't any servants and the +gentlemen, they ate outside. Lord, how it rains!" + +The policeman hesitated. Another ten dollar note changed owners. "Well, +it isn't police duty--and you're not a burglar--" + +The Colonel laughed. "If I were, I'd have been in that house without your +aid." + +"Well, yes, sir. Burglars don't usually take the police into their +confidence. There are no lights except in the second storey. If your +man's not afraid and it's an honest Government job, let him go through +that side alley, get over the fence--I'll help him--and either through a +window or by the cellar he can get in and open the front door for you." + +Josiah laughed low laughter as he crossed the street with the officer and +was lost to view. The Colonel waited at the door. In a few minutes the +man returning said, "Want me with you? He got in easily." + +"No, but take the time when I enter and keep near." They waited. + +"Nine-thirty now, sir." + +"Give me the full time." + +Penhallow went up the steps and knocked at the door. It was opened and he +went in. "Shut the door quietly, Josiah--open if the policeman knocks. +Now, be quiet, and if you hear a shot, or a big row call the police." + +The house below-stairs was in darkness. He took off his shoes and went +into a room on the first floor. Striking a match, he saw only ordinary +furniture. The room back of it revealed to his failing match a roulette +table. He went out into the hall and up the stairs with the utmost +caution to avoid noise. On the second floor the door of the front room +was ajar. They must be careless and confident, he reflected as he +entered. A lighted candle on a pine table dimly illuminated a room in +some confusion. On the floor were two small bags half full of clothes +which he swiftly searched, without revealing anything of moment. A third, +smaller bag lay open on the table. It contained a number of small rolls +of very thin paper, and on the table there were spread out two others. +As he looked, he knew they were admirably drawn sketches of the forts and +the lines of connecting works which defended the city. Making sure no +more papers were to be found, he thrust all of them within his waistcoat, +buttoned it securely, felt for his revolver, and listened. + +In the closed back room there was much mirth and the clink of glasses. +He drew near the door and felt certain that Grey was relating with comic +additions his interview of the morning. Without hesitation he threw open +the door as three men sprang to their feet and Grey covered him with a +revolver. He said quietly, "Sorry to disturb you, gentlemen. Put down +that toy, Grey." + +"No, by Heaven!--not till--" + +"My dear Grey, between me and that pistol stands a woman--as she stood +for your safety this morning. Men who talk, don't shoot. You are all +three in deadly peril--you had better hear me. I could have covered you +all with my revolver. Put down that thing!" + +"Put it down," said the older of the three. Grey laid the weapon on the +table. + +"This is not war," said Penhallow, "and you are three to one. Sit down." +He set the example. "It is clear that you are all Confederate officers +and spies. Let us talk a little. I came on Mr. Grey to-day by accident. +It was my duty to have him arrested; but he is my wife's brother. If a +pistol is heard or I am not out of this, safe, in a few minutes, the +police now on guard will enter--and you are doomed men. I am presumably +on Government business. Now, gentlemen, will you leave at once or in an +hour or less?" + +"I for one accept," said the man who had been silent. + +"And I," said the elder of the party. + +"On your honour?" + +"Yes." + +Grey laughed lightly, "Oh, of course. Our work is done. Speed the parting +guest!" + +"I wish," said the Colonel, rising, "to leave no misapprehension on your +minds--or on that of Mr. Grey. Those admirable sketches left carelessly +on the table are in my pocket. Were they not, you would all three be lost +men. Did you think, Grey, that to save your life or my own I would permit +you to escape with your work? Had I not these papers, your chance of +death would not weigh with me a moment." + +Grey started up. "Don't be foolish, Grey," said the older man. "We have +played and lost. There has been much carelessness--and we have suffered +for it. I accept defeat, Colonel." + +Penhallow looked at the watch in his hand. "You have ten minutes +grace--no, rather less. May I ask of you one thing? You are every hour +in danger, but I too am aware that if this interview be talked about in +Richmond or you are caught, my name may be so used as to make trouble +for me, for how could I explain that to save my wife's brother I connived +at the escape of Confederate officers acting as spies? I ask no pledge, +gentlemen. I merely leave my honour as a soldier in your hands. +Good-night, and don't delay." + +Grey was silent. The older man said, "I permit myself to hope we may meet +some time under more pleasant circumstances--for me, I mean,"--he added, +laughing. "Good-night." + +Penhallow withdrew quickly and found Josiah on guard. He said, "It is all +right--but for sport it beats possum-hunting. Open the door." The rain +was still falling in torrents. "All right," he said to the policeman, +"come and see me to-morrow early." + +"What was the matter, sir? I've got to make my report." + +Then Penhallow saw the possibility of trouble and as quickly that to +bribe further might only make mischief. "Do not come to the hotel, but at +eleven sharp call on me at the War Department on Seventeenth Street. You +have my card. By that time I shall have talked the matter over with the +Secretary. I am not at liberty to talk of it now--and you had better not. +It is a Government affair. You go off duty, when?" + +"At six. You said eleven, sir?" + +"Yes, good-night. Go home, Josiah." + +The Colonel was so wet that the added contributions of water were of no +moment. The soldier in uniform may not carry an umbrella--for reasons +unknown to me. + +Before breakfast next morning Josiah brought him a letter, left at the +hotel too late in the night for delivery. He read it with some amusement +and with an uncertain amount of satisfaction: + +"MY DEAR J: When by evil luck I encountered you, I was sure of three +things. First, that I was safe; then, that we had secured what we wanted; +and last, that our way home was assured. If in my satisfaction I played +the bluff game rather lightly--well, in a way to annoy you--I beg now to +apologize. That I should so stupidly have given away a game already won +is sufficiently humiliating, and the dog on top may readily forgive. You +spoilt a gallant venture, but, by Jove, you did it well! I can't imagine +how you found me! Accept my congratulations. + +"Yours sincerely, + +"G." + +"Confound him! What I suffered don't count. He's just the man he always +was--brave, of course, quixotically chivalrous, a light weight. Ann used +to say he was a grown-up boy and small for his age. Well, he has had his +spanking. Confound him!" He went on thinking of this gay, clever, +inconsiderate, not unlovable man. "If by mishap he were captured while +trying to escape, what then? He would be fool enough to make the venture +in our uniform. There would be swift justice; and only the final appeal +to Caesar. He was with good reason ill at ease. I might indeed have to +ask the President for something." + +He reconsidered his own relation to the adventure as he sat at breakfast, +and saw in it some remainder of danger. At ten o'clock he was with the +Secretary. + +"I want," he said, "to talk to you as my old friend. You are my official +superior and may order me to the North Pole, but now may I re-assume the +other position for a minute and make a confidential statement?" + +"Certainly, Penhallow. I am always free to advise you." + +"I want to say something and to be asked no questions. Am I clear?" + +"Certainly." + +"Thank you. I had an extraordinary adventure yesterday. I am not at +liberty to do more than say that it put me in possession of these plans." +He spread on the table well-drawn sketches of the forts around +Washington. + +Stanton's grim, bearded face grew stern. "You have my word, Penhallow. If +I had not too easily given it we would have been placed in a disagreeable +position. I am debarred from asking you how you came into possession of +these papers. The spies who made them would have been in my power early +this morning--and not even the President's weakness would have saved +their necks." + +Penhallow was silent, but was anxiously watching the angry Secretary, +who swept the papers aside with an impatient gesture, feeling that he +had been so dealt with as to be left without even the relief he too +often found in outbursts of violent language. Penhallow's quiet attitude +reminded him that he could not now take advantage of his official +position to say what was on his mind. + +"Colonel," he said, "I want a report on some better method of getting +remounts for the cavalry." + +"I will consider it, sir." + +"What about that contract for ambulances?" + +"I shall have my report ready to-morrow." + +"That is all." It is to be feared that the next visitor suffered what +Penhallow escaped. + +With no other orders the Colonel left, rewarded the punctual policeman +and went home to write to his wife, infinitely disgusted with the life +before him and behind him, and desiring no more adventures. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +The winter of 1862-63 went by with Sherman's defeat at Vicksburg and +Rosecrans's inconclusive battle of Stone River. The unpopular +Conscription Act in February, 1863, and last of all the discreditable +defeat of Hooker in May at Chancellorsville, disheartened the most +hopeful. + +Meanwhile, Penhallow wrote to his wife with no word of the war, and +poured out his annoyance to Leila with less restraint. + +"DEAR LEILA: I get brief notes from John, who is with the one General +(Grant) who has any luck. The list of discredited commanders good and bad +increases. I am weary beyond measure of the kind of life I lead. I learn +to-day, May 18th, of the progress of the investment of Vicksburg, and of +John as busy at last with his proper work of bridges, corduroy roads and +the siege approaches. + +"The drift homeward of our crippled men, you tell of, is indeed sad. I am +glad that Grace's boy is well; and so Rivers has gone to the army again. +Pole's lad, with the lost arm, must have some work at the mills. Say I +ask it. Good-bye. + +"Yours, JAMES PENHALLOW." + +On the 16th of June the Secretary said to Penhallow, "You know that Lee +has crossed the Potomac. General Hunt has asked to have you put in charge +of the reserve artillery of the Potomac army. I shall relieve you here +and give the order, but I want you for a week longer to clear up +matters." + +Penhallow worked hard up to the time set by Stanton, and meanwhile made +his arrangements to leave for the field. "Now that you are going away," +said Stanton, "I wish to express my warm thanks for admirable service. I +may say to you that Hooker has been removed and Meade put in command." + +"That is good news, indeed, sir. Now the Potomac army will be handled by +a soldier." + +The Secretary had risen to say his parting words, and Penhallow as he +held his hand saw how reluctant he was to let him go. They had long been +friends, and now the Colonel observing his worn face felt for him the +utmost anxiety. A stern, grave man, passionately devoted to his country, +he was the impatient slave of duty. Sometimes hasty, unjust, or even +ungenerous, he was indifferent to the enemies he too needlessly created, +and was hated by many and not loved even by those who respected his +devotion and competence. He spared neither his subordinates nor, least of +all, Edwin Stanton, and spendthrift of vital force and energy went his +way, one of the great war ministers like Carnot and Pitt. Now, as they +stood about to part, he showed feeling with which few would have given +him credit, and for which Penhallow was unprepared. + +"Well," he said, "you are going. I shall miss your help in a life +sometimes lonely, and overcrowded with work. You have been far more +useful here than you could have been in the field. Living and working as +you have done, you have made enemies. The more enemies an honest +gentleman collects the richer he is. You are glad to go--well, don't +think this town a mere great gambling place. It is a focal point--all +that is bad in war seems to be represented here--spies, cheating +contractors, political generals, generals as meek as missionaries. You +have seen the worst of it--the worst. But my dear Penhallow, there is one +comfort, Richmond is just as foul with thieving contractors, +extravagance, intrigue, and spies who report to us with almost the +regularity of the post; and, as with us, there is also honour, honesty, +religion, belief in their cause." The Secretary had spoken at unusual +length and in an unusual mood. When once, before the war, he had spent +a few happy days at Grey Pine, Mrs. Crocker characterized him as "a +yes-and-no kind of man." Now as he walked with his friend to the door, he +said, "Does Mrs. Penhallow know of your change of duty? I am aware of her +feeling about this unhappy strife." + +"No. There will be a battle--time enough--soon enough to write +afterwards, if there should be any earthly afterwards." + +"You are quite right," said the Secretary. "Good-bye. I envy you your +active share in this game." + +Penhallow, as for the last time he went down the outer steps, looked +back at the old brick war-office on Seventeenth Street. He felt the +satisfaction of disagreeable duty well done. Then he recalled with some +sense of it as being rather ridiculous his adventure with Henry Grey. In +a far distant day he would tell Ann. As he halted at the foot of the +steps, he thought of his only interview with Lincoln. The tall figure +with the sombre face left in his memory that haunting sense of the +unusual of which others had spoken and which was apt to disappear upon +more familiar acquaintance. + +On the morning of June 28 in this year 1863, Leila riding from the +mills paused a minute to take note of the hillside burial-ground, +dotted here and there with pitiful little linen flags, sole memorials +of son or father--the victims of war. "One never can get away from it," +she murmured, and rode on into Westways. Sitting in the saddle she waited +patiently at the door of the post-office. Mrs. Crocker was distributing +letters and newspapers. An old Quaker farmer was reading aloud on the +pavement the latest news. + +"There ain't no list of killed and wounded," he said. Forgetful of the +creed of his sect, his son was with the army. He read, "The Rebels have +got York--that's sure--and Carlisle too. They are near Harrisburg." + +"Oh, but we have burned the bridge over the Susquehanna," said some one. + +Another and younger man with his arm in a sling asked, "Are they only +cavalry?" + +"No, General Ewell is in command. There are infantry." + +"Where is Lee?" + +"I don't make that out." They went away one by one, sharing the +uneasiness felt in the great cities. + +Leila called out, "Any letters, Mrs. Crocker? This is bad news." + +"Here's one for you--it came in a letter to me. I was to give it to you +alone." + +Leila tore it open and read it. "Any bad news, Leila?" + +"Yes, Uncle James is with the army. I should not have told you. +General Meade is in command. Aunt Ann is not to know. There will be +a battle--after that he will write--after it. Please not to mention +where Uncle Jim is. When is your nephew to be buried--at the mills?" + +"At eleven to-morrow." + +"I shall be there. Aunt Ann will send flowers. Poor boy! he has lingered +long." + +"And he did so want to go back to the army. You see, he was that weak he +cried. He was in the colour-guard and asked to have the flag hung on the +wall. Any news of our John? I dreamed about him last night, only he had +long curly locks--like he used to have." + +"No, not a word." + +"Has Mr. Rivers got back?" + +"No, he is still with the army. You know, aunt sends him with money for +the Sanitary." + +"Yes, the Sanitary Commission--we all know." + +Leila turned homeward seeing the curly locks. "Oh, to be a man now!" she +murmured. She was bearing the woman's burden. + +Mrs. Crocker called after her, "You forgot the papers." + +"Burn them," said Leila. "I have heard enough--and more than enough, and +Aunt Ann never reads them." + +Penhallow had found time to visit his home twice in the winter, but found +there little to please him. His wife was obviously feeling the varied +strain of war, and Leila showed plainly that she too was suffering. He +returned to his work unhappy, a discontented and resolutely dutiful man, +hard driven by a relentless superior. Now, at last, the relief of action +had come. + +No one who has not lived through those years of war can imagine the +variety of suffering which darkened countless homes throughout the +land. At Grey Pine, Ann Penhallow living in a neighbourhood which was +hostile to her own political creed was deeply distressed by the fact +that on both sides were men dear to her. It must have been a too common +addition to the misery of war and was not in some cases without +passionate resentment. There were Northern men in the service of the +Confederacy, and of the Southern graduates from West Point nearly fifty +per cent, had remained loyal to the flag, as they elected to understand +loyalty. The student of human motives may well be puzzled, for example, +to explain why two of the most eminent soldiers of the war, both being +men of the highest character and both Virginians should have decided to +take different sides. + +Some such reflection occupied Leila Grey's mind as she rode away. Many +of the officers now in one of the two armies had dined or stayed a few +pleasant days at Grey Pine. For one of them, Robert Lee, Penhallow had +a warm regard. She remembered too General Scott, a Virginian, and her +aunt's Southern friend Drayton, the man whom a poet has since described +when with Farragut as "courtly, gallant and wise." "Ah, me!" she +murmured, "duty must be at times a costly luxury.--A costly necessity," +she concluded, was better--that left no privilege of choice. She smiled, +dismissing the mental problem, and rode on full of anxiety for those she +loved and her unfortunate country. Our most profound emotions are for the +greater souls dumb and have no language if it be not that of prayer, or +the tearful overflow which means so much and is so mysteriously helpful. +She found both forms of expression when she knelt that night. + +In the afternoon the refreshing upland coolness of evening followed on +the humid heat of a hot June day. Towards sunset Ann Penhallow, to her +niece's surprise, drew on her shawl and said she would like to walk +down to the little river. Any proposal to break the routine of a life +unwholesome in its monotony was agreeable to Leila. No talk of the war +was possible. When Ann Penhallow now more and more rarely and with effort +went on her too frequently needed errands of relief or consolation, the +village people understood her silence about the war, and accepting her +bounty somewhat resented an attitude of mind which forbade the pleasant +old familiarity of approach. + +The life was unhealthy for Leila, and McGregor watched its influence with +affection and some professional apprehension. Glad of any change, Leila +walked with her aunt through the garden among the roses in which now her +aunt took no interest. They heard the catbirds carolling in the hedges, +and Ann thought of the day a year ago when she listened to them with +James Penhallow at her side. They reached in silence an open space above +the broad quiet backwater. Beyond a low beach the river flowed by, wide +and smooth, a swift stream. From the western side the sunset light fell +in widening shafts of scarlet across the water. + +"Let us sit here," said the elder woman. "I am too weak to walk +further"--for her a strange confession. As they sat down on the mossy +carpet, Leila caught the passive hand of her aunt. + +"I suppose you still swim here, every morning, Leila? I used to like +it--I have now no heart for anything." + +Leila could only say, "Why not, aunt?" + +"How can you ask me! I think--I dream of nothing but this unnatural war." + +"Is that wise, aunt? or as Dr. McGregor would say, 'wholesome'?" + +"It is not; but I cannot help it--it darkens my whole life. Billy was up +at the house this morning talking in his wild way. I did not even try to +understand, but"--and she hesitated--"I suppose I had better know." + +This was strange to Leila, who too hesitated, and then concluding to be +frank returned, "It might have been better, aunt, if you had known all +along what was going on--" + +"What would have been the use?" said her aunt in a tone of languid +indifference. "It can end in but one way." + +A sensation of anger rose dominant in the mind of the girl. It was hard +to bear. She broke out into words of passionate resentment--the first +revolt. "You think only of your dear South--of your friends--your +brother--" + +"Leila!" + +She was past self-control or other control. "Well, then, be glad Lee is +in Pennsylvania--General Ewell has taken York and Hagerstown--there will +be a great battle. May God help the right--my country!" + +"General Lee," cried Ann; "Lee in Pennsylvania! Then that will +end the war. I am glad James is safe in Washington." Leila already +self-reproachful, was silent. + +To tell her he was with the army of the North would be cruel and was what +James Penhallow had forbidden. + +"He is in Washington?" asked Ann anxiously. + +"When last I heard, he was in Washington, aunt, and as you know, John is +before Vicksburg with General Grant." + +"They will never take it--never." + +"Perhaps not, Aunt Ann," said Leila, penitent. The younger woman was +disinclined to talk and sat quiet, one of the millions who were wondering +what the next few days would bring. + +The light to westward was slowly fading as she remained with hands +clasped about her knees and put aside the useless longing to know what +none could know. Her anger was gone as she caught with a side glance +the frail look of Ann Penhallow. She felt too the soothing benediction +of the day's most sacred hour. + +Of a sudden Ann Penhallow bounded to her feet. A thunderous roar +broke on the evening stillness. The smooth backwater shivered and the +cat-tails and reeds swayed, as the sound struck echoes from the hills and +died away. Leila caught and stayed the swaying figure. "It is only the +first of the great new siege guns they are trying on the lower meadows. +Sit down, dear, for a moment. Do be careful--you are getting"--she +hesitated--"hysterical. There will be another presently. Do sit down, +dear aunt. Don't be nervous." She was alarmed by her aunt's silent +statuesque position. She could have applied no wiser remedy than her +warning advice. No woman likes to be told she is nervous or hysterical +and now it acted with the certainty of a charm. + +"I am not nervous--it was so sudden. I was startled." She turned away +with a quick movement of annoyance, releasing herself from Leila's arm. +"Let's go home. Oh, my God!" she cried, as once again the cannon-roar +shook the leaves on the upward slope before them. "It is the voice of +war. Can I never get away from it--never--never?" + +"You will not be troubled again to-day," said the girl, "and the smaller +guns on the further meadow we hardly notice at the house." + +Ann's steps quickened. She had been scared at her own realization of +her want of self-government and was once more in command of her emotions. +"Do not talk to me, Leila. I was quite upset--I am all right now." + +The great guns were sent away next day on their errands of destruction. +Then the two lonely women waited as the whole country waited for news +which whatever it might be would carry grief to countless homes. + +On the second day of July, 1863, under a heavy cloud of dust which hung +high in air over the approach of the Baltimore Pike to Gettysburg, the +long column of the reserve artillery of the Potomac army rumbled along +the road, and more and more clearly the weary men heard the sound of +cannon. About ten in the morning the advance guard was checked and the +line came to a halt. James Penhallow, who since dawn had been urging on +his command, rode in haste along the side of the cumbered road to where a +hurrying brigade of infantry crossing his way explained why his guns were +thus brought to a standstill. He saw that he must wait for the foot +soldiers to go by. The cannoneers dismounted from the horses or dropped +off the caissons, and glad of a rest lit their pipes and lay down or +wandered about in search of water. + +The Colonel, pleased to be on time, was in gay good-humour as he talked +to the men or listened to the musketry fire far to the left. He said to a +group of men, "We are all as grey as the Rebs, boys, but it is good +Pennsylvania dust." As he spoke a roar of laughter was heard from the +neighbourhood of the village cemetery on his right. He rode near it and +saw the men gathered before an old notice board. He read: "Any person +found using fire arms in this vicinity will be prosecuted according to +law." Penhallow shook with laughter. "Guess we'll have to be right +careful, Colonel," said a sergeant. + +"You will, indeed." + +"It's an awful warning, boys," said a private. "Shouldn't wonder if Bob +Lee set it up to scare us." + +"I'd like to take it home." They chaffed the passing infantry, and were +answered in kind. Penhallow impatient saw that the road would soon be +clear. As he issued quick orders and men mounted in haste, a young aide +rode up, saluted, and said, "I have orders, Colonel, from General Hunt +to guide you to where he desires your guns to be parked." + +"One moment," said Penhallow; "the road is a tangle of wagons:" and to +a captain, "Ride on and side-track those wagons; be quick too." Then he +said to the aide, "We have a few minutes--how are things going? I heard +of General Reynold's death, and little more." + +"Yes, we were outnumbered yesterday and--well licked. Why they did not +rush us, the Lord knows!" + +"Give me some idea of our position." + +"Well, sir, here to our right is Cemetery Hill, strongly held; to your +left the line turns east and then south in a loop to wooded hills--one +Culp's, they call it. That is our right. There is a row on there as you +can hear. Before us as we stand our position runs south along a low ridge +and ends on two pretty high-wooded hills they call Round Tops. That's +our left. From our front the ground slopes down some forty feet or so, +and about a mile away the Rebs hold the town seminary and a long low rise +facing us." + +"Thank you, that seems pretty clear. There is firing over beyond the +cemetery?" + +"Yes, the skirmishers get cross now and then. The road seems clear, sir." + +Orders rang out and the guns rattled up the pike like some monstrous +articulated insect, all encumbering wagons being swept aside to make way +for the privileged guns. + +"You are to park here, sir, on the open between this and the Taneytown +road. There is a brook--a creek." + +"Thanks, that is clear." + +The ground thus chosen lay some hundred yards behind the low crest held +midway of our line by the Second Corps, whence the ground fell away in a +gentle slope. The space back of our line was in what to a layman's eye +would have seemed the wildest confusion of wagons, ambulances, ammunition +mules, cattle, and wandering men. It was slowly assuming some order as +the Provost Guard, dusty, despotic and cross, ranged the wagons, drove +back stragglers, and left wide lanes for the artillery to move at need to +the front. + +The colonel spent some hours in getting his guns placed and in seeing +that no least detail was lacking. With orders about instant readiness, +with a word of praise here, of sharp criticism there, he turned away a +well-contented man and walked up the slope in search of the headquarters. +As he approached the front, he saw the bushy ridge in which, or back of +which, the men lay at rest. Behind them were surgeons selecting partially +protected places for immediate aid, stretcher-bearers, ambulances and all +the mechanism of help for the wounded. Officers were making sure that men +had at hand one hundred rounds of ammunition. + +Some three hundred yards behind the mid-centre of the Second Corps, on +the Taneytown road, Penhallow was directed to a small, rather shabby +one-storey farm-house. "By George," he murmured, "here is one general who +means to be near the front." He was met at the door by the tall handsome +figure of General Hancock, a blue-eyed man with a slight moustache over a +square expressively firm jaw. + +"Glad to see you, Penhallow. Meade was anxious--I knew you would be on +time. Come in." + +Penhallow saw before him a mean little room, on one side a wide bed with +a gaudy coverlet, on a pine table in the centre a bucket of water, a tin +cup, and a candle-stick. Five rickety rush-covered chairs completed the +furnishings. + +Meade rose from study of the map an engineer officer was explaining. He +was unknown to Penhallow, who observed him with interest--a tall spare +man with grey-sprinkled dark hair a large Roman nose and spectacles over +wide blue eyes; a gentleman of the best, modest, unassuming, and now +carelessly clad. + +"Colonel Penhallow," said Hancock. + +"Glad to see you." He turned to receive with evident pleasure a report of +the morning's fight on the right wing, glanced without obvious interest +at the captured flag of the Stonewall Brigade, and greeted the colonel +warmly. "I can only offer you water," he said. "Sit down. You may like to +look over this map." + +While the Commander wrote orders and despatched aide after aide, +Penhallow bent over the map. "You see," said Hancock, "we have unusual +luck for us in a short interior line. I judge from the moving guidons +that Lee is extending his front--it may be six miles long." + +"And ours?" + +"Well, from wing to wing across the loop to right, not half of that." + +"I see," said Penhallow, and accepting a drink of tepid water he went out +to find and report to the chief of artillery, General Hunt. + +He met him with General John Gibbon and two aides a few yards from the +door, and making his brief report learned as he moved away that there +was some trouble on the left wing. Meade coming out with Hancock, they +mounted and rode away in haste, too late to correct General Sickles' +unfortunate decision to improve General Meade's battle-line. It was +not Penhallow's business, nor did he then fully understand that costly +blunder. Returning to his guns, he sent, as Hunt had ordered, two of +his reserve batteries up to the back of the line of the Second Corps, +and finding General Gibbon temporarily in command walked with him to +what is now called the "Crest" and stood among Cushing's guns. Alertly +interested, Penhallow saw to the left, half hidden by bushes and a +clump of trees, a long line of infantry lying at ease, their muskets in +glittering stacks behind them. To the right the ground was more open. A +broken stone fence lay in front of the Second Corps. It was patched with +fence rails and added stone, and where the clump of trees projected in +advance of the line made a right angle and extended thence in front of +the batteries on the Crest about thirty yards. Then it met a like right +angle of stone fencing and followed the line far to the right. Behind +these rude walls lay the Pennsylvania and New York men, three small +regiments. Further back on a little higher ground was the silent array of +cannon, thus able at need to fire over the heads of the guarding +infantry, now idly lying at rest in the baking heat of a July morning. +The men about the cannon lounged at ease on the ground in the forty foot +interspaces between the batteries, some eighteen pieces in all. + +Suddenly an aide rode up, and saying, "See you again, Penhallow," Gibbon +rode away in haste. Penhallow, who was carefully gathering in all that +could then be seen from the locality, moved over to where a young battery +captain was leaning against a cannon wheel wiping the sweat from his face +or gazing over the vale below him, apparently lost in thought. "Captain +Cushing, I believe," said the colonel. "I am Colonel Penhallow, in +command of the reserve artillery." + +"Indeed!" said the young officer. "These are some of your guns--" + +"Not mine--I was out of it long ago. They still carry the brand of my old +iron-mills." + +"We shall see, sir, that they do honour to your name." + +"I am sure of that," returned the colonel, looking at the face of the +officer, who as he spoke patted the gun beside him in an affectionate +way. + +"It seems very peaceful," he said. + +"Yes, yes," returned Penhallow, "very." + +They looked for a moment of silence down the vale before them, where a +mile away the ground rose to a low ridge, beyond which in woody shelters +lay the hostile lines. + +"What road is that?" asked Penhallow. "It leaves our right and crosses to +enter Lee's right." + +"The Emmitsburg Pike, sir." + +The Colonel's glass searched the space before him. "I see some fine +farm-houses--deserted, of course, and wheat fields no man will reap this +year." He spoke thoughtfully, and as Woodruff of the nearer battery +joined them, the roar of cannon broke the stillness. + +"Far on our left," said Woodruff. At the sound, the men sprang to their +feet and took their stations. Smoke rose and clouded their view of the +distant field where on our left a fury of battle raged, while the rattle +of infantry volleys became continuous. No more words were spoken. Through +the long afternoon the unseen fight went on in front of the Round Tops. +As it came nearer and the grey lines were visible, the guns on the Crest +opened a lively fire and kept up their destructive business until the +approach of the enemy ceased to extend towards our centre and fell away +in death or disorderly flight. About sunset this varied noise subsided +and the remote sound of cheering was heard. + +"We must have won," said General Webb, the brigade commander. "It was a +flanking movement. How little any one man knows of a battle!" + +"By George! I am glad of a let up," said the young Captain. "I am vilely +dirty." He wiped the grime and sweat from his face and threw himself on +the ground as Generals Hunt and Gibbon rode up. + +"No great damage here, I see, Webb. They got awfully licked, but it was +near to something else." + +Questioned by Penhallow, they heard the news of our needless loss and +final triumphant repulse of the enemy. Hunt said emphatic things about +political generals and their ways. "He lost a leg," said Gibbon, "and I +think to have lost his life would have been, fortunate. They are at it +still on the right, but the Twelfth Corps has gone back to Culp's Hill +and Ewell will get his share of pounding--if it be his corps." + +"Then we may get some sleep," said Penhallow, as he moved away. "I have +had very little for two nights." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +It was near to seven when he went down to his parked guns, seeing as he +went that the ways were kept clear, and finding ready hot coffee and +broiled chicken. + +"Where did you get this, Josiah?" he asked. + +"Kind of came in, sir--know'd he was wanted--laid two eggs." The colonel +laughed and asked no further questions. + +"Pull off my boots. Horses all right?" + +"Yes, sir." + +Without-undressing he fell on his camp-bed and, towards dusk thinking +with grim humour of his wife and the Penhallow guns, fell asleep. About +four in the morning the mad clamour of battle awakened him. He got up and +went out of the tent. The night air was hot and oppressive. Far to our +right there was the rattle of musketry and the occasional upward flare of +cannon flashes against low-lying clouds. From the farthest side of the +Taneytown road at the rear he heard the rattle of ambulances arriving +from the field of fight to leave the wounded in tent hospitals. They came +slowly, marked by their flickering lanterns, and were away again more +swiftly. He gave some vague thought to the wounded and to the surgeons, +for whom the night was as the day. At sunrise he went up past the already +busy headquarters and came to the bush-hidden lines, where six thousand +men of the Second Corps along a half mile of the irregular far-stretched +Crest were up and busy. Fires were lighted, coffee boiled and biscuits +munched. An air of confidence and gaiety among the men pleased him as he +paused to give a sergeant a pipe light and divided his tobacco among a +thankful group of ragged soldiers. All was quiet. An outpost skirmish on +the right, as a man said, "was petering out." He paused here and there to +talk to the men, and was interested to hear them discussing with +intelligence the advantage of our short line. Now and then the guns far +to left or right quarrelled, but at eleven in the morning this third of +July all was quiet except the murmurous noise of thousands of men who +talked or lay at rest in the bushes or contrived a refuge from the sun +under shelter of a canvas hung on ramrods. + +Generals Gibbon and Webb, coming near, promised him a late breakfast, +and he went with them to the little peach orchard near the headquarters +on the Taneytown road. They sat down on mess-chests or cracker-boxes, +and to Penhallow's amusement Josiah appeared with John, the servant +of Gibbon, for Josiah was, as he said, on easy terms with every black +servant in the line. Presently Hancock rode up with Meade. Generals +Newton and Pleasanton also appeared, and with their aides joined them. +These men were officially Penhallow's superiors, and although Hancock +and Gibbon were his friends, he made no effort to take part in the +discussion in regard to what the passing day would bring. He had his +own opinion, but no one asked for it and he smoked in an undisturbed +private council of war. + +At last, as he rose, Newton said, "You knew John Reynolds well, +Penhallow. A moment before he fell, his aide had begged him to fall +back to a less dangerous position." + +"He was my friend--a soldier of the best." + +"The Pennsylvanians are in force to-day--you and I and--" + +"Oh, colonels don't count," laughed Penhallow; "but there are Meade, +Hancock, Gregg, Humphreys, Hays, Gibbon, Geary, Crawford--" + +Hancock said, "We Pennsylvanians hold the lowest and weakest point of our +line--all Pennsylvanians on their own soil." + +"Yes, but they will not attack here," said Newton. + +"Oh, do you think so?" said Hancock. "Wait a little." + +The headquarters' ambulance drove up with further supplies. The chickens +were of mature age, but every one was hungry. Cigars and pipes were +lighted, and Newton chaffed Gibbon as the arrogant young brigadier in +command for the time of Hancock's Corps. The talk soon fell again upon +the probabilities of the day. Penhallow listened. Meade grave and silent +sat on a cracker-box and ate in an absent way, or scribbled orders, and +at last directed that the picked body of men, the provost's guards, +should join their regimental commands. About a quarter to noon the +generals one by one rode away. + +Having no especial duty, Penhallow walked to where on the Crest the +eighteen guns were drawn up. The sky was clear as yet, a windless, hot +day. Gibbon joined him. + +"What next?" said Gibbon, as Penhallow clambered up and stood a tall +figure on the limber of one of Cushing's guns, his field glass searching +the valley and the enemy's position. "Isn't it like a big chess-board?" + +"Yes--their skirmishers look like grey posts, and our own blue. They seem +uneasy." + +"Aren't they just like pawns in the game!" remarked Captain Haskell of +the Staff. + +Penhallow, intent, hardly heard them, but said presently, "There are +guidons moving fast to their right." + +"Oh, artillery taking position. We shall hear from them," returned +Gibbon. "Hancock thinks that being beaten on both flanks, Lee will attack +our centre, and this is the lowest point." + +"Well," said Haskell, "it would be madness--can Lee remember Malvern +Hill?" + +"I wonder what Grant is doing?" remarked Gibbon. At that time, seated +under an oak, watched at a distance by John Penhallow and a group of +officers, he was dictating to unlucky Pemberton the terms of Vicksburg's +surrender. + +Penhallow got down from his perch and wandered among the other guns, +talking to the men who were lying on the sod, or interested in the +battery horses behind the shelter of trees quietly munching the thin +grasses. He returned to Cushing's guns, and being in the mental attitude +of intense attention to things he would not usually have noticed, he was +struck with the young captain's manly build, and then with his delicacy +of feature, something girl-like and gentle in his ways. + +Penhallow remarked that the guns so hot already from the sun would be too +easily overheated when they were put to use. "Ah," returned Cushing, "but +will they be asked to talk today?" The innocent looking smile and the +quick flash of wide-opened eyes told of his wish to send messages across +the vale. + +"Yes, I think so," said the colonel; "I think so,"--and again observant +he saw the slight figure straighten and a quite other look of tender +sadness come upon his face. + +"How quiet they are--how very quiet!" Then he laughed merrily. "See that +dog on the Emmitsburg road. He doesn't know which side he's on." + +Penhallow looked at his watch. "It is one o'clock." Then his glass was +up. "Ah!" he exclaimed, as he closed it, "now we shall catch it. I +thought as much." + +A mile away, far on Lee's right, on the low ridge in front of his +position, a flash of light was seen. As the round ring of smoke shot +out from the cannon, the colonel remembered the little Leila's delight +when he blew smoke rings as they sat on the porch. Instantly a second +gun spoke. The two shells flew over our line and lit far to the rear, +while at once along Lee's position a hundred and fifty guns rang out and +were instantly answered by our own artillery from Round Top to Cemetery +Hill. General Hunt beside him replying to the quick questions he put, +said, "We could not place over seventy-five guns--not room enough." + +"Is that all? They are distributing their favours along our whole front." + +At once a vast shroud of smoke rose and hid both lines, while out of it +flew countless shell and roundshot. At first most of the Confederate +missiles flew high and fell far behind our Crest. The two officers were +coolly critical as they stood between the batteries. + +"He must think our men are back of the guns like his own. The wall and +bushes hide them." + +"The fuses are too long," said Hunt quietly. "That's better and worse," +he added, as a shell exploded near by and one of Woodruff's guns went out +of action and the ground was strewn with the dead and wounded. "We shall +want some of your guns." + +Penhallow went in haste to the rear. What he saw was terrible. The iron +hail of shells fell fast around him on the wide open space or even as far +away as the hospital tents. On or near the Taneytown road terror-stricken +wagon-drivers were flying, ammunition mules were torn to pieces or lying +mangled; a shell exploded in a wagon,--driver, horses and a load of bread +were gone. Horses lay about, dead or horribly torn; one horse hitched to +a tree went on cropping grass. Penhallow missed nothing. He was in the +mood peril always brought. Men said he was a slow, sure thinker, and +missed seeing things which did not interest him. Now he was gay, tuned to +the highest pitch of automatic watchfulness, as this far-sent storm of +bursting shells went over and past the troops it was meant to destroy. +Hurrying through it he saw the wide slope clear rapidly of what was left +of active life. He laughed as a round shot knocked a knapsack off a man's +back. The man unhurt did not stay to look for it. Once the colonel +dropped as a shell lit near him. It did not explode. He ejaculated, +"Pshaw," and went on. He came near the Taneytown road to find that his +artillery had suffered. A score of harnessed horses lay dead or horribly +mangled. His quick orders sent up to the front a dozen guns. Some were +horsed, some were pulled with ropes by the cheering, eager cannoneers. +Their way was up the deserted slope, "well cleared by the enemy," thought +Penhallow with a smile. Once he looked back and saw the far flight of a +shell end in or near an ambulance of the wounded beyond the Taneytown +road. + +During his absence gun after gun had been disabled and a caisson +exploded; the gun crews lay dead or wounded. What more horribly disturbed +Penhallow was the hideous screams of the battery horses. "Ah! the pity of +it. They had no cause to die for--no duty--no choice." As he assisted in +replacing the wreckage of the guns, he still heard the cries of the +animals who so dumb in peace found in torture voices of anguish unheard +before--unnatural, strange. The appalling tempest of shells screamed on +and on, while the most of them fell beyond the Crest. Penhallow looked up +to note their flight. They darted overhead shrill-voiced or hissing. +There was a white puff of smoke, a red flash, and an explosion. + +General Gibbon, coming back from the long line of his corps, said, "My +men have suffered very little, but the headquarters behind them are in +ruin. Meade has moved back." As he spoke the shells began to fall on the +Crest. + +"They seem to be more attentive to us," said the battery Captain +Woodruff. "Thought we'd catch it!" + +"Horrible!--Those horses, Gibbon," said Penhallow. + +At last there seemed to be more concentrated firing on the Crest. Many +shells fell near the imperfect wall-shelter of the crouching men, while +others exploded among the lines to left or right in the bushes. + +"They are doing better now, confound them!" said the young general +coolly. "Our men at the wall seem disturbed. + +"Come with me," he said to Penhallow and Haskell of the Staff, who had +just joined them. + +They went down in front of the guns to where behind the low wall lay the +two thin lines of the Pennsylvania regiments. He spoke to the Colonel of +the 71st, who with other officers was afoot encouraging the men. + +"Keep cool, boys," said Gibbon. + +The men laughed. "Oh, we're all right, General, but we ain't cool." + +Gibbon laughed. "Let us go over the wall and try to see a little better," +said Penhallow. + +A hundred yards beyond the lines they sat down. The ceaseless rain of +shot and shell from both sides went over them, the canopy of smoke being +so high above that the interspace between the lines was now more or less +visible. Far beyond them our skirmish outposts were still motionless on +guard; and yet further farms and houses, some smoking in ruin, lay among +the green fields along the Emmitsburg Pike. + +"It is pretty safe here," said the Corps Commander, while far above them +the shells sang their war notes. + +Penhallow looked back. "They've got the range--there goes one of the +guns--oh! and another." + +"Let's go back," said Gibbon, rising, "we are too safe here." + +They laughed at his reason and followed him, Haskell remarking on the +lessening of the fire. As they moved about the forty-foot spaces between +the disabled batteries, the last cannon-ball rolled by them and bounded +down the slope harmless. At once there was movement,--quick orders, +officers busy, as fresh cannon replaced the wrecked pieces. Many of +the unhurt cannoneers lay down utterly exhausted. The dead were drawn +aside, while the wounded crawled away or were cared for by the +stretcher-bearers and surgeons. Meanwhile the dense, hot, smoke-pall +rose slowly and drifted away. The field-glasses were at once in use. + +"It is half-past two," said General Hunt; "what next? Oh! our skirmishers +are falling back." + +"They are going to attack," said Haskell, "and can they mean our whole +line--or where?" + +The cannoneers were called to their pieces, and silently expectant the +little group waited on the fateful hour, while the orderly quiet of +discipline was to be seen on the Crest. The field-glasses of the officers +were searching with intense interest the more and more visible vale. + +"Pretty plain now, Gibbon," said Hunt. + +"Yes, we are in for it." + +"They are forming," said Penhallow. A line appeared from the low swell of +ground in front of Lee's position--then a second and a third. Muskets and +bayonets flashed in the sun. + +"Can you make out their flags?" asked Gibbon, "or their numbers?" + +"Not the flags." He waited intent, watchful. No one spoke--minute after +minute went by. At last Penhallow answered. "A long line--a good half +mile--quite twelve thousand--oh, more--more. Now they are advancing _en +échelon_." + +To left, to right, along our lines was heard the thud, thud, of the +ramrods, and percussion-cap boxes were slid around the waist to be handy. +Penhallow and others drew their pistols. The cannon were now fully +replaced, the regimental flags unrolled, and on the front line, long +motionless, the trefoil guidons of the two divisions of the Second Corps +fluttered feebly. The long row of skirmishers firing fell back more and +more rapidly, and came at last into our lines. + +Penhallow said, turning to Gibbon, "They have--I think--they have no +supporting batteries--that is strange." Haskell and Gibbon had gone as he +spoke and the low crest was free at this point of all but the artillery +force. To left, the projecting clump of trees and the lines of the Second +Corps--all he could see--were ominously quiet. + +Gibbon came back to the crest. He said, "We may need backing if they +concentrate on us; here our line is too thin." And still the orderly grey +columns came on silently, without their usual charging-yell. + +"Ah!" exclaimed Penhallow without lowering his glass, as he gazed to our +left. The clamour of cannon broke out from little Round Top. + +"Rifles!" exclaimed Gibbon. "Good!" Their left made no reply, but seemed +to draw away from the fire. + +"I can see no more," said the Colonel, "but they stopped at the +Emmitsburg road." + +The acrid odour of musketry drifted across the field as he turned to +gaze at the left wing of the fast coming onset. Far to our right they +came under the fire of Cemetery Hill and of an advanced Massachusetts +regiment. He saw the blue flags of Virginia sway, fall, and rise no +more, while scattered and broken the Confederates fled or fell under +the fury of the death messages from above the long-buried dead of the +village graves. "Now then, Cushing!" cried Hunt, and the guns on the +Crest opened fire. + +It was plain that the long Confederate lines, frayed on each flank, had +crowded together making a vast wedge of attack. Then all along our miles +of troops a crackle of musketry broke out, the big guns bellowing. The +field was mostly lost to view in the dense smoke, under which the +charging-force halted and steadily returned the fire. + +"I can't see," cried Cushing near by. + +"Quite three hundred yards or more," said the colonel, "and you are hurt, +Cushing. Go to the rear." The blood was streaming down his leg. + +"Not I--it is nothing. Hang those fellows!" A New York battery gallantly +run in between disabled guns crowded Cushing's cannon. He cried, "Section +one to the front, by hand!" + +He was instantly obeyed. As he went with it to the front near to the +wall, followed by Penhallow, he said, "It is my last canister, colonel. I +can't see well." + +Dimly seen figures in the dense smoke were visible here and there some +two hundred yards away, with flutter of reeling battle-flags in the +smoke, while more and more swiftly the wedge of men came on, losing +terribly by the fire of the men at the wall along the lines. + +Cushing stood with the lanyard of the percussion trigger in his hand. +It seems inconceivable, but the two men smiled. Then he cried, "My +God!"--his figure swayed, he held his left hand over a ghastly wound +in his side, and as he reeled pulled the lanyard. He may have seen +the red flash, and then with a bullet through the open mouth fell dead +across the trail of his gun. + +For a moment Penhallow was the only officer of rank near the silent +battery. Where Cushing's two guns came too near the wall, the men moved +away to the sides leaving an unguarded space. Checked everywhere to +right and left, the assailants crowded on to the clump of trees and to +where the Pennsylvania line held the stone wall. Ignorant of the ruin +behind them, the grey mass came on with a rush through the smoke. The +men in blue, losing terribly, fell back from a part of the wall in +confusion--a mere mob--sweeping Webb, Penhallow and others with them, +swearing and furious. Two or three hundred feet back they stopped, a +confused mass. General Webb, Haskell and other officers rallied them. The +red flags gathered thicker, where the small units of many commands stood +fast under the shelter of a portion of the lost wall. Penhallow looked +back and saw the Massachusetts flags--our centre alone had given way. +The flanks of the broken regiments still held the wall and poured in a +murderous fire where the splendid courage of the onset halted, unwilling +to fly, unable to go on. + +Webb, furious, rallied his men, while Penhallow, Haskell and Gibbon +vainly urged an advance. A colour-sergeant ran forward and fell dead. A +corporal caught up the flag and dropped. A Confederate general leaped +over the deserted wall and laid a hand on Cushing's gun. He fell +instantly at the side of the dead captain, as with a sudden roar of fury +the broken Pennsylvanians rolled in a disordered mass of men and officers +against the disorganized valour which held the wall. + +The smoke held--still holds, the secret of how many met the Northern men +at the wall; how long they fought among Cushing's guns, on and over the +wall, no man who came out of it could tell. Penhallow emptied his +revolver and seizing a musket fought the brute battle with the men who +used fists, stones, gun-rammers--a howling mob of blue and grey. And so +the swaying flags fell down under trampling men and the lost wall was +won. The fight was over. Men fell in scores, asking quarter. The flanking +fires had been merciless, and the slope was populous with dead and +wounded men, while far away the smoke half hid the sullen retreat of the +survivors. The prearranged mechanism of war became active. Thousands of +prisoners were being ordered to the rear. Men stood still, gasping, +breathless or dazed. As Penhallow stood breathing hard, from the right +wing, among the long silent dead of Cemetery Hill, arose a wild hurrah. +It gathered volume, rolled down the long line of corps after corps, and +died away among the echoes of the Pennsylvania hills. He looked about him +trying to recover interest. Some one said that Hancock and Gibbon were +wounded. The rush of the _mêlée_ had carried him far down the track of +the charge, and having no instant duty he sat down, his clothes in +tatters. As he recovered strength, he was aware of General Meade on +horseback with an aide. The general, white and grave, said to Haskell, +"How has it gone here?" + +An officer cried, "They are beaten," showing two flags he held. + +Meade said sharply: "Damn the flags! Are the men gone?" + +"Yes, sir, the attack is over." + +He uncovered, said only, "Thank God!" gave some rapid orders and rode +away beside the death-swath, careful, as Penhallow saw, to keep his horse +off of the thirty scattered flags, many lying under or over the brave who +had fought and lost in this memorable charge. + +Penhallow could have known of the battle only what he had seen, but a few +words from an officer told him that nowhere except at this part of the +line of the Second Corps had the attack been at all fortunate. + +On the wide field of attack our ambulance corps was rescuing the hundreds +of wounded Confederates, many of them buried, helpless, beneath the +bodies of the motionless dead. Two soldiers stood near him derisively +flaunting flags. + +"Quit that," cried the Colonel, "drop them!" The men obeyed. + +"Death captured them--not we," said Penhallow, and saw that he was +speaking to a boyish Confederate lieutenant, who had just dragged himself +limping out of the ghastly heap of dead. + +Touching his forehead in salute, he said, "Thank you, sir. Where shall I +go?" + +"Up there," replied the colonel. "You will be cared for." + +The man limped away followed by Penhallow, who glanced at the torn +Confederate banners lying blood-stained about the wall and beyond it. He +read their labels--Manassas, Chancellorsville, Sharpsburg. One marked +Fredericksburg lay gripped in the hand of a dead sergeant. He crossed the +wall to look for the body of the captain of the battery; men were lifting +it. "My God!--Poor boy!" murmured the colonel, as he looked on the white +face of death. He asked who was the Rebel general who had fallen beside +Cushing. + +"General Armistead," said an officer--"mortally wounded, they say." + +Penhallow turned and went down the slope again. Far away, widely +scattered, he caught glimpses of this rash and gallant attack. He was +aware of that strange complex odour which rises from a battlefield. It +affected him as horrible and as unlike any other unpleasant smell. +Feeling better, he busied himself directing those who were aiding the +wounded. A general officer he did not know said to him, "Stop the +firing from that regiment." + +A number of still excited men of one of the flanking brigades on our +right were firing uselessly at the dimly seen and remote mass of the +enemy. Penhallow went quickly to the right, and as he drew near shouted, +"Stop those men--quit firing!" He raised his hand to call attention to +his order. The firing lessened, and seeing that he was understood he +turned away. At the moment he was not fifty feet from the flanking line, +and had moved far down the slope as one of the final shots rang out. +He felt something like a blow on his right temple, and as he staggered +was aware of the gush of blood down his face. "What fool did that?" he +exclaimed as he reeled and fell. He rose, fell, rose again, and managed +to tie a handkerchief around his head. He stumbled to the wall and lay +down, his head aching. He could go no further. "Queer, that," he +murmured; "they might have seen." He sat up; things around him were +doubled to his view. + +"Are you hit?" said Haskell, who was directing stretcher-bearers and +sending prisoners to the rear. + +"Not badly." He was giddy and in great pain. Then he was aware of the +anxious face of Josiah. + +"My God! you hurt, sir? Come to look for you--can you ride? I fetched +Dixy--mare's killed." + +"I am not badly hurt. Tighten this handkerchief and give me your +arm--I can't ride," + +He arose, and amazed at his weakness, dragged himself down the slope, +through the reforming lines, the thousands of prisoners, the reinforcing +cannon and the wreckage of the hillside. He fell on his couch, and more +at ease began to think, with some difficulty in controlling his thoughts. +At last he said, "I shall be up to-morrow," and lay still, seeing, as the +late afternoon went by, Grey Pine and Ann Penhallow. Then he was aware of +Captain Haskell and a surgeon, who dressed his wound and said, "It was +mere shock--there is no fracture. The ball cut the artery and tore the +scalp. You'll be all right in a day or two." + +Penhallow said, "Please to direct my servant to the Sanitary Commission. +I think my friend, the Rev. Mark Rivers, is with them." + +He slept none. It was early dawn when Rivers came in anxious and +troubled. For the first time in years of acquaintance he found Penhallow +depressed, and amazed because so small a wound made him weak and unable +to think clearly or to give orders. "And it was some stupid boy from our +line," he said. + +His incapacity made Rivers uneasy, and although Penhallow broke out to +his surprise in angry remonstrance, he convinced him at last that he must +return to Grey Pine on sick leave. He asked no question about the army. +Insisting that he was too well to give up his command, nevertheless he +talked much of headache and lack of bodily power. He was, as Rivers saw, +no longer the good-humoured, quiet gentleman, with no thought of self. In +a week he was stronger, but as his watchful friend realized, there was +something mysteriously wrong with his mental and moral mechanism. + +On the day after the battle Penhallow asked to have his wife telegraphed +that he was slightly wounded, and that she must not come to him. Rivers +wrote also a brief and guarded letter to Leila of their early return to +Grey Pine. + +In a vain effort to interest the colonel, he told him of the surrender of +Vicksburg.--He asked where it was and wasn't John there, but somewhat +later became more clear-minded and eager to go home. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +Rivers gathered no comfort from a consultation of surgeons, who talked of +the long-lasting effects of concussion of the brain. Made careful by the +sad change he had observed in Ann Penhallow when last seen, he sent his +telegram for Leila to the care of the post-mistress, and a day later a +brief letter. + +Understanding the mode of address, Mrs. Crocker walked at once to Grey +Pine, and found Leila in the garden. "Where is your aunt?" she asked. + +"Lying down in her room. I got your kind note about the fight last +evening. Is it true? Is the news confirmed?" + +"Yes. There was a terrible battle at Gettysburg. The Rebels were defeated +by General Meade and are retreating." + +"I did not tell Aunt Ann anything. I waited to hear, as I was sure I +would from Uncle James. Is there evil news?" + +"I don't know. Here is a telegram to my care for you from Mr. Rivers. It +must have been delayed--and then came this letter to Mrs. Penhallow from +him." + +"Then--then--there is bad news," she cried as she tore open the telegram +and stood still. + +"What is it?--you know how we all love him." + +"Uncle Jim is wounded--not seriously--and will be here shortly." + +"Oh, but I am sorry--and glad." + +"Yes--yes--I must tell aunt at once. She has not left her room for +two days, and I forbade the maids to talk of the victory until it was +sure--now she must know all. I must tell her at once." + +"Why not get Dr. McGregor?" + +"No--no," she returned with decision. "I shall know best how to +tell--it wants a woman." + +The ruddy, stout post-mistress looked at the tall young woman with sudden +appreciation of her self-command and mental growth. "Maybe you're about +right, but I thought--well, fact is, I've seen of late so many people +just tear open a letter--and go all to pieces." + +Leila smiled. "You don't know my aunt. Now I must go. Oh, this war--this +war! To-morrow will scatter joy and grief over all the land." + +"Yes, I've been near about mobbed to-day. Good-bye." + +The messenger of evil news went straight from the garden path, where the +roses were in unusual abundance. To her surprise she saw her aunt on the +back porch. As Leila hesitated, she said, "I saw Mrs. Crocker from my +window, Leila. She gave you something--a letter--or a telegram. What is +it? I suppose after what I have heard of the Confederates at York and +Carlisle, they may be in Harrisburg by this time and the railroad to the +west cut off. It may be well to know." She spoke rapidly as she came down +the steps to meet her niece. "It is as well James Penhallow is not in +it." + +The two women stood facing one another in one of those immeasurably brief +silences which are to timeless thought as are ages. Her husband safe, +General Lee victorious--some slight look of satisfaction could be seen in +her face--a faint smile, too easily read--and then-- + +"Well, dear, your news?" + +Anger, tenderness, love, pity--all dictated answers. "Aunt Ann, I have +bad news." + +"Of course, dear. It was to be expected. You won't believe me, but I am +sorry for you and for James." + +The face of the tall young woman flushed hot. She had meant to spare +her--to be tender. She said, "General Lee is retreating after losing a +great battle at Gettysburg." + +Her aunt said quickly, "But James Penhallow--he is in Washington?" + +"No, he was in the army--he is wounded--not seriously--and he is coming +home." + +"I might have known it." A great illumination came over her face not +understood by Leila. She was strangely glad for him that he had been in +the field and not in peaceful safety at Washington. With abrupt change of +expression, she added, "Wounded? Not seriously. That isn't like him to +come home for a slight wound. You or Mark Rivers are hiding something." + +"Not I, aunt; but any wound that kept him off duty would be better cared +for here. Lee's defeat leaves him free for a time--I mean at ease--" + +"Don't talk nonsense!" she cried. "What do I care for Lee--or +Meade--or battles! James Penhallow is all the world to me. +Victory!"--she flamed with mounting colour--"it is I am the victor! He +comes back with honour--I have no duties--no country--I have only my +love. Oh, my God! if he had died--if--if--I should have hated!--" She +spoke with harsh vehemence, and of a sudden stopped, and breathing fast +gasped in low-voiced broken tones, "Don't stare at me--I am not a +fool--I am--I am--only the fool of a great love. You don't know what it +means. My God! I have no child--James Penhallow is to me children, +husband--all--everything." She stood still, wide-eyed, staring down the +garden paths, a wonder of yearning tenderness in her face, with Rivers's +letter in her hand. + +"Read your letter, Aunt." + +"Yes--yes--I forgot it." She read it, and said, "It only confirms the +telegram." + +The storm of passionate emotion was over. Leila amazed and fearful of +results--twice seen before--watched her. "You have seen," she said in a +low voice, "the soul of a great love laid bare. May you too some day, my +child, love as I do! Have no fear for me--I see it in your looks. Come +in--I have to see to things--I have to give some orders--there will be +much to do." She was at once quiet, and composedly led the way into the +house, the astonished girl following her. + +In the hall Mrs. Penhallow said, "I fear, dear, I have left too much of +the management of the house to you--of late, I mean. What with the farms +and stables, I am not surprised that things have not been quite as James +would desire. I am going to relieve you a little. I suppose the stables +are all right." + +"They are," returned Leila, feeling hurt. Her aunt had not been in the +kitchen or given an order for nearly a month, and house, farm and +stables, had been by degrees allowed to slip into Leila's well-trained +and competent hands. Meanwhile Ann Penhallow had gradually failed in +health and lost interest in duties which had been to her, as Rivers said, +what social pleasures were to some women. She yielded by degrees and not +without resistance to mere physical weakness, and under the emotional +stress of war, and above all the absence of the man on whom she depended, +had lapsed to McGregor's dismay into a state of mind and body for which +he had no remedy. + +Every physician of large experience must have seen cases of self-created, +unresisted invalidism end with mysterious abruptness and the return of +mental, moral and physical competence, under the influence of some call +upon their sense of duty made by calamity, such as an acute illness in +the household, financial ruin, or the death of a husband. The return of a +wounded man and the need to care for him acted thus upon Ann Penhallow. + +Leila looked on in surprise. Her aunt's astounding indifference to the +results of defeat for her beloved South when she learned of her husband's +injury left the younger woman utterly bewildered. Nothing in her own +nature, as she thought it all over, enabled her to understand it, nor was +her aunt's rapid gain in health and cheerfulness during the next few days +more easy to explain. At first with effort, but very soon with increase +of ability, she gradually became more and more her old self. + +Ann Penhallow spent the remainder of the next day in one of those +household inspections which let no failure in neatness or order escape +attention. James Penhallow's library was to be cleaned and cared for in +a way to distress any man-minded man, while Leila looked on. Had her +aunt's recent look of ill-health represented nothing but the depressing +influence of a year of anxiety? And, if so, why under the distress of a +nearer and more material disaster should she grow so quickly active, +and apparently strong in place of becoming more feeble. She followed +her aunt about the house trying to be helpful, and a little amused at +her return to some of the ways which at times annoyed Penhallow into +positive revolt. As she thought of it, Ann was standing over a battered +army-chest, open and half full of well-worn cavalry uniforms. + +"Really, Leila," she said, "these old army clothes had better be disposed +of--and that shabby smoking-jacket--I have not seen it for years. Why do +men keep their useless, shabby clothes?" + +"I think Uncle Jim wouldn't like those old army uniforms given away, +aunt; and don't you remember how he looked like an old Van Dyke portrait +in that lovely brown velvet jacket?" + +Ann, standing with the much used garment in her hand, let it drop into +the chest, saying, "I really cannot see the use of keeping things as men +love to do--" + +"And women never!" cried Leila, closing the lid of the box, and remarking +that he would like to find things as he left them; and had Aunt Ann +noticed that there were moths about the bear skins. Now a moth has the +power of singularly exciting some women--the diversion proved effectual. + +And still as the week went by Ann seemed to be gaining in strength. + +At lunch, a telegram from Charles Grey, Baltimore, said, "Penhallow here, +doing well. Will return on the 14th, by afternoon train, with Rivers and +servant." + +"Read that, dear--I want you, Leila, to ride to the mills and tell Dr. +McGregor that I will send the carriage for him in time for him to meet +your uncle at the station. I had better not meet him--and there will be +Mark Rivers and Josiah and--but you will see to all that." + +"Certainly, aunt." + +"It will be the day after to-morrow. Be sure that the doctor makes no +mistake. There are two trains--he will be on the four o'clock express." +This was in the manner of her Aunt Ann of former days. "Shall I write it +down?" + +Leila cried, "No," and fled, laughing. + +The next day to Leila's surprise and pleasure her aunt came down to +breakfast and quietly took her place as mistress of the tea-urn. The +talent of common sense as applicable to the lesser social commerce of +life was one of Leila's gifts, and she made no comment on her aunt's +amazing resumption of her old habits. Ann herself felt some inclination +to explain her rapid recovery of health, and said as she took the +long-vacant seat at the breakfast table, "I think, Leila, the doctor's +last tonic has been of use to me--I feel quite like myself." Having thus +anticipated her too sharp-eyed niece's congratulations, Leila's +expression of pleasure came in accordant place. Whereupon they both +smiled across the table, having that delicate appreciation of the needs +of the situation which is rarely at the service of the blundering mind +of man. + +The moment of gentle hypocrisy passed, the mistress of Grey Pine took up +her memoranda for the day, and said with some attempt at being just her +usual self, "I shall walk to Westways after breakfast--Pole needs to be +talked to. The meats have been of his worst lately." Then with a glance +at the paper, "Your uncle's books must be dusted; I quite forgot it; I +will set Susan to work this morning." + +"But," said Leila, "he does hate that, Aunt Ann. The last time she +succeeded in setting together 'Don Juan' and 'St. Thomas à Kempis.'" + +Ann laughed, and said with some of her old sense of humour, "It might do +them both good--dust them yourself." + +"I will," said Leila, liking the task. + +"And when you ride this afternoon, see Mrs. Lamb. The cook tells me +that she hears of that scamp, her son, as in the army--a nice kind of +soldier." A half-dozen other errands were mentioned, and they parted, +Ann adding, "There is no mail to-day." + +They met again at lunch. "It is too bad, Leila, Billy was given the +letters and forgot them and went a-fishing. There was a letter for you +from Mark Rivers about your uncle. Does he think me a child? I read it." + +"You read it, Aunt!" exclaimed Leila astonished at this infraction of +their household law. + +"Of course I read it. I knew it must be about James." Leila made no +reply, but did not like it. + +"Here it is, my dear. I fear James is in a more serious state than I was +led to believe by their first letters. There is also a letter from John +to you." She did not ask to see it, and Leila took both missives and +presently went away to the stables. Even John, as was plain, was +forgotten in her aunt's anxiety in regard to her husband. + +Her many errands over, Leila riding slowly through the lonely wood-roads +read the letters: + +"My Dear Leila," wrote Rivers, "you had better let your aunt know that +the Colonel's wound must have so shocked the brain, though there is no +fracture, as to have left him in a mental state which gives me the utmost +anxiety. You will sadly realize my meaning when you see him. Be careful +how you tell your aunt. + +"Yours truly, + +"MARK RIVERS." + +Here indeed was trouble. Leila's eyes filled and tears fell on the paper. +She rode on deep in thought, and at last securing the message of calamity +in her belt opened John's letter. + +"I write you, dear Leila, from my tent near Vicksburg, this 5th of July. +The prisoners from Pemberton's army are passing as I write. Our men are +giving them bread and tobacco, and there is no least sign of enmity or +triumph. I am pretty well worn out, as the few engineers have been worked +hard and the constant nearness of death in the trenches within five to +one hundred feet of the Rebel lines was a situation to make a man +think--not of course while in immediate danger, but afterwards. I had +some narrow escapes--we all had. But, dear Leila, it has been a splendid +thing to see how this man Grant, with the expressionless face, struck +swiftly one army after another and returned to secure his prey. + +"I cannot even now get a leave of absence, and I am beyond words anxious +to hear about dear Uncle Jim. Just a line from him makes me think he was +to be with General Meade and in that great battle we won. A telegram to +the Engineers' Camp, Vicksburg, will relieve me. + +"It is unlikely, if we go South, that I shall see you for many a day. All +leaves are, I find, denied. War--intense war like this--seems to me to +change men in wonderful ways. It makes some men bad or reckless or +drunkards or hard and cruel; it makes others thoughtful, dutiful and +religious. This is more often the case among the men than you may think +it would be. Certainly it does age a fellow fast. I seem to have passed +many years since I sat with you at West Point and you made me feel how +young I was and how little I had seen of life. It was true, but now I +have seen life at its worst and its best. I have had too the education +of battle, the lessons read by thousands of deaths and all the many +temptations of camp life. I believe, and I can say it to you, I am the +better for it all, and think less and less of the man who was fool enough +to do what with more humility he will surely do once more, if it please +God that he come out of this terrible war alive. + +"When you see me again, you will at least respect my years, for one lives +fast here, and the months seem years and the family Bible a vain record, +as I remember that the statement of births comes after the Apocrypha +which leaves room for doubt."-- + +Leila smiled. "How like him," she murmured. + +"I said months. There are (there were once last week) minutes when one +felt an insolent contempt of death, although the bullets were singing by +like our brave hornets. Is that courage? I used as a boy to wonder how I +would feel in danger. Don't tell, but on going under fire I shiver, and +then am at once in quiet possession of all my capacities, whatever they +be worth. A man drops by my side--and I am surprised; then another--and I +am sure I won't be hit. But I _was_ three weeks ago in my leg! It made me +furious, and I still limp a bit. It was only a nip--a spent bullet. I +wanted to get at that anonymous rascal who did it. + +"Do wire me, and write fully. + +"Yours, +JOHN. + +"P.S. I wonder where Tom McGregor is, and Pole's boy and Joe Grace, and +those Greys who went diverse ways. As you never talk of yourself when you +write those brief letters on notepaper the size of a postage stamp, you +might at least tell me all about these good people in Westways." + +She telegraphed him, "Uncle Jim slightly wounded, is coming home. Will +write. Leila Grey." + +About four in the afternoon of this July 14th Ann Penhallow kissed her +husband as he came up the porch steps. He was leaning heavily on Mark +Rivers's arm. He said, "It is quite a long time, Ann. How long is it?" +Then he shook off Rivers, saying, "I am quite well," and going by his +wife went through the open door, moving like one dazed. He stood still a +moment looking about him, turned back and speaking to his wife said, "I +understand now. At first it seemed strange to me and as if I had never +been here before. Ever feel that way, Ann?" + +"Oh, often, James." No signal of her anguish showed on the gallantly +carried face of the little woman. + +"Quiet, isn't it? When was it I was hit? It was--wasn't it in May? Rivers +says it was July--I do not like contradiction." His appreciation of time +and recognition of locality were alike disordered, as Rivers had observed +with distress and a too constant desire to set him right. With better +appreciation of his condition, Ann accepted his statement. + +"Yes--yes, of course, dear--it is just so." + +"I knew you would understand me. I should like to go to bed--I want +Josiah--no one else." + +"Yes, dear," and this above all else made clear to the unhappy little +lady how far was the sturdy soldier who had left her from the broken man +in undress uniform who clung to the rail, as he went slowly up the +stairway with his servant. In the hall he had seen Leila, but gave her no +word, not even his habitual smile of recognition. + +Ann stared after them a moment, motioned Rivers away with uplifted hand, +and hastening into the library sat down and wept like a child. She had +been unprepared for the change in his appearance and ways. More closely +observant, Leila saw that the lines of decisiveness were gone, the +humorous circles about the mouth and eyes, as it were, flattened out, and +that the whole face, with the lips a little languidly parted, had become +expressionless. It was many days before she could see the altered visage +without emotion, or talk of him to her aunt with any of the amazing +hopefulness with which the older woman dwelt on her husband's intervals +of resemblance to his former self. + +He would not ride or enter the stables, but his life was otherwise a +childlike resumption of his ordinary habits, except that when annoyed by +Ann's too obvious anxiety or excess of carefulness, he became irritable +at times and even violent in language. He so plainly preferred Leila's +company in his short walks as to make the wife jealous and vexed that she +was not wanted during every minute of his altered life. He read no books +as of old, but would have Leila read to him the war news until he fell +asleep, when she quietly slipped away. + +Mark Rivers resumed his duties for a time, unwilling to abandon these +dear friends for whom McGregor, puzzled and perplexed, had no word of +consolation, except the assurance that his condition did not grow worse. + +At times Penhallow was dimly aware of his state; at others he resented +any effort to control him and was so angry when the doctor proposed a +consultation that the idea was too easily given up, for always in this +as in everything his wife agreed with him and indulged him as women +indulge a sick child. The village grieved for the Colonel who rode no +more through Westways with a gay word of greeting for all he met. The +iron-mills were busy. The great guns tested on the meadows now and then +shook the panes in the western windows of Grey Pine. They no longer +disturbed Ann Penhallow. The war went its thunderous way unheeded by her. +Unendingly hopeful, the oppression of disaster seemed only to confirm and +strengthen her finest qualities. Like the pine-tree winning vigour from +its rock-clasped roots, she gathered such hardening strength of soul and +body from his condition as the more happy years had never put at her +command. + +"No letters to-day, Miss Leila," said the post-mistress standing beside +the younger woman's horse. "Just only them papers with their lists of +killed and wounded." + +"I must always be Leila, not Miss Leila," said the horsewoman. + +"Well--well--I like that better. How's the Colonel?" + +"Much the same--certainly no worse. It is wonderful how my aunt stands +it." + +"Don't you notice, Leila, how she has kind of softened? Me and Joe was +talking of it yesterday. She always was good, but folks did use to say +she was sort of hard and--positive. Now, she's kind of gentled--noticed +that?" + +"Yes, I have noticed it; but I must go. Give me the papers. You love a +talk." + +"There's no news of John?" + +"None of late. He is with General Grant--but where we do not know." + +"It's right pleasant to have Josiah back. Lord! but he's strong on war +stories--ought to hear him. He was always good at stories." + +"Yes, I suppose so. Good-bye." + +James Penhallow sat on the back porch in the after luncheon hour to get +with the freshness of October what sunshine the westerning sun was +sifting through the red and gold of the maples beyond the garden walls. +He was in the undress uniform of the artillery, and still wore the +trefoil of the Second Corps. An effort by Ann to remove his soiled army +garb and substitute his lay dress caused an outbreak of anger which left +him speechless and feeble, and her in an agony of regretful penitence. +Josiah, wiser than she, ventured to tell her what had happened once +before when his badge of the glorious Second Corps had been missing. +"After all, what does it matter?" she said to herself, and made no effort +to repair the ragged bullet tear South Mountain left in his jacket, and +in which he had at his worst times such childlike pride as in another and +well-known general had once amused him. + +He was just now in one of his best conditions and was clearly enjoying +the pipe he used but rarely. Ann at his feet on the porch-step read aloud +to him with indifference to all but the man she now and then looked up to +with the loving tenderness his brief betterment fed with illusory hope. + +"What's that, Ann?" he exclaimed; "Grant at Chattanooga! That's John's +ideal General. Didn't he write about him at--where was it? Oh! Belmont." + +"Yes, after Belmont, James." + +"When does Mark Rivers go back?" + +"To-morrow. He is always so out of spirits here that I am really relieved +when he returns to the Sanitary Commission." He made no reply, and she +continued her reading. + +"Isn't that Leila with Rivers, Ann?" + +"Yes. He likes to walk with her." + +"So would any man." A faint smile--very rare of late--showed in her +pleased upward look at the face--the changed face--she loved. + +The pair of whom they spoke were lost to view in the forest. + +"And you are glad to go?" said Leila to Rivers. + +"Yes, I am. I can hardly say glad, but now that your uncle is, so to +speak, lost to me and your aunt absorbed in her one task and the duties +she has taken up again, our pleasant Dante lessons are set aside, and +what is there left of the old intellectual life which is gone--gone?" + +"But," said Leila gaily, "you have the church and my humble society. Why, +you are really learning to walk, as you did not until of late." + +Making no reply to her personal remark, he was silent for a moment, and +then said with slow articulation and to her surprise, for he rarely spoke +of himself, "Nine years ago I came here, a man broken in mind and body. +This life and these dear friends have made me as strong as I can ever +hope to be. But the rest--the rest. I know what power God has given me +to bring souls to him. I can influence men--the lowly and--well, others, +as few can. I cannot live in cities--I dare not risk the failure in +health; and yet, I want--I want a larger field. I found it when your +aunt's liberality sent me to the army. There in my poor way I can serve +my country--and that is much to me." He was silent. + +"But," she said, "is there not work enough here? and the war cannot last +much longer. Don't think you must ever leave us." + +"I shall--I must. There are limitations I cannot talk of even--above all +to you. Your aunt knows this--and your uncle did--long ago." + +"What limitations?" she asked rashly. + +"You are the last person, Leila Grey, to whom I could speak of them. I +have said too much, but"--and he paused--"I am tired--I will leave you to +finish your walk." The great beautiful eyes turned on him for a moment. +"Oh, my God!" he exclaimed, and reproaching his brief human weakness left +her abruptly, walking slowly away through the drifting red and gold of +leaves rocking in air as they sauntered to earth, and was at last lost to +view in the woodland. + +Leila stood still, puzzled and sorrowful, as she watched the tall +stooping form. "How old he looks," she murmured. "What did he mean? I +must ask Aunt Ann." But she never did, feeling that what he had said was +something like a cautiously hinted confession. In the early morning he +was gone again to the field of war. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +Through the winter of 1863-4 at Grey Pine things remained unaltered, and +McGregor concluded that there was no hope for happier change. Rare +letters came from John Penhallow to his aunt, who sent no replies, and to +Leila, who wrote impersonal letters, as did John. Once he wrote that his +uncle might like to know, that after that pontoon business in the night +at Chattanooga and General Farrar Smith's brilliant action, he, John +Penhallow, was to be addressed as _Captain_. As the war went on, he was +across the Rapidan with Grant in May. + +At Grey Pine after breakfast the windows and both doors of the hall were +open to let the western breezes enter. They lingered in the garden to +stir the mothers of unborn flowers and swept through the hall, bearing as +they passed some gentle intimation of the ending of a cold spring. + +The mail had been given to the colonel, as he insisted it should be. With +some appearance of interest he said, "From Mark, for you, Ann." + +"None for me, Uncle?" asked Leila, as she went around the table. "Let me +help you. How many there are." She captured her own share, and for a +moment stood curious as she sorted the mail. "Army trash, Uncle! What a +lot of paper is needed to carry on war! Here is one--I have seen him +before--he is marked 'Respectfully referred.'" + +The colonel released a smile, which stirred Ann like a pleasant memory, +and fed one of the little hopes she was ever on the watch to find. "What +is your letter, Ann?" he asked. + +Looking up she replied, "It is only to acknowledge receipt of my draft. +He is in Washington. I gather that he does not mean to come back until +the war is over." "Over!" she thought; "Lee is not Pemberton, as Grant +will learn." It was of more moment to her that Penhallow was easier to +interest, and ate as he used to do. + +"Is your letter from John, Leila?" he said. "I don't like concealments." + +"But, I didn't conceal anything!" + +"Don't contradict me!" + +"No, sir." + +Ann's face grew watchful, fearing one of the outbreaks which left him +weak and querulous. + +"Well," said the colonel, "read us John's letter. There is as much fuss +about it as if it were a love-letter." + +There is no way as yet discovered to victoriously suppress a blush, but +time--a little fraction of time--is helpful, and there are ways of hiding +what cannot be conquered. The letter fell on the floor, and being +recovered was opened and read with a certain something in the voice which +caused Ann critically to use her eyes. + +"DEAR LEILA: I am just now with the Second Corps, but where you will know +in a week; now I must not say.--" + +"What's the date?" asked Penhallow. + +"There is none." + +"Look at the envelope." + +"I tore it up, sir." + +"Never throw away an envelope until you have read the letter." Ann looked +pleased--that was James Penhallow, his old self. Leila read on. + +"I am glad to be under canvas, and you know my faith in General Grant. + +"Tell Aunt Ann I have had three servants in two weeks. These newly freed +blacks are like mere children and quite useless, or else--well--one was +brutal to my horse. I sometimes wish Josiah was twins and I had one of +him.--" + +"What's that?" asked Penhallow. "Twins--I don't understand." + +"He wishes he had a servant like Josiah, Uncle." + +"Well, let him go to John," said the Colonel, with something of his old +positive manner. + +"But you would miss him, James." + +"I will not," he returned, and then--"What else is there?" + +"Oh--nothing--except that he will write again soon, and that he met Mr. +Rivers in Washington. That is all--a very unsatisfactory letter." + +For a day or two the colonel said no more of Josiah, and then asked if +he had gone, and was so obviously annoyed that Ann gave way as usual +and talked of her husband's wish to Josiah. The old life of Westways +and Grey Pine was over, and Josiah was allowed by Ann to do so little +for Penhallow that the black was not ill-pleased to leave home again for +the army life and to be with the man whom as a lad he had trusted and +who had helped him in a day of peril. + +No one thought of any need for a pass. He was amply supplied with money +and bade them good-bye. He put what he required in a knapsack, and +leaving Westways for the second time and with a lighter heart, set off +afoot to catch the train at Westways Crossing. The old slave was thus +put upon a way which was to lead to renewed and unpleasant acquaintance +with one of the minor characters of my story. + +Tired of unaccustomed idleness Josiah grinned as he went across country +thinking of the directions he had received from Leila of how he was to +find John Penhallow. + +"You know he is captain of engineers, Josiah. Now how are you going to +find him? An army is as big as a great city, and in motion, too." + +"Well, missy," said Josiah, "the way I'll find him is the way dog Caesar +finds you in the woods." He would hear no more and left her. + +Josiah knew many people in Washington, black and white, and after some +disappointments went with a lot of remounts for cavalry to join the +army in the Wilderness, where he served variously with the army teams. +On an afternoon late in May, 1864, he strode on, passing by the long +lines of marching men who filled the roadways on their way to the +crossing of the North Anna River. He had been chaffed, misdirected, +laughed at or civilly treated, as he questioned men about the engineers. +He took it all with good-humour. About three, he came near to a house +on the wayside, where a halt had been ordered to give the men a brief +rest. The soldiers dust-grey and thirsty scattered over the clearing or +lay in the shadow of the scrub oaks. Some thronged about a well or a +wayside spring, or draining their canteens caught a brief joy from the +lighted pipe so dear to the soldier. Josiah looked about him, and knew +the log-cabins some distance away from the better house to have been the +slave-quarters. Beyond them was a better built log-house. Apparently all +were deserted--men, cattle and horses, were gone. He lay down a little +way from the road and listened to the talk of the men seated in front of +him. He heard a private say, "A halt is as bad as a march, the dust is a +foot deep, and what between flies and mosquitoes, they're as bad as the +Rebs." + +"Ah!" said an old corporal, "just you wait a bit. These are only a +skirmish line. July and Chickahominy mosquitoes will get you when your +baccy's out." + +"It's out now." + +Josiah was eager to question some one and was aware of the value of +tobacco as a social solvent. He said, "I've got some baccy, corporal." + +The men in front of him turned. "For sale--how much?" + +"No," said Josiah. "My pouch is full. Help yourselves." + +This liberal contribution was warmly appreciated, and the private, who +was the son of a New York banker, interested in the black man, asked, +"What are you doing in this big circus?" It was the opening for which +Josiah waited. + +"Looking for an engineer-captain." + +The corporal said, "Well, like enough he'll be at the bridge of the North +Anna--but the engineers are here, there and anywhere. What is his name?" + +"Thank you, sir. My master is Captain Penhallow." + +"Well, good luck to you." + +"Take another pipe load," returned Josiah, grateful for the unusual +interest. + +"Thank you," said the private, "with pleasure. Tobacco is as scarce as +hen's teeth." + +"That's so. Who's that officer on the big horse? He's a rider whoever he +is." + +"That's the ring-master of this show," laughed the private. + +"Not General Grant!" + +"Yes." Josiah considered him with interest. + +There was of a sudden some disturbance about the larger of the more +remote cabins; a soldier ran out followed by a screaming young woman. +Her wild cries attracted attention to the man, who was at once caught +and held while he vainly protested. The men about Josiah sat up or got +on their feet. The young woman ran here and there among the groups of +soldiers like one distracted. At last, near the larger house at the +roadside she fell on her knees and rocked backwards and forwards sobbing. +Josiah at a distance saw only that a soldier had been caught trying to +escape notice as a young woman followed him out of the house. It was too +well understood by the angry men who crowded around the captive. + +The general said to his staff, "Wait here, gentlemen." He rode through +the crowd of soldiers, saying, "Keep back, my men; keep away--all of +you." Then he dismounted and walked to where the girl--she was hardly +more--still knelt wailing and beating the air with uplifted hands. "Stand +up, my good girl, and tell me what is wrong." + +The voice was low and of a certain gentleness, rarely rising even in +moments of peril. She stood up, "I can't--I can't--let me go--I want to +die!" + +The figure, still slight of build in those days, bent over her pitiful. +"I am General Grant. Look up at me. There shall be justice done, but I +must know." + +She looked up a moment at the kind grave face, then with bent head and +hands over her eyes she sobbed out what none but the general could hear. +His voice grew even more distinctly soft as touching her shoulder he +said, "Look at that man. Oh, bring him near--nearer. Now, be sure, is +that the man? Look again! I must be certain." + +With a quick motion she pushed his hand from her shoulder as she stood, +and pointing to the brute held by two soldiers cried, "That's him--oh, my +God! Take him away--kill him. Le' me go. Don't you keep me." She looked +about like some hopelessly trapped, wild-eyed animal. + +"You may go, of course," said the low-voiced man. "I will set a guard +over your house." + +"Don't want no Yankee guard--le' me go--I've got nothin' to guard--I want +to die." She darted away and through the parting groups of men who were +clear enough about what they knew had happened and what should be done. + +The dark grey eyes of the General followed her flight for a pitying +instant. Then he remounted, and said to the scared captive, "What have +you got to say?" + +"It's all a lie." + +The general's face grew stern. He turned and asked for an officer of the +Provost Guard. A captain rode up and saluted. "I have no time to lose in +trying this scoundrel. We can't take along the only witness." He +hesitated a moment. "Let your men tie him to a tree near the road. Let +two of the guard watch him until the rear has gone by. Put a paper on his +breast--make his crime clear, clear." He said a word or two more to the +officer, and then "put on it, '_Left to the justice of General Lee_.'" + +"Is that all, sir?" said the amazed officer. + +"No--put below, '_U.S. Grant_.' The girl will tell her story. When the +cavalry pass, leave him. Now, gentlemen, the men have had a rest, let us +ride on." + +Josiah a hundred feet away heard, "Fall in--fall in." The tired soldiers +rose reluctant and the long line tramped away. Josiah interested sat +still and saw them go by under the dust-laden air. The girl had gone past +her home and into the woods. The guards curiously watched by the marching +men passed near Josiah with their prisoner and busied themselves with +looking among the hazel, scrub oak and sassafras for a large enough tree +near to the road. As they went by, he saw the man. + +"My God!" he exclaimed, "it's Peter Lamb." He moved away and lay down +well hidden in the brush. It was a very simple mind which considered this +meeting with the only being the black man hated. The unusual never +appealed to him as it would have done to a more imaginative person. The +coming thus on his enemy was only what he had angrily predicted when he +had Peter in his power and had said to him that some day God would punish +him. It had come true. + +The men who had arrested Peter and were near enough to hear the brief +sentence, understood it, and being eagerly questioned soon spread among +the moving ranks the story of the crime and this unexampled punishment. +It was plain to Josiah, but what was to follow he did not know, as he +rose, lingered about, and following the Provost's party considered the +wonderful fact of his fulfilled prediction. The coincidence of being +himself present did not cause the surprise which what we call +coincidences awaken in minds which crave explanations of the uncommon. +It was just what was sure to happen somehow, some day, when God settled +Josiah's personal account with a wicked man. He had, however, an urgent +curiosity to see how it would end and a remainder of far-descended +savagery in the wish to let his one enemy know that he was a witness +of his punishment. Thinking thus, Josiah went through the wayside scrub +to see how the guard would dispose of their prisoner. + +The man who had sinned was presently tied to a tree facing the road. His +hands were securely tied behind it, and his feet as rudely dealt with. +He said no word as they pinned the label on his breast. Then the two +guards sat down between Peter and the roadway. Men of the passing +brigades asked them questions. They replied briefly and smoked with +entire unconcern as to their prisoner, or speculated in regard to what +the Rebs would say or do to him. The mosquitoes tormented him, and once +he shuddered when one of the guards guessed that perhaps the girl would +come back and see him tied up. The story of Grant's unusual punishment +was told over and over to men as the regiments went by. Now and then +soldiers left the ranks to read the sentence of what must mean death. +Some as they read were as silent as the doomed wretch; others laughed or +cursed him for dishonouring the army in which this one crime was almost +unknown. A sergeant tore the corps mark from his coat, and still he said +no word. The long-drawn array went on and on; the evening shadows +lengthened; miles of wagon trains rumbled by; whips cracked over mules; +the cavalry guard bringing up the rear was lost in the dust left by +tramping thousands; the setting sun shone through it ruddy; and last came +the squadron net of the Provost-marshal gathering in the stragglers. +Tired men were helped by a grip on the stirrup leather. The lazy +loiterers were urged forward with language unquotable, the mildest being +"darned coffee-coolers." At last, all had gone. + +Josiah rose from his hiding place and listened as the clank of steel and +the sound of hurried horsemen died away. No other noises broke the +twilight stillness. He walked back to the roadside, and stood before the +pinioned and now lonely man. "You're caught at last, Peter Lamb." + +"Oh, Lord!" cried the captive. "It's Josiah. For God's sake, let me +loose." + +"Reckon I won't," said Josiah. + +"I'm in agony--my arms--I shall die--and I am innocent. I did not do +anything. Won't you help me?" + +"No--the Rebs will come and hang you." + +The man's cunning awoke. He said the one thing, made the one plea which, +as he spoke, troubled Josiah's decision. "Is the Squire alive?" + +"Why shouldn't he be alive?" asked Josiah, surprised. + +"Oh, I saw in a paper that he was wounded at Gettysburg. Now, Josiah, if +he was here--if he was to know you left me to die." + +Josiah was uncertain what he would have done. His simple-minded view of +things was disturbed, and his tendency to be forgiving kindly assisted to +give potency to the appeal. He said, "I won't set you free, but I'll do +this much," and he tore the paper from Peter's breast, saying, "You'll +get off with some lie when the Rebs come." Then he turned and walked +away, tearing up the death warrant and hearing the wild pleas of the +painfully bound man. + +The night had come, but save for the faintly heard complaint of some +far-distant dog, there was nothing to break the quiet of the deserted +land which lay between the two armies. Having torn to pieces and +carefully scattered the bits of paper, Josiah, who while doing one thing +could not think of another, began to reflect on what he had done. He had +been too long in servitude not to respect authority. If any one knew--but +no one could know. He himself had said that what had come upon Lamb was a +judgment--the act of one who had said, "I will repay." It troubled a mind +whose machinery was of childlike incapacity to deal with problems +involving the moral aspects of conduct. Perhaps this had been a chance to +give Lamb an opportunity to repent by setting him free; but there had +already been interference with the judgment of God. More personally +material events relieved the black from responsibility. His quick ear +caught the sound of troopers, the sharp notes of steel clinking; he had +no mind to be picked up by the enemy's horse, and dismissing all other +considerations he took to the woods and walked rapidly away. Late in the +evening he crossed the North Anna with a train of wagons, as driver of an +unruly mule team, one of which had rewarded his driver in kind for brutal +use of the whip and perverted English. The man groaning in the wagon +informed Josiah concerning mules and their ways. After a day or two he +was pleased to get back on his legs, for when bullets were not flying the +army life was full of interest. A man who could cook well, shave an +officer or shoe a horse, never lacked the friends of an hour; and too, +his unfailing good-humour was always helpful. An officer of the line +would have been easy to find, but the engineers were continually in +motion and hard to locate. He got no news of John Penhallow until the +29th of May, when he came on General Wilson's cavalry division left on +the north side of the Pamunkey River to cover the crossing of the trains. +These troopers were rather particular about straggling negroes, and +Josiah sharply questioned told the simple truth as he moved toward the +bridge, answering the questions of a young officer. A horse tied to a +sapling at the roadside for reasons unknown kicked the passing cavalry +man's horse. The officer moved on swearing a very original mixture of +the over-ripe English of armies. Swearing was a highly cultivated +accomplishment in the cavalry; no infantry profanity approached it in +originality. The officer occupied with his uneasy horse dropped Josiah +as he rode on. A small, dark-skinned negro, rather neatly dressed, spoke +to Josiah in the dialect of the Southern slave, which I shall not try to +put on paper. He spoke reflectively and as if from long consideration of +the subject, entering at once into the intimacies of a relation with the +man of his own colour. + +"That horse is the meanest I ever saw--I know him." + +"He's near thoroughbred," said Josiah, "and been badly handled, I +reckon. It's no good cussin' horses or mules--a good horseman don't ever +do it--horses know." + +"Well, the officer that rides that horse now is about the only man can +ride him. That horse pretty nearly killed one of my general's staff. He +sold him mighty sudden." + +"Who's your General?" queries Josiah. + +"Why, General Grant--I'm his headquarter man--they call me +Bill--everybody knows me." + +He rose at once in Josiah's estimation. "Who owns that horse?" asked +Josiah. "I'd like well to handle his beast." + +"He's an engineer-officer, name of Penhallow. He's down yonder somewhere +about that pontoon bridge. I'm left here to hunt up a headquarter wagon." + +"Penhallow!" exclaimed Josiah, delighted. "Why, I'm down here to be his +servant." + +"Well, let's go to the bridge. You'll get a chance to cross after the +wagons get over. I've just found mine." They moved to one side and sat +down. "That's Wilson's cavalry on guard. Worst dust I ever saw. Infantry +dust's bad, but cavalry dust don't ever settle. The Ninth Corps's gone +over. There come the wagons." With cracking of whip and imprecations the +wagons went over the swaying pontoons. Bill left him, and Josiah waited +to cross behind the wagons. + +On the bridge midway, a young officer in the dark dress and black-striped +pantaloons of the engineers moved beside the teams anxiously observing +some loosened flooring. A wagon wheel gave way, and the wagon lurching +over struck the officer, who fell into the muddy water of the Pamunkey. +Always amused at an officer's mishap, cavalry men and drivers laughed. +The young man struck out for the farther shore, and came on to a shelving +slope of slimy mud, and was vainly struggling to get a footing when an +officer ran down the bank and gave him a needed hand. Thus aided, +Penhallow gained firm ground. With a look of disgust at his condition, as +he faced the laughing troopers he said, with his somewhat formal way, "To +whom am I indebted?" + +"Roland Blake is my name. Isn't it Captain Penhallow of the engineers?" + +"Yes, well disguised with Rebel mud. What a mess! But, by George! not +worse than you when I first saw you." + +"Where was it?" asked Blake. + +"I can give a good guess. You were quite as lovely as Mr. Penhallow." It +was a third officer who spoke. "By the bye," he added, "as Blake doesn't +present me, I am Philip Francis." + +"I can't even offer to shake hands," returned Penhallow, laughing, as he +scraped the flakes of mud from his face. "I saw you both at the Bloody +Angle. I think I could describe you." + +"Don't," said Francis. + +"Some people are modest," said Blake. "I think you will soon dry to dust +in this sun. I have offered myself that consolation before. It's the only +certainty in this land of the unexpected." + +"The wagons are over; here comes the guard," said Francis. "It's our +beastly business now. Call up the men, Roland." + +"Provost duty, I suppose," said Penhallow. "I prefer my mud." + +"Yes," growled Francis, "human scavengers--army police. I'm out of it +this week, thank Heaven." + +The last wagon came creaking over the bridge, the long line of cavalry +trotted after them, the Provost Guard mounted to fall in at the rear and +gather in the stragglers. + +"Sorry I can't give you a mount," said Blake, as he turned to recross the +bridge. + +"Thank you, I have a horse on the other side." As he spoke a breeze +stirred the dead atmosphere and shook down from the trees their gathered +load of dust. + +Francis said, "It's half of Virginia!" + +Blake murmured, "Dust to dust--a queer reminder." + +"Oh, shut up!" cried Francis. + +The young engineer laughed and said to himself, "If Aunt Ann could see +me. It's like being tarred and feathered. See you soon again, I hope, Mr. +Blake. I am deep in your debt." They passed out of sight. No one remained +but the bridge-guard. + +The engineer sat down and devoted his entire energies to the difficult +task of pulling off boots full of mud and water. Meanwhile as the +provost-officers rode back over the pontoons Francis said, "I remember +that man, Penhallow, at the Bloody Angle. He was the only man I saw who +wasn't fight-crazy, he insisted on my going to the rear. You know I was +bleeding like a stuck pig. It was between the two attacks. I said, 'Oh, +go to H---!' He said, 'There is no need to go far.' I am sure he did not +remember me. A rather cool hand--West Point, of course." + +"What struck me," said Blake, "was that he did not swear." + +"Then," said Francis, "he is the only man in the army who would have +failed to damn those grinning troopers." + +"Except Grant," said Blake. + +"So they say.--It's hard to believe, but I suppose the Staff knows. +Wonder if Lee swears. Two army commanders who don't swear? It's +incredible!" + +As Penhallow, left alone, tugged at a reluctant boot, he heard, "Good +Lord! Master John, that's my business." + +He looked up to seize Josiah by the hand, exclaiming, "How did you get +here?--I am glad to see you. Pull off this boot. How are they all?" + +"The Colonel he sent me." + +"Indeed! How is he? I've not heard for a month." + +"He's bad, Master John, bad--kind of forgets things--and swears." + +"That's strange for him." + +"The doctors they can't seem to make it out. He hasn't put a leg over a +horse, not since he was wounded." Evidently this was for Josiah the most +serious evidence of change from former health. + +"How is Aunt Ann?" + +Tugging at the boots Josiah answered, "She's just a wonder--and Miss +Leila, she's just as pretty as a pansy." + +Penhallow smiled; it left a large choice to the imagination. +"Pansy--pansy--why is she like a pansy, Josiah?" + +"Well, Master John, it's because she's so many kinds of pretty. You see +I used to raise pansies. That boot's a tough one." + +"Have you any letters for me?" + +"No, sir. They said I wasn't as sure as the army-post. Got a note +from Dr. McGregor in my sack. Hadn't I better get your horse over the +bridge--I liked his looks, and I asked a man named Bill who owned that +horse. He said you did, and that's how I found you. He said that horse +was a bad one. He said he was called 'Hoodoo.' That's unlucky!" + +"Yes, he's mine, Josiah. You would like to change his name?" + +"Yes, sir, I would. This boot's the worst!" + +Penhallow laughed. "That horse, Josiah, has every virtue a horse ought to +have and every vice he ought not to have. He'll be as good as Aunt Ann +one day, and as mean and bad as Peter Lamb the next day. Halloa there, +guard! let my man cross over." + +Hoodoo came quietly, and as Penhallow walked his horse, Josiah related +the village news, and then more and more plainly the captain gathered +some clear idea of his uncle's condition and of the influence the younger +woman was exerting on a household over which hung the feeling of +inexorable doom. As he read McGregor's letter he knew too well that were +he with them he could be of no practical use. + +The next few days John Penhallow was kept busy, and on June 2nd having to +report with some sketch-maps he found the headquarters at Bethesda +Church. The pews had been taken out and set under trees. The staff was +scattered about at ease. General Grant, to John's amusement, was petting +a stray kitten with one hand and writing despatches with the other. At +last he began to talk with members of the Christian Commission about +their work. Among them John was aware of Mark Rivers. A few minutes later +he had his chance and took the clergyman away to the tents of the +engineers for a long and disheartening talk of home. They met no more for +many days, and soon he was too busy to think of asking the leave of +absence he so much desired. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + + +The effort to crush Lee's army by a frontal attack led to the disastrous +defeat of Cold Harbor, and Grant who was never personally routed resolved +to throw his army south of the James River. It involved a concealed night +march, while his lines were in many places but thirty to one hundred feet +from the watchful Confederates. The utmost secrecy was used in regard to +the bold movement intended, but preparations for it demanded frequent +reconnaissances and map-sketching on the part of the engineers. A night +of map-making after a long day in the saddle left John Penhallow on June +6th a weary man lying on his camp-bed too tired to sleep. He heard Blake +ask, "Are you at home, Penhallow?" Few men would have been as welcome as +the serious-minded New England captain who had met Penhallow from time to +time since the engineer's mud-bath in the Pamunkey River. + +"Glad to get you by yourself," said Blake. "You look used up. Do keep +quiet!" + +"I will, but sit down and take a pipe. Coffee, Josiah!" he called out. +"I am quite too popular by reason of Josiah's amazing ability to forage. +If the Headquarters are within reach, he and Bill--that's the general's +man--hunt together. The results are surprising! But I learned long ago +from my uncle, Colonel Penhallow, that in the army it is well to ask +no unnecessary questions. My man is very intelligent, and as I keep him +in tobacco and greenbacks, I sometimes fancy that Headquarters does not +always get the best out of the raids of these two contrabands." + +"I have profited by it, Penhallow. I have personal memories of that +young roast pig, I think your man called it a shoat. Your corps must +have caught it hard these last days. I suppose we are in for something +unusual. You are the only man I know who doesn't grumble. Francis says +it's as natural to the beast called an army as barking is to a dog." + +"Of course, the habit is stupid, Blake. I mean the constant growl about +the unavoidable discomforts of war; but this last week has got me near +the growling point. I have had two ague chills and quinine enough to ring +chimes in my head. I haven't had a decent wash for a week, and really war +is a disgustingly dirty business. You don't realize that in history, in +fiction, or in pictures. It's filthy! Oh, you may laugh!" + +"Who could help laughing?" + +"I can to-day. To-morrow I shall grin at it all, but just now I am half +dead. What with laying corduroys and bridging creeks, to be burnt up next +day, and Chickahominy flies--oh, Lord! If there is nothing else on hand +in the way of copies of maps, some general like Barnard has an insane +curiosity to reconnoitre. Then the Rebs wake up--and amuse themselves." + +Blake laughed. "You are getting pretty near to that growl." + +"Am I? I have more than impossible demands to bother me. What with some +despondent letters--I told you about my uncle's wound and the results, I +should have a fierce attack of home-sickness if I had leisure to think at +all." + +Blake had found in Penhallow much that he liked and qualities which were +responsive to his own high ideal of the man and the soldier. He looked +him over as the young engineer lay on his camp-bed. "Get anything but +home-sick, Penhallow! I get faint fits of it. The quinine of 'Get up, +captain, and put out those pickets' dismisses it, or bullets. Lord, but +we have had them in over-doses of late. Francis has been hit twice but +not seriously. He says that Lee is an irregular practitioner. It is +strange that some men are hit in every skirmish; it would bleed the +courage out of me." + +"Would it? I have had two flesh wounds. They made me furiously angry. You +were speaking of Lee--my uncle greatly admired him. I should like to know +more about him. I had a little chance when we were trying to arrange a +truce to care for the wounded. You remember it failed, but I had a few +minute's talk with a Rebel captain. He liked it when I told him how much +we admired his general. That led him to talk, and among other things he +told me that Lee had no sense of humour and I gathered was a man rather +difficult of approach." + +"He might apply to Grant for the rest of his qualities," said Blake. "He +would get it; but what made you ask about sense of the humorous? I have +too little, Francis too much." + +"Oh," laughed Penhallow, "from saint to sinner it is a good +medicine--even for home-sickness." + +"And the desperate malady of love," returned Blake. "I shall not venture +to diagnose your need. How is that?" + +"I?--nonsense," laughed the engineer. "But seriously, Blake, about +home-sickness; one of my best men has it badly--not the mild malady +you and I may have." + +"You are quite right. It accounts for some desertions--not to the enemy, +of course. I talked lately of this condition to a Dr. McGregor--" + +"McGregor!" returned Penhallow, sitting up. "Where is he? I'd like to see +him--an old comrade." + +"He is with our brigade." + +"Tell him to look me up. The engineers are easily found just now. He was +an old schoolmate." + +"I'll tell him. By the way, Penhallow, when asking for my mail to-day, I +persuaded the post-master to give me your letters. Don't mind me--you +will want to read them--quite a batch of them." + +"Oh, they can wait. Don't go. Ah! here's Josiah with coffee." + +"How it does set a fellow up, Penhallow. Another cup, please. I had to +wait a long time for our letters and yours. Really that place was more +tragic than a battlefield." + +"Why so? I send Josiah for my mail." + +"Oh, there were three cold-blooded men-machines returning letters. I +watched them marking the letters--'not found'--'missing'--and so on." + +"Killed, I suppose--or prisoners." + +"Yes, awful, indeed--most sorrowful! Imagine it! Others were forwarding +letters--heaps of them--from men who may be dead. You know how apt men +are to write letters before a battle." + +"I wait till it is over," said Penhallow. + +"That post-office gave me a fit of craving for home and peace." + +"Home-sickness! What, you, Blake!" + +"Oh, that worst kind; home-sickness for a home when you have no home. I +wonder if in that other world we shall be home-sick for this." + +"That depends. Ah! here comes a reminder that we are in this world just +now--and just as we have begun one of our real talks." + +An orderly appeared with a note. Penhallow read it. He was on his feet at +once. "Saddle Hoodoo, Josiah. I must go. Come soon again, Blake. We have +had a good talk--or a bit of one." + +At four in the morning of June 14th, when John Penhallow with a group of +older engineers looked across the twenty-one hundred feet of the James +River they were to bridge, he realized the courage and capacity of the +soldier who had so completely deceived his wary antagonist. Before eleven +that night a hundred pontoons stayed by barges bridged the wide stream +from shore to shore. Already the Second Corps under Hancock had been +hastily ferried over the river. The work on the bridge had been hard, and +the young Captain had had neither food nor rest. Late at night, the work +being over, he recrossed the bridge, and after a hasty meal lay down on +the bluff above the James with others of his Corps and slept the uneasy +sleep of an overtired man. At dawn he was awakened by the multiple noises +of an army moving on the low-lying meadows below the bluff. Refreshed and +free from any demand on his time, he breakfasted at ease, and lighting +his pipe was at once deeply interested in what he saw. As he looked about +him, he was aware of General Grant standing alone on the higher ground. +He saw the general throw away his cigar and with hands clasped behind him +remain watching in rapt silence the scene below him. "I wonder," thought +Penhallow, "of what he is thinking." The face was grave, the man +motionless. The engineer turned to look at the matchless spectacle +below him. The sound of bands rose in gay music from the approaches to +the river, where vast masses of infantry lay waiting their turn to cross. +The guns of batteries gleamed in the sun, endless wagon-trains and +ambulances moved or were at rest. Here and there the wind of morning +fluttered the flags and guidons with flashes of colour. The hum of a +great army, the multitudinous murmurs of men talking, the crack of whips, +the sharp rattle of wagons and of moving artillery, made a strange +orchestra. Over all rose the warning shrieks of the gun-boat signals. Far +or near on the fertile meadows the ripened corn and grain showed in green +squares between the masses of men and stirred in the morning breeze or +lay trampled in ruin by the rude feet of war. It was an hour and a scene +to excite the dullest mind, and Penhallow intensely interested sat +fascinated by a spectacle at once splendid and fateful. The snake-like +procession of infantry wagons and batteries moved across the bridge and +was lost to view in the forest. Penhallow turned again to look at his +general, who remained statuesque and motionless. Then, suddenly the +master of this might of men and guns looked up, listened to Warren's +artillery far beyond the river, and with the same expressionless face +called for his horse and rode away followed by his staff. + +The battle-summer of 1864 went on with the wearisome siege of Petersburg +and the frequent efforts to cut the railways which enabled the +Confederates to draw supplies from states which as yet had hardly felt +the stress of war. + +Late in the year the army became a city of huts, and there was the +unexampled spectacle of this great host voting quietly in the election +which gave to Lincoln another evidence of the trust reposed in him. The +engineers had little to do in connection with the larger movements of the +army, and save for the siege work were at times idle critics of their +superiors. The closing month of 1864 brought weather which made the +wooden huts, usually shared by two officers, more comfortable than tents. +The construction of these long streets of sheltering quarters brought out +much ingenuity, and Penhallow profited by Josiah's clever devices and +watchful care. As the army was in winter-quarters, there was time enough +for pleasant visiting, and for the engineers more than enough of danger +in the trenches or when called on to accompany some general officer as an +aide during Grant's obstinate efforts to cut the railways on which Lee +relied. Francis, not gravely wounded, was at home repairing damages; but +now, with snow on the ground and ease of intercourse, Blake was a +frequent visitor in the engineer quarters. When Rivers also turned up, +the two young men found the talk unrivalled, for never had the tall +clergyman seemed more attractive or as happy. + +Of an afternoon late in November Penhallow was toasting himself by the +small fire-place and deep in thought. He had had a long day in the +intrenchments and one moment of that feeling of imminent nearness to +death which affects men in various ways. A shell neatly dropped in a +trench within a few feet of where he stood, rolled over, spitting red +flashes. The men cried, "Down, down, sir!" and fell flat. Something +like the fascination a snake exercises held him motionless; he never was +able to explain his folly. The fuse went out as he watched it--the shell +was a dead thing and harmless. The men as they rose eyed him curiously. + +"A near thing," he said, and with unusual care moved along a traverse, +his duty over for the day. He took with him a feeling of mental confusion +and of annoyed wonder. + +He found Josiah picking a chicken as he sat whistling in front of the +tent. "There's been a fight, sir, about three o'clock, on our left. Bill +says we beat." + +"Indeed!" It was too common news to interest him. He felt some singular +completeness of exhaustion, and was troubled because of there being no +explanation which satisfied him. Asking for whisky to Josiah's surprise, +he took it and lay down, as the servant said, "There's letters, sir, on +the table." + +"Very well. Close the tent and say I'm not well; I won't see any one." + +"Yes, sir. Nothing serious?" + +"No." He fell asleep as if drugged. + +Outside Josiah picked his lean chicken and whistled with such peculiar +sweetness as is possible only to the black man. Everything interested +him. Now and then he listened to the varied notes of the missiles far +away and attracting little attention unless men were so near that the +war-cries of shot and shell became of material moment. The day was cold, +and an early November snow lay on the ground and covered the long rows of +cabins. Far to the rear a band was practising. Josiah listened, and with +a negative head-shake of disapproving criticism returned to the feather +picking and sang as he picked: + +I wish I was in Dixie land, +In Dixie land, in Dixie land. + +He held up the plucked fowl and said, "Must have been on short rations." + +The early evening was quiet. Now and then a cloaked horseman went by +noiseless on the snow. Josiah looked up, laid down the chicken, and +listened to the irregular tramp of a body of men. Then, as the head of a +long column came near and passed before him between the rows of huts, he +stood up to watch them. "Prisoners," he said. Many were battle-grimed and +in tatters, without caps and ill-shod. Here and there among them a +captured officer marched on looking straight ahead. The larger part were +dejected and plodded on in silence, with heads down, while others stared +about them curious and from the cabins near by a few officers came out +and many soldiers gathered. As usual there were no comments, no sign of +triumph and only the silence of respect. + +Josiah asked a guard where they came from. "Oh, Hancock's fight at +Hatcher's Run--got about nine hundred." + +The crowd of observers increased in number as the end of the line drew +near. Josiah lost interest and sat down. "Got to singe that chicken," he +murmured, with the habit of open speech of the man who had lived long +alone. Suddenly he let the bird drop and exclaimed under his breath, +"Jehoshaphat!"--his only substitute for an oath--"it's him!" Among the +last of the line of captured men he saw one with head bent down looking +neither to the right nor the left--it was Peter Lamb! At this moment two +soldiers ran forward and shouted out something to the officer bringing up +the rear. He cried, "Halt! take out that man." There was a little +confusion, and Peter was roughly haled out of the mass. The officer +called a sergeant. "Guard this fellow well," and he bade the men who +had detected Lamb go with the guard. + +Soldiers crowded in on them. "What's the matter--who is he?" they asked. + +"Back, there!" cried the Lieutenant. + +"A deserter," said some one. "Damn him." + +Lamb was silent while between the two guards he was taken to the rear. +Josiah forgot his chicken and followed them at a distance. He saw Lamb +handcuffed and vainly protesting as he was thrust into the prison-hut of +the provostry. + +Josiah asked one of the men who had brought about the arrest, "Who is +that man?" + +"Oh, he was a good while ago in my regiment--in our company too, the 71st +Pennsylvania--a drunken beast--name of Stacy--Joe Stacy. We missed him +when we were near the North Anna--at roll-call." + +"What will they do with him?" + +"Shoot him, I hope. His hands were powder blacked. He was caught on the +skirmish line." + +"Thank you." Josiah walked away deep in thought. He soon settled to the +conclusion that the Rebs had found Peter and that perhaps he had had no +choice of what he would do and had had to enlist. What explanatory lie +Peter had told he could not guess. + +Josiah went slowly back to the tent. His chicken was gone. He laid this +loss on Peter, saying, "He always did bring me bad luck." Penhallow was +still asleep. Ought he to tell him of Peter Lamb. He decided not to do +so, or at least to wait. Inborn kindliness acted as it had done before, +and conscious of his own helplessness, he was at a loss. Near to dusk he +lighted a pipe and sat down outside of Penhallow's hut. Servants of +engineer officers spoke as they passed, or chaffed him. His readiness for +a verbal duel was wanting and he replied curtly. He was trying to make +out to his own satisfaction whether he could or ought to do anything but +hold his tongue and let this man die and so disappear. He knew that he +himself could do nothing, nor did he believe anything could be done to +help the man. He felt, however, that because he hated Peter, he was bound +by his simply held creed to want to do something. He did not want to do +anything, but then in confusing urgency there was the old mother, the +colonel's indulgent care of this drunken animal, and at last some +personal realization of the loneliness of this man so near to death. Then +he remembered that Mark Rivers was within reach. To get this clergyman to +see Peter would relieve him of the singular feeling of responsibility +he could not altogether set aside. He was the only person who could +identify Lamb. That, at least, he did not mean to do. He would find Mr. +Rivers and leave to him to act as he thought best. He heard Penhallow +calling, and went in to find him reading his letters. After providing +for his wants, he set out to find the clergyman. His pass carried him +where-ever he desired to go, and after ten at night he found Mark Rivers +with the Christian Commission. + +"What is it?" asked Rivers. "Is John ill?" + +"No, sir," and he told in a few sentences the miserable story, to the +clergyman's amazement. + +"I will go with you," he said. "I must get leave to see him, but you had +better not speak of Peter to any one." + +Josiah was already somewhat indisposed to tell to others the story of the +North Anna incident, and walked on in silence over the snow until at the +provost-marshal's quarters Rivers dismissed him. + +In a brief talk with the provost-marshal, Rivers learned that there had +been a hastily summoned court-martial, and in the presence of very clear +evidence a verdict approved by General Grant. The man would be shot at +seven the next morning. "A hopeless case, Mr. Rivers," said the Provost, +"any appeal for reprieve will be useless--utterly useless--there will be +no time given for appeal to Mr. Lincoln. We have had too much of this +lately." + +Rivers said nothing of his acquaintance with the condemned man. He too +had reached the conviction, now made more definite, that needless pain +for the old mother could be avoided by letting Peter die with the name he +had assumed. + +It was after twelve at night when the provost's pass admitted him to a +small wooden prison. One candle dimly lighted the hut, where a manacled +man crouched by a failing fire. The soldier on guard passed out as the +clergyman entered. When the door closed behind him, Rivers said, "Peter." + +"My God! Mr. Rivers. They say I'll be shot. You won't let them shoot +me--they can't do it--I don't want to die." + +"I came here because Josiah recognized you and brought me." + +"He must have told on me." + +"Told what? He did not tell anything. Now listen to me. You are certain +to be shot at seven to-morrow morning. I have asked for delay--none will +be given. I come only to entreat you to make your peace with God--to tell +you that you have but these few hours in which to repent. Let me pray +with you--for you. There is nothing else I can do for you; I have tried +and failed. Indeed I tried most earnestly." + +"You can help if you will! You were always against me. You can telegraph +Colonel Penhallow. He will answer--he won't let them shoot me." + +Rivers who stood over the crouched figure laid a hand on his shoulder. +"If he were here he could do nothing. And even if I did telegraph him, he +is in no condition to answer. He was wounded at Gettysburg and his mind +is clouded. It would only trouble him and your mother, and not help you. +Your mother would hear, and you should at least have the manliness to +accept in silence what you have earned." + +"But it's my life--my life--I can't die." Rivers was silent. "You won't +telegraph?" + +"No. It is useless." + +"But you might do something--you're cruel. I am innocent. God let me be +born of a drunken father--I had to drink too--I had to. The Squire +wouldn't give me work--no one helped me. I enlisted in a New York +regiment. I got drunk and ran away and enlisted in the 71st Pennsylvania. +I stole chickens, and near to the North Anna I was cruelly punished. Then +the Rebs caught me. I had to enlist. Oh, Lord! I am unfortunate. If I +only could have a little whisky." + +Mark Rivers for a moment barren of answer was sure that as usual Peter +was lying and without any of his old cunning. + +"Peter, this story does not help you. You are about to die, and no +one--can help you--I have tried in vain--nothing can save you. Why at a +time so solemn as this do you lie to me? Why did you desert? and for +stealing chickens? nonsense!" + +"Well, then, it was about a woman. Josiah knows--he saw it all. I didn't +desert--I was tied to a tree--he could clear me. They left me tied. I had +to enlist; I had to!" + +"A woman!" Rivers understood. "If he were to tell, it would only make +your case worse. Oh, Peter, let me pray for you." + +"Oh, pray if you want to. What's the good? If you won't telegraph the +Squire, get me whisky; and if you won't do that, go away. Talk about God +and praying when I'm to be murdered just because my father drank! I don't +want any praying--I don't believe in it--you just go away and get me +some whisky. The Squire might have saved me--I wanted to quit from drink +and he just told me to get out--and I did. I hate him and--you." + +Rivers stood up. "May God help and pity you," he said, and so left him. + +He slept none, and rising early, prayed fervently for this wrecked soul. +As he walked at six in the morning to the prison hut, he thought over the +man who long ago had so defeated him. He had seemed to him more feeble in +mind and less cunning in his statements than had been the case in former +days. He concluded that he was in the state of a man used to drinking +whisky and for a time deprived of it. When he met him moving under guard +from the prison, he felt sure that his conclusion had been correct. + +As Rivers came up, the officer in charge said, "If, sir, as a +clergyman you desire to walk beside this man, there is no objection." + +"Oh, let him come," said Peter, with a defiant air. Some one pitiful had +indulged the fated man with the liquor he craved. + +Rivers took his place beside Peter as the guards at his side fell back. +Soldiers off duty, many blacks and other camp-followers, gathered in +silence as the little procession moved over the snow, noiseless except +for the tramp of many feet and the rumble of the cart in which was an +empty coffin. + +"Can I do anything for you?" said Rivers, turning toward the flushed face +at his side. + +"No--you can't." The man smelled horribly of whisky; the charitable aid +must have been ample. + +"Is there any message you want me to carry?" + +"Message--who would I send messages to?" In fact, Rivers did not know. +He was appalled at a man going half drunk to death. He moved on, for a +little while at the end of his resources. + +"Even yet," he whispered, "there is time to repent and ask God to pardon +a wasted life." Peter made no reply and then they were in the open space +on one side of a hollow square. On three sides the regiment stood intent +as the group came near. "Even yet," murmured Rivers. + +Of a sudden Peter's face became white. He said, "I want to tell you one +thing--I want you to tell him. I shot the Squire at Gettysburg--I wish I +had killed him--I thought I had. There!--I always did get even." + +"Stand back, sir, please," said a captain. Rivers was dumb with the +horror of it and stepped aside. The last words he would have said choked +him in the attempt to speak. + +Six soldiers took their places before the man who stood with his hands +tied behind his back, his face white, the muscles twitching, while a +bandage was tied over his eyes. + +"He wants to speak to you, sir," said the captain. + +Rivers stepped to his side. "I did not tell my name. Tell my mother I was +shot--not how--not why." + +Rivers fell back. The captain let fall a handkerchief. Six rifles rang +out, and Peter Lamb had gone to his account. + +The regiment marched away. The music of the band rang clear through the +frosty air. The captain said, "Where is the surgeon?" Tom McGregor +appeared, and as he had to certify to the death bent down over the +quivering body. + +"My God! Mr. Rivers," he said in a low voice, looking up, "it is Peter +Lamb." + +"Hush, Tom," whispered Rivers, "no one knows him except Josiah." They +walked away together while Rivers told of Josiah's recognition of Lamb. +"Keep silent about his name, Tom," and then went on to speak of the man's +revengeful story about the Colonel, to Tom's horror. "I am sorry you +told me," said the young surgeon. + +"Yes, I was unwise--but--" + +"Oh, let us drop it, Mr. Rivers. How is John? I have been three times to +see him and he twice to see me, but always he was at the front, and as +for me we have six thousand beds and too few surgeons, so that I could +not often get away. Does he know of this man's fate?" + +"No--and he had better not." + +"I agree with you. Let us bury his name with him. So he shot our dear +Colonel--how strange, how horrible!" + +"He believed that he did shoot him, and as the ball came from the lines +of the 71st when the fight was practically at an end, it may be true. He +certainly meant to kill him." + +"What an entirely, hopelessly complete scoundrel!" said McGregor. + +"Except," said Rivers, "that he did not want his mother to know how he +died." + +"Human wickedness is very incomplete," said the surgeon. "I wonder +whether the devil is as perfectly wicked as we are taught to believe. You +think this fellow, my dear old schoolmaster, was not utterly bad. Now +about wanting his mother not to know--I for my part--" + +"Don't, Tom. Leave him this rag of charity to cover a multitude of sins. +Now, I must leave you. See John soon--he is wasted by unending and +dangerous work--with malaria too, and what not; see him soon. He is a +splendid replica of the Colonel with a far better mind. I wish he were at +home." + +"And I that another fellow were at home. Good-bye." + +McGregor called at John's tent, but learned that at six he had gone on +duty to the trenches. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + + +Late on Christmas morning of this year 1864, Penhallow with no duty on +his hands saw with satisfaction the peacemaking efforts of the winter +weather. A thin drizzle of cold rain froze as it fell on the snow; the +engineers' lines were quiet. There was no infantry drill and the raw +recruits had rest from the never satisfied sergeants, while unmanageable +accumulations of gifts from distant homes were being distributed to +well-pleased men. Penhallow, lazily at ease, planned to spend Christmas +day with Tom McGregor or Roland Blake. The orders of a too energetic +Colonel of his own Corps summarily disposed of his anticipated leisure. +The tired and disgusted Captain dismounted at evening, and limping gave +his horse to Josiah. + +"What you done to Hoodoo, Master John? He's lame--and you too." + +Without answering John Penhallow turned to greet Tom McGregor. "Happy +Christmas, Tom." + +"You don't look very happy, John, nor that poor beast of yours. But I am +glad to have caught you at last." The faraway thunder of the siege +mortars was heard as he spoke. "Nice Christmas carol that! Have you been +to-day in the graveyards you call trenches?" + +"No, I was not on duty. I meant to ride over to your hospital to have a +home-talk and exchange grumbles, but just as I mounted Colonel Swift +stopped with a smartly dressed aide-de-camp. I saluted. He said, 'I was +looking for an engineer off duty. Have the kindness to ride with me.'" + +"By George! Tom, he was so polite that I felt sure we were on some +unpleasant errand. I was as civil, and said, 'With pleasure.' A nice +Christmas celebration! Well, I have been in the saddle all day. It rained +and froze to sleet on the snow, and the horses slipped and slid most +unpleasantly. About noon we passed our pickets. I was half frozen. When +we got a bit further, the old colonel pulled up on a hillside and began +to ask me questions, how far was that bridge, and could I see their +pickets, and where did that cross-road go to. The aide was apparently +ornamental and did not do anything but guess. I answered with sublime +confidence, as my mind got thawed a little and the colonel made notes." + +"I know," laughed Tom. "Must never admit in the army that you don't know. +You can always write 'respectfully referred' on a document. When General +Grant visits our hospital and asks questions ten to the minute, I fire +back replies after quick consultation with my imagination. It works. He +assured the surgeon-in-charge that I was a remarkably well-informed +officer. So was he!" + +"Come in," said Penhallow. "I am cold and cross. I expect a brevet at +least--nothing less; but if Comstock or Duane reads the colonel's notes, +I may get something else." + +"Have you had a fall, John? You are pretty dirty, and that horse with the +queer name is dead lame. How did you come to grief?" + +"I had an adventure." + +"Really! What was it?" + +"Tell you another time--it was a queer one. Here's Mr. Rivers." He was +followed by a contraband black with a basket. + +"Happy Christmas, boys. I bring you a Christmas turkey and a plum-pudding +from your aunt, John." + +He was made heartily welcome and was in unusually good spirits, as Josiah +took possession of these unexpected rations and John got into dry +clothes. + +They fell to familiar talk of Westways. "I fear," said Rivers, "that the +colonel is worse. I am always sure of that when Mrs. Penhallow writes of +him as cheerful." + +"My father," said Tom, "tells me he has days of excessive unnatural +gaiety, and then is irritable and cannot remember even the events of +yesterday." + +"Can you account for it, Tom?" asked John. + +"No, but he ought to take dad's advice and see Professor Askew. It makes +him furious. Oh! if we were all at home again, Mr. Rivers--and out of +this row. You are limping, John--what's wrong? Let me see that leg." + +"No, you don't," cried John merrily. "You promised to get even with me +after our famous battle--I don't trust you. I bruised my knee--that's +all." + +"Well, I can wait." + +They talked of home, of the village and its people, and at their meal of +the way they proposed to conduct the spring campaign. Many bloodless +battles were thus fought over mess-tables and around camp-fires. + +"For my part," said John, "I want to get done with this mole business and +do anything in the open--Oh, here comes Blake! You know our clergyman +from home, the Rev. Mr. Rivers? No! Well, then I make you the Christmas +gift of a pleasant acquaintance. Sit down, there is some turkey left +and plum-pudding." + +"Glad to see you, McGregor," said Blake. "I know Mr. Rivers by +sight--oh, and well, too--he was back of the line in that horrid +mix-up at the Bloody Angle--he was with the stretcher-bearers." + +"Where," said McGregor, "he had no business to be." + +Rivers laughed as he rarely did. "It may seem strange to you all, but I +am never so happy"--he came near to saying so little unhappy--"as when I +am among the dying and the wounded, even if the firing is heavy." + +Blake looked at the large-featured face and the eyes that, as old +McGregor said, were so kindly and so like mysterious jewels as they +seemed to radiate the light that came from within. His moment of critical +doubt passed, and he felt the strange attractiveness which Rivers had for +men and the influential trust he surely won. + +"I prefer," remarked McGregor, "to operate when bullets are not flying." + +"But you do not think of them then," returned Rivers, "I am sure you do +not." + +"No, I do not, but they seem to be too attentive at times. I lost a +little finger-tip back of Round Top. We had thirteen surgeons killed or +wounded that day. The Rebs left eighty surgeons with their wounded. We +sent them home after we got up enough help from the cities." + +"It was not done always," said Penhallow. "More's the pity." + +"We had Grant at the hospital yesterday," said the doctor. "He comes +often." + +"Did you notice his face?" queried Rivers. + +"The face? Not particularly--why?" + +"He has two deep lines between the eyes, and crossing them two lateral +furrows on the forehead. In Sicily they call it the 'cross of +misfortune.'" + +"Then it has yet to come," said Blake. + +"Late or early," said Rivers, "they assure you it will come. Some men +find their calamities when young, some when they are old, which is +better." + +"Let us be thankful that we have no choice," said Blake. + +"May God spare you now and always," said Rivers. The habitual melancholy +he dreaded took possession of his face as he rose, adding, "Come, Tom, we +must go." + +"And I," said Blake. + +"Happy Christmas to you all--and a happier New Year than 1864." They left +John to the letters Josiah placed on the table. + +The night was now clear and the stars brilliant, as Penhallow saw Blake +mount his horse and Rivers and McGregor walk away to find the hospital +ambulance. "There at least is peace," said John, as he watched the +Pleiades and the North Star, symbol of unfailing duty. "Well, it is as +good as a sermon, and as it belongs there on eternal guard so do I +belong here for my little day; but I trust the spring will bring us +peace, for--oh, my God!--I want it--and Westways." He went in to his hut +and stirred the fire into roaring companionship. + +Meanwhile Rivers, walking with McGregor, said, "Did the figure of that +doomed wretch haunt you as we talked to John?" + +"It did indeed! I had never before been ordered to certify to a death +like that, and I hated it even before I bent down and knew who it was." + +"How far was he accountable, Tom?" + +"Don't ask me riddles like that, Mr. Rivers. It is a subject I have often +thought about. It turns up in many forms--most terribly in the cases of +the sins of the fathers being loaded on the sons. How far is a man +accountable who inherits a family tendency to insanity? Should he marry? +If he falls in love, what ought he to do or not do? It is a pretty grim +proposition, Mr. Rivers." + +"He should not marry," replied the clergyman, and both moved on in silent +thought. + +"Oh, here is our ambulance," said Tom. They got in, Rivers reflecting how +war, parent of good and evil, had made of this rough country-bred lad a +dutiful, thoughtful man. + +Presently McGregor said, "When we were talking of our unpleasant duties, +I meant to tell you that one of them is to tattoo a D--for deserter--on +the breast of some poor homesick fellow. After that his head is shaved; +then the men laugh as he is drummed out of the lines--and it's +disgusting." + +"I agree with you," said Rivers. + +John lighted a fresh pipe and sat down by the fire to get some Christmas +pleasure from the home letter in Leila's large and clear script. His aunt +had ceased to write to him, and had left to her niece this task, +insisting that it should be punctually fulfilled. This time the letter +was brief. + +"Of course, my dear John, you know that I am under orders to write to you +once a week."--"Is that explanatory?" thought the reader.--The letter +dealt with the town and mills, the sad condition of Colonel Penhallow, +his aunt's messages and her advice to John in regard to health. The +horses came in for the largest share of a page. And why did he not write +more about himself? She did not suppose that even winter war consisted +only in drawing maps and waiting for Grant to flank Lee out of Petersburg +and Richmond. "War," wrote the young woman, "must be rather a dull +business. Have you no adventures? Tom McGregor wrote his father that you +had a thrilling experience in the trenches lately. The doctor spoke of it +to Aunt Ann, who was surprised I had never mentioned it. Don't dry up +into an old regular like the inspecting major of ordnance at the mills. + +"Expectantly yours, + +"LEILA GREY. + +"A Happy Christmas, Jack." + +"Oh, Great Scott!" laughed John. He read it again. Not a word of herself, +nor any of her rides, or of the incessant reading she liked to discuss +with him. Some dim suspicion of the why of this impersonal letter gently +flattered the winged hopefulness of love. "Well, I think I shall punish +you, Miss Grey, for sending me a Christmas letter like that." Oh, the +dear old playmate, the tease, the eyes full of tenderness when the +child's shaft of satire hurt! He laughed gaily as he went through the +historically famous test of courage in snuffing the flaring candle wicks +with his fingers. The little cabin was warm, the night silent, not a +sound came from the lines a mile away to disturb the peaceful memories of +home within the thirty thousand pickets needed to guard our far-spread +army. Men on both sides spoke this Christmas night, for they were often +near and exchanged greetings as they called out, "Halloa, Johnny Reb, +Merry Christmas!" + +"Same to you, Yank," and during that sacred night there was the truce of +God and overhead the silence of the solemn stars. + +As the young Captain became altogether comfortable, his thoughts wandered +far afield--always at last to Josiah's pansy, the many-masked Leila, and +behind her pretty feminine disguises the serious-minded woman for whom, +as he smilingly consulted his fancy, he found no flower emblem to suit +him. The letter he read once more represented many Leilas. Could he +answer all of them and abide too by the silence he meant to preserve +until the war was over? The imp of mischief was at his side. There was no +kind of personal word of herself in the letter, except that he was +ordered to talk of John Penhallow and his adventures. He wrote far into +the Christmas night: + +"DEAR LEILA: To hear is to obey. I am to write of myself--of adventures. +Nearness to death in the trenches is an every-second-day adventure +enough--no one talks of it. Tom was ill-advised to report of me at home. +I used to dream of the romance of war when I was a boy. There is very +little romance in it, and much dirt, awful horrors of the dead and +wounded, of battles lost or won, and waste beyond conception. After a big +fight or wearying march one could collect material for a rummage-sale +such as would rout Aunt Ann's ideal of an amusing auction of useless +things. + +"My love to one and all, and above all to the dear Colonel who is never +long out of my mind. + +"Yours truly, + +"JOHN PENHALLOW." + +"I put on this separate sheet for you alone the adventure you ask for. It +is the only one worth telling, and came to me this Christmas morning. It +was strange enough. + +"An old Colonel caught me as I was about to visit Tom McGregor at the +hospital. I was disgusted, but he wanted an engineer. He got me, alas! We +rode far to our left over icy snow-crust. To cut my tale short, after we +passed our outlying pickets and I had answered a dozen questions, he +said, 'Can you see their pickets?' I said, 'No, they are half a mile away +on the far side of a creek in the woods. That road leads to a bridge; +they may be behind the creek.' + +"'Do you think it fordable?' + +"'I do not know.' Like a fool, I said, 'I will ride down the road and get +a nearer look.' He would be much obliged. I rode Hoodoo down an icy hill +with a sharp lookout for their pickets. As I rode, I slipped my revolver +out and let it hang at my wrist. I rode on cautiously. About a quarter of +a mile from the creek I made up my mind that I had gone far enough. The +creek was frozen, as I might have known, and the colonel too. As I +checked Hoodoo a shot rang out from a clump of pines on my right and a +horseman leaped into the road some twenty yards in front of me. I fired +and missed him. He turned and rode pretty fast toward the bridge, turning +to fire as he went. I like a fool rode after him. We exchanged shot after +shot. He was on the farther end of the bridge when he pulled up his horse +and stopped short. He held up a hand; I felt for my sword, having emptied +my revolver. It was rather ridiculous. By George! the man was laughing. +We were not fifty feet apart when I reined up Hoodoo. We had each fired +six shots in vain--I had counted his. + +"He called out, 'A rather pretty duel, sir. Don't ride over the bridge.' +A picket shot from the left singing over my head rather emphasized his +warning. 'It would not be fair--you would ride right into my pickets.' It +was an unusual bit of chivalry. + +"I called out, 'Thank you, I hope I have not hit you. May I ask your +name?' + +"'I am at your service. I am'--here Captain John wrote +merrily--'Scheherazade who says-- + +"Being now sleepy, the Caliph will hear the amazing sequel to-morrow +night or _later_. + +"There you have my adventure all but the end. If I do not hear more of +Miss Grey's personal adventures she will never--never, hear the name. + +"JOHN PENHALLOW." + +He laughed outright as he closed and directed the envelope. I suppose, +he wrote in his diary, that as there are several Leilas, there are also +several John Penhallows, and I am just now the mischievous lad who was +so much younger than Miss Grey. Would she laugh over the lesson of his +letter or be angry, or cry a little and feel ill-treated, or--and even +that was possible--say it was of no moment who the man was. He felt the +gaiety which in some men who have not the mere brute courage of the +bull-dog is apt to follow for many hours the escape from a great danger. +The boylike mischief of his letter was in part due to some return of the +cheerful mood which possessed him after the morning's risks. He went out +to question the night of the weather. As he looked over the snow and then +up at the mighty clock-work of the stars, he responded slowly to the +awe this silentness of immeasurable forces was apt to produce; a perfect +engine at the mills in noiseless motion always had upon him the same +effect. As he moved, his knee reminded him of the morning's escape. When +he rode away from the bridge, with attentions from the enemy's pickets +following and came near the waiting colonel, his horse came down and like +his rider suffered for the fall on frozen ground. + +There was just then for a time less work than usual for the engineers, +and he had begun to feel troubled by the fact that two weeks had gone by +since Leila wrote, without a home letter. Then it came and was brief: + +"DEAR JOHN: I have truly no better and no worse news to send about dear +Uncle Jim and this saddened home. To be quite frank with you, your letter +made me realize what is hardly felt as here in our home we become used to +war news. I thought less of your mischievous attempt to torment my +curiosity than of your personal danger, and yet I know too well what +are the constant risks in your engineer duties, for I have found among +Uncle Jim's books accounts of the siege of Sevastopol. As to your naughty +ending, I do not care who the man was--why should I? I doubt if you +really know. + +"I am, +Your seriously indifferent +LEILA GREY. + +"P.S. I am ashamed to admit that I reopened my letter to tell you I +fibbed large. _Please_ not to tease me any more." + +He replied at once: + +"DEAR LEILA: I am off to the front as usual. The man was Henry Grey. An +amazing encounter! I had never seen him, as you may know. I did not wait +to reply to him because the Rebel pickets were not so considerate as +their colonel. I recalled Uncle Jim's casual mention of Henry Grey as a +rather light-minded, quixotic man. I am glad he is, but imagine what +a tragedy failed to materialize because two men were awkward with the +pistol. But what a strange meeting too! It is not the only case. A +captain I know took his own brother prisoner last month; the Rebel would +not shake hands with him. Do not tell Aunt Ann--or rather, do what seems +best to you. I trust you, of course. The encounter made me want to know +your uncle in some far-off happier day. + +"In haste, Yours, + +"JOHN PENHALLOW." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + + +When late in March Grant about to move left the engineer brigade at City +Point, the need to corduroy the rain-soaked roads called some of the +corps to the front, and among them John Penhallow. As usual when +unoccupied they were set free to volunteer for staff duty. It thus +chanced that Penhallow found himself for a time an extra aide to General +John Parke. + +The guarded outer lines of the defences of Petersburg included forests +with here and there open spaces and clumps of trees. More than a half +mile away from the enemy, on rising ground, amid bushes and trees, lay +the army corps of General Parke. It was far into the night. The men were +comfortably asleep, for on this second of April, the air was no longer +chilly and there were no tents up. In the mid-centre of the corps-line +behind the ridge a huge fire marked the headquarters. As the great logs +blazed high, they cast radiating shadows of tree trunks, which were and +were not as the fire rose or fell. Horses tied to the trees moved +uneasily when from far and near came the clamour of guns. Now and then a +man sat up in the darkness and listened, but this was some new recruit. +For the most of the sleepers the roar of guns was less disturbing than +the surly mosquitoes and the sonorous trumpeting of a noisy neighbour. +Aides dismounted near the one small tent in the wood shadows, and coming +out mounted horses as tired as the riders and rode away into the night. +Here and there apart black servants and orderlies slept the deep sleep of +irresponsibility and among them Josiah. Beside the deserted fire John +Penhallow sat smoking. A hand fell on his shoulder. + +"Halloa, Blake!" he said, "where did you come from?" + +"I am on Wright's staff. I am waiting for a note I am to carry. There +will be no sleep for me to-night. We shall attack at dawn--a square +frontal attack through slashes, chevaux-de-frises and parapets; but the +men are keen for it, and we shall win." + +"I think so--the game is nearly played out." + +"I am sorry for them, Penhallow." + +"And I. I was thinking when you came of the pleasant West Point friends +who may be in those woods yonder, and of the coming agony of that +wonderful crumbling host of brave men, and of my uncle's friend, Robert +Lee. I shall be a happy man when I can take their hands again." + +"How many will be left?" said Blake. + +"God knows--we shall, I hope, live to be proud of them." + +"My friend Francis sees always the humorous side of war--I cannot." + +"It does have--oh, very rarely--its humorous side," returned Penhallow, +"but not often for me. His mocking way of seeing things is doubly +unpleasant because no man in the army is more in earnest. This orchestra +of snoring men would amuse him." + +As Blake sat down, he said, "I wonder if they are talking the language of +that land--that nightly bourne from which we bring back so little. Listen +to them!" + +"That's so like you, Blake. I was reflecting too when you came on the +good luck I had at the North Anna when you pulled me out. Mark Rivers +once said that I was good at making acquaintances, but slow at making +friendships." + +"Thank you," said Blake, understanding him readily. "I am somewhat like +you." + +The solemnity of the night and of the fate-laden hours had opened for +a minute the minds of two men as reserved and reticent as are most +well-bred Americans, who as a rule lack the strange out-spoken frankness +of our English kin. + +"Oh! here is my summons," said Blake. "Good luck to you, Penhallow. I +have about the closing of this war a kind of fear I have never had +before." + +"That is natural enough," returned Penhallow, "and I fancy it is not +uncommon. Let us part with a more pleasant thought. You will come and +shoot with me at Grey Pine in the fall? Bye-bye." + +Blake rode away. His friend deep in thought and unable to sleep watched +the dying fire. The night hours ran on. Obedient to habit he wound his +watch. "Not asleep," said a pleasant voice. He rose to face the slight +figure and gently smiling face of General Parke. + +"What time is it, Penhallow?" + +"Four o'clock, sir." + +"I have sent back Captain Blake with a word to General Wright, but he +will have too long a ride. I want you to carry this same request. By +taking the short cut in front of our lines, you can get there in a third +of the time. You will keep this side of our pickets to where our line +turns, then go through them and down the slope a bit. For a short +distance you will be near the clump of trees on the right. If it is +picketed--there are no pickets nearer--you will have to ride hard. Once +past the angle of their line you are safe. Am I clear?" + +"Certainly, sir. There is some marshy ground--I climbed a tree and looked +it over yesterday--it won't stop the men, but may slow a horse." + +"I see. Here is my note." + +Penhallow tucked it in his belt and roused Josiah. "See to the girth," he +said. "Is Hoodoo in good order?" + +"Yes, sir. Where you going, Master John?" + +"A little errand. Make haste." + +"I know those little errands," said the black. "The good Lord care for +him," he murmured, as the man he loved best was lost in the darkness. + +He was aware of the great danger of his errand and was at once in that +state of intensity of attention which sharpens every sense. He rode for +the fourth of a mile between the long lines of infantry now astir here +and there, and then an officer saw him through their picket-line. "Good +luck to you!" he said. "I think the Rebs have no outlying pickets, but +the woods are full of them." + +Penhallow rode down a slight incline, and remembering that the marsh +lower down might be difficult turned aside and came on a deep gully. The +night was still dark, but a faint glow to eastward made haste desirable. +The gully, as he rode beside it, flattened out, but at once he felt that +his horse was in trouble on marshy ground. He dismounted and led him, +but always the better footing lay nearer to the clump of trees. He made +up his mind to ride for it. While on foot he had been as yet hardly +visible. A shot from the salient group of trees decided him. He mounted +and touched Hoodoo with the spur. The horse bounded forwards too quickly +to sink in the boggy ground. Then a dozen shots told the rider he had +been seen. Something like the feeling of a blow from a stick was felt as +his left arm fell with gripped reins, and the right arm also dropped. +Hoodoo pitched forward, rose with a gallant effort, and sinking down +rolled to left upon the rider's leg. + +The horse lay still. Penhallow's first sensation was astonishment; then +he began to make efforts to get free. His arms were of no use. He tried +to stir his horse with the spur of the free foot. It had no effect. +Something must be wrong with him. He had himself a feeling of weakness he +could not comprehend, aware that he had no wound of the trunk. His +useless arms made all effort vain, and the left foot under the weight of +the horse began to feel numb. The position struck him as past help until +our people charged. He thought of Francis's axiom that there was nothing +so entirely tragic as to be without some marginalia of humour. The lad +smiled at his use of the word. His own situation appealed to him as +ridiculous--a man with a horse on him waiting for an army to lift it off. + +The left elbow began to recover from the early insensibility of shock and +to be painful. Then in the dim light, as he lifted his head, he was aware +of a Rebel soldier in front covering him with a revolver. Penhallow cried +out with promptness, "I surrender--and I am shot through both arms." + +The soldier said, "You are not worth taking--guess you'll keep till we +lick the Yanks," and walking around the helpless officer he appropriated +his revolver. + +"Can you get my horse up?" said John. + +"Horse up! I want your boots." + +"Well, pull them off--I can't." + +"Oh, don't you bother, I'll get them." With this he knelt down and began +on the boot which belonged to the leg projecting beneath the horse. "Darn +it! They're just my size." As he tugged at it, Hoodoo dying and convulsed +struck out with his fore legs and caught the unlucky soldier full in the +belly. The man gave a wild cry and staggering back fell. + +Penhallow craned over the horse's body and broke into laughter. It hurt +his arm, but he gasped with fierce joy, "Francis would call him a +freebooter." Then he fell back and quite helpless listened. Unable to +turn his head, he heard behind him the wild rush of men. Leaping over +horse and man they went by. He got a look to right and left. They tore +through the slashes, dropping fast and facing a furious fusillade were +lost to sight in the underbrush. "By George! they've won," he exclaimed +and fell back. "They must have carried the parapet." He waited. In +about a half hour a party of men in grey went by. An officer in blue +cried out, "Up the hill, you beggars!" More of the grey men followed--a +battle-grimed mob of hundreds. + +"Halloa!" called Penhallow. "Get this horse up. Put your hand in my +pocket and you will find fifty dollars." They stopped short and a half +dozen men lifted the dead animal. "Thank you, set me on my feet," said +Penhallow. "Empty my pockets--I can't use my arms." They did it well, and +taking also his watch went on their way well pleased. + +John stood still, the blood tingling in his numb foot. "Halloa!" he +cried, as the stretcher-bearers and surgeons came near. A headquarters +surgeon said, "We thought you were killed. Can you walk?" + +"No--hit in both arms--why the deuce can't I walk?" + +"Shock, I suppose." + +A half hour later he was in a hospital tent and a grim old army surgeon +handling his arms. "Right arm flesh-wound--left elbow smashed. You will +likely have to lose the arm." + +"No, I won't," said Penhallow, "I'd as leave die." + +"Don't talk nonsense. They all say that. See you again." + +"You will get ten dollars," said John to a hospital orderly, "if you will +find Captain Blake of General Wright's staff." + +"I'll do it, sir." + +Presently his arms having been dressed, he was made comfortable with +morphia. At dusk next morning his friend Blake sat down beside his cot. +"Are you badly hurt?" he said. A certain tenderness in the voice was like +a revelation of some qualities unknown before. + +"I do not know. For about the first time in my life I am suffering +pain--I mean constant pain, with a devilish variety in it too. The same +ball, I believe, went through some muscle in the right arm and smashed my +left elbow. It's a queer experience. The surgeon-in-charge informed me +that I would probably lose the arm. The younger surgeon says the ball +will become what he calls encysted. They probed and couldn't find it. +Isn't that Josiah I hear?" + +"Yes, I will bring him in." + +In a moment they came back. "My God! Master John, I been looking for you +all night and this morning I found Hoodoo dead. Didn't I say he'd bring +you bad luck. Oh, my!--are you hurt bad?" + +"Less noise there," said an assistant surgeon, "or get out of this." + +"He'll be quiet," said Blake, "and you will have the decency to be less +rough." The indignant doctor walked away. + +"Poor Hoodoo--he did his best," murmured John. "Get me out of this, +Blake. It's a hell of suffering. Take me to Tom McGregor at City Point." + +"I will, but now I must go. General Parke hopes you are doing well. You +will be mentioned in his despatches." + +"That is of no moment--get me to McGregor. Hang the flies--I can't fight +them." + +John never forgot the ambulance and the rough railway ride to City Point, +nor his pleasure when at rest in the officers' pavilion he waited for his +old playmate. As I write I see, as he saw, the long familiar ward, the +neat cots, the busy orderlies. He waited with the impatience of +increasing pain. "Well, Tom," he said, with an effort to appear gay, +"here's your chance at last to get even." + +McGregor made brief reply as he uncovered the wounded joint. Then he said +gravely, "A little ether--I will get out the ball." + +"No ether, Tom, I can stand it. Now get to work." + +"I shall hurt you horribly." + +"No ether," he repeated. "Go on, Tom." + +McGregor sat beside him with a finger on the bounding pulse and +understood its meaning and the tale it told. "It will not be long, John," +and then with attention so concentrated as not even to note the one stir +of the tortured body or to hear the long-drawn groan of pain, he rose to +his feet. "All right, John--it's only a slug--lucky it was not a musket +ball." He laid a tender hand on the sweating brow, shot a dose of morphia +into the right arm, and added, "You will get well with a stiff joint. Now +go to sleep. The right arm is sound, a flesh-wound." + +"Thanks," said John, "we are even now, Tom. Captain Blake telegraphed +your father, Tom--but write, please." + +"To whom, John?" + +"To Leila--but do not alarm them." + +"I will write. In a week or two you must go home. That is the medicine +you need most. You will still have some pain, but you will not lose the +arm." + +"Thank you--but what of the army? I am a bit confused as to time. Parke +attacked on the second of April, I think. What day is this?" + +"Oh, they got out of Petersburg that night--out of Richmond too. Lee is +done for--a day or two will end it." + +"Thank God," murmured John, "but I am so sorry for Lee." + +"Can't say I am." + +"Oh, that blessed morphia!" + +"Well, go to sleep--I will see you again shortly. I have other fellows to +look after. In a few minutes you will be easy. Draw the fly-nets, +orderly." + +Of all that followed John Penhallow in later years remembered most +distinctly the half hour of astonishing relief from pain. As his senses +one by one went off guard, he seemed to himself to be watching with +increase of ease the departure of some material tormentor. In after years +he recalled with far less readiness the days of varied torment which +required more and more morphia. Why I know not, the remembrance of pain +as time goes by is far less permanent than that of relief or of an hour +of radiant happiness. Long days of suffering followed as the tortured +nerves recorded their far-spread effects in the waste of the body and +that failure of emotional control which even the most courageous feel +when long under the tyranny of continuous pain. McGregor watched him +with anxiety and such help as was possible. On the tenth of April John +awakened after a night of assisted sleep to find himself nearly free +from pain. Tom came early into the ward. + +"Good news, John," he said. "Lee has surrendered. You look better. Your +resignation will be accepted, and I have a leave of absence. Economy is +the rule. We are sending the wounded north in ship-loads. Home! Home! old +fellow, in a week." + +The man on the cot looked up. "You have a letter, I see," and as he spoke +broke into childlike tears, for so did long suffering deal with the most +self-controlled in those terrible years, which we do well to forgive, and +to remember with pride not for ourselves alone. The child-man on the bed +murmured, "Home was too much for me." + +The surgeon who loved him well said, "Read your letter--you are not the +only man in this ward whom pain has made a baby. Home will complete your +cure--home!" + +"Thank you, Tom." He turned to the letter and using the one half-useful +hand opened it with difficulty. What he first felt was disappointment at +the brevity of the letter. He was what Blake called home-hungry. With +acute perception, being himself a homeless man, Blake made his diagnosis +of that form of heart-ache which too often adds a perilously depressing +agency to the more material disasters of war. Pain, fever, the inevitable +ward odours, the easier neighbour in the next bed who was of a mind +to be social, the flies--those Virginia flies more wily than Lee's +troopers--and even trifling annoyances made Penhallow irritable. He +became a burden to hospital stewards and over-worked orderlies, and now +the first look at Leila's letter disturbed him, and as he read he became +indignant: + +"DEAR JOHN: Mr. Blake's telegram telling us of your wound caused us some +anxiety, which was made less by Dr. McGregor's somewhat hastily written +letter. Aunt Ann thought it was excusable in so busy a man. Poor Uncle +Jim on hearing it said, 'Yes, yes--why didn't John write--can't be much +the matter.' This shows you his sad failure. He has not mentioned it +since. + +"It is a relief to us to know that you were not dangerously hurt. It +seems as if this sad war and its consequences were near to end. Let us +hear soon. Aunt Ann promises to write to you at once. + +"Yours truly, + +"LEILA GREY." + +He threw the letter down, and forgetting that he had asked Blake and the +doctor not to alarm his people, was overcome by the coldness of Leila's +letter. He lay still, and with eyes quite too full felt that life had for +him little of that which once made it sweet with what all men hold most +dear. He would have been relieved if he could have seen Leila when alone +she read and read again McGregor's letter, and read with fear between the +lines of carefully guarded words what he would not say and for days much +feared to say. She sat down and wrote to John a letter of such tender +anxiety as was she felt a confession she was of no mind to make. He was +in no danger. Had he been, she would have written even more frankly. But +her trouble about her uncle was fed from day to day by what her aunt +could not or would not see, and it was a nearer calamity and more and +more distressing. Then she sat thinking what was John like now. She saw +the slight figure, so young and still so thoughtful, as she had smiled in +her larger experience of men when they had sat and played years ago with +violets on the hillside of West Point. No, she was unprepared to commit +herself for life, for would he too be of the same mind? For a moment she +stood still indecisive, then she tore up her too tender letter and wrote +the brief note which so troubled him. She sent it and then was sorry she +had not obeyed the impulse of the kindlier hour. + +The nobler woman instinct is apt to be armed by nature for defensive +warfare. If she has imagination, she has in hours of doubt some sense of +humiliation in the vast surrender of marriage. This accounts for certain +of the cases of celibate women, who miss the complete life and have no +ready traitor within the guarded fortress to open the way to love. Some +such instinctive limitations beset Leila Grey. The sorrow of a great, a +nearer and constant affection came to her aid. To think of anything like +love, even if again it questioned her, was out of the question while +before her eyes James Penhallow was fading in mind. + +John Penhallow was shortly relieved by McGregor's order that he should +get some exercise. It enabled him to escape the early surgical visit and +the diverse odours of surgical dressings which lingered in the long ward +while breakfast was being served. There were more uneasy sleepers than he +in the ward and much pain, and crippled men with little to look forward +to. The suffering he saw and could not lessen had been for John one of +the depressing agencies of this hospital life. The ward was quiet when he +awoke at dawn of April 13th. He quickly summoned an orderly and endured +the daily humiliation of being dressed like a baby. He found Josiah +waiting with the camp-chair at the door as he came out of the ward. + +"How you feeling, Master John?" + +"Rather better. What time is it? That Reb stole my watch." Even yet it +was amusing. He laughed at the remembrance of having been relieved by the +prisoners of purse and watch. + +For Josiah to extract his own watch was as McGregor said something +like a surgical operation. "It's not goin', Master John. It's been losing +time--like it wasn't accountable. What's it called watch for if it don't +watch?" + +This faintly amused John. He said no more, but sat enjoying the early +morning quiet, the long hazy reaches of the James River, the awakening of +life here and there, and the early stir among the gun-boats. + +"Get me some coffee, Josiah," he said. "I am like your watch, losing time +and everything else." + +Josiah stood over him. His unnatural depression troubled a simple mind +made sensitive by a limitless affection and dog-like power to feel +without comprehending the moods of the master. + +"Captain John, you was sayin' to me yesterday you was most unfortunate. I +just went away and kept a kind of thinkin' about it." + +"Well, what conclusion did you come to?" He spoke wearily. + +"Oh, I just wondered if you'd like to change with me--guess you wouldn't +for all the pain?" + +Surprised at the man's reflection, John looked up at the black kindly +face. "Get me some coffee." + +"Yes, sir--what's that?" The morning gun rang out the sunrise hour. +"What's that, sir?" The flag was being hoisted on the slope below them. +"It's stopped at half-mast, sir! Who's dead now?" + +"Go and ask, Josiah." McGregor came up as he spoke. + +"The President was killed last night, John, by an assassin!" + +"Lincoln killed!" + +"Yes--I will tell you by and by--now this is all we know. I must make my +rounds. We leave to-morrow for home." + +John sat alone. This measureless calamity had at once on the +thoughtful young soldier the effect of lessening the influences of +his over-sensitive surrender to pain and its attendant power to weaken +self-control. Like others, in the turmoil of war he had given too little +thought to the Promethean torment of a great soul chained to the rock of +duty--the man to whom like the Christ "the common people listened +gladly." He looked back over his own physical suffering with sense of +shame at his defeat, and sat up in his chair as if with a call on his +worn frame to assert the power of a soul to hear and answer the summons +of a great example. + +"Thank you, Josiah," he said cheerfully. "No coffee is like yours to set +a fellow up." A greater tonic was acting. "We go home to-morrow." + +"That's good. Listen, sir--what's that?" + +"Minute guns, Josiah. Have you heard the news?" + +"Yes, sir--it's awful; but we are going home to Westways." + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + + +As the trains went northward crowded with more or less damaged officers +and men, John Penhallow in his faded engineer uniform showed signs of +renewed vitality. He chatted in his old companionable way with the other +home-bound volunteers, and as they went through Baltimore related to +McGregor with some merriment his bloodless duel with Mrs. Penhallow's +Rebel brother Henry. The doctor watched him with the most friendly +satisfaction and with such pride as a florist may have in his prospering +flowers. The colour of health was returning to the pale face and there +was evidently relief from excessive pain. He heard, too, as they chatted, +of John's regrets that his simple engineer dress was not as neat as he +would have desired and of whether his aunt would dislike it. Wearing the +station of Westways Crossing, John fell into a laughing account of his +first arrival and of the meeting with Leila. The home-tonic was of use +and he was glad with gay gladness that the war was over. + +As the train stopped, he said as he got out, "There is no carriage--you +telegraphed, McGregor?" + +"Yes, I did, but the service is, I fancy, snowed under just now with +messages. I will walk on and have them send for you." + +"No," said John, "I am quite able to walk. Come along." + +"Are you really able?" + +"Yes--we'll take it easy." + +"There isn't much left of you to carry what remains." + +"My legs are all right, Tom." He led the way through the woods until they +came out on the avenue. "Think of it, Tom,--it is close to nine years +since first I left Grey Pine for the Point." + +In the afternoon of this sunny day late in April the Colonel sat on the +porch with his wife. Below them on the step Rivers was reading aloud the +detailed account of Lincoln's death. Leila coming out of the house was +first to see the tall thin figure in dark undress uniform. She was +thankful for an unwatched moment of ability to gain entire self-command. +It was needed. She helped herself by her cry of joyous recognition. + +"Aunt Ann! Aunt Ann!" she cried, "there is Dr. McGregor and--and John and +Josiah." The aunt cast a look of anxiety at the expressionless face of +James Penhallow, as he rose to his feet, saying, "Why wasn't I told?" + +"We did not know, sir," said Rivers, dropping the paper as he went down +the steps to meet the new-comer. + +Then the wasted figure with the left arm in a sling was in Ann +Penhallow's embrace. + +"My God!" he said, "but it's good to be at home." As he spoke he turned +to the Colonel who had risen. + +"Got hit, John? It runs in the family. Once had a Sioux arrow through my +arm. Glad to see you. Want to be fed up a bit. Lord! but you're lean." He +said no more, but sat down again without appearance of interest. + +Rivers made John welcome with a pleasant word, and Leila coming forward +took his hand, saying quietly, "We hardly looked for you to-day, but it +is none too soon." Then she turned to McGregor, "We have much to thank +you for. You will stay to dine?" + +John, still too sensitive, was troubled as he realized his uncle's +condition, and felt that there was something in Leila's manner which was +unlike that of the far-remembered Leila of other days. She had urged +McGregor to stay and dine, and then added, "But, of course, that pleasure +must wait--you will want to see your father. He is so proud of you--as we +all are." + +"That is a pleasant welcome, Miss Leila; and, dear Mrs. Penhallow, I do +not want a carriage, I prefer to walk. I will see you, John, and that +lame arm to-morrow. Good-bye, Colonel." + +The master of Grey Pine said, "Nice young man! Ann ought to kill the +fatted calf. Tell John not to be late for dinner." + +"It is all right, James," said Mrs. Ann, "all right." + +Rivers watched with pain the vacant face of the Colonel. This mental +failure constantly recalled the days of anguish when with despair he had +seen all who were dear to him one after another die mentally before their +merciful exit from life. + +"John must be tired," he said. Leila, who noted on the young soldier's +face the effect of sudden realization of his useless state said, "Your +room is ready, John." + +"Yes," said John, "I should like to rest before dinner." + +With a word as to the fatigue of his journey, Leila followed him into the +well-remembered hall. + +"Good heavens, Leila. It seems an age since I was here. Send up Josiah. +I am like a baby and need him to help me." + +She looked after him pitifully as he went up the stairs. "Surely," she +thought, "we have paid dearly our debt to the country." + +He came down at six o'clock, still in his undress uniform, but thinking +that his aunt would not like it. In a day or two he would have the +civilian clothes he had ordered in Philadelphia. He need have had no such +anxiety; she was indifferent to all but her husband, who sat at table +speechless, while Leila and John too consciously manufactured talk of the +home and the mills--and the ending of the war. After the meal Ann began +her patient efforts to interest the Colonel with a game of cards and then +of backgammon. It seemed only to make him irritable, and he said at last, +"I think I must go to bed." + +"Certainly, dear." She went with him upstairs, saying, "Good-night, +children." + +"She will not return, John. This is what goes on day after day." + +"It is very sad--I did not fully comprehend his condition." + +"He is often far worse, and complains of his head or is resolutely--I +should say obstinately--bent on some folly, such as walking to the mills +and advising them. Aunt Ann never contradicts him--what he wants, she +wants. Not the most reasonable opposition is of any use." + +"Does he never ride, Leila?" + +"Never, and is vexed when Dr. McGregor calls to see him and advises a +consultation. Once we had a distressing outbreak." + +"And yet," said John, "there should have been other advice long ago. +Somehow there must be." + +"Mr. Rivers has urged it and made him angry; as for Aunt Ann, she sees +only the bright side of his case and humours him as she would a sick +child." + +"She is greatly changed, Leila. I hardly know how to state it. She has a +look of--well, of something spiritual in her face." + +"Yes, that is true. Are you in pain, John?" she added. + +"Yes--not in great pain, but enough. For two weeks I did suffer +horribly." + +"John! Oh, my poor Jack! We never knew--is it so bad?" + +"Yes, imagine a toothache in your elbow with a variety of torments in the +whole arm." + +"I can't imagine. I never had a toothache--in fact, I hardly know the +sensation of serious pain." + +"Well, I broke down under it, Leila. I became depressed and quite +foolishly hopeless. Some day I will tell you what helped me out of a +morass of melancholy." + +"Tell me now." + +"No, I must go to bed. I am getting better and will get off with a stiff +elbow, so Tom says. At first they talked of amputation. That was awful. +Good-night!" + +It was none too soon. She was still unsure of herself, and although no +word of tender approach had disturbed her as he talked, and she was glad +of that, the tense look of pain, the reserve of his hospital confession +of suffering nearly broke down her guarded attitude. As he passed out of +view at the turn of the stairs, she murmured, "Oh, if only Uncle Jim were +well." + +Josiah came at the call of the bell. She detained him. She asked, "How +was the Captain wounded? No one wrote of how it happened." + +"Well, missy, he would ride a horse called Hoodoo--it was just the bad +luck of that brute done it." Josiah's account was graphic and clear +enough. John Penhallow's character lost nothing as interpreted by Josiah. + +"It was a dangerous errand, I suppose." + +"Yes, Miss Leila. You see, when they know about a man that he somehow +don't mind bullets and will go straight to where he's sent, they're very +apt to get him killed. At the first shot he ought to have tumbled off and +played possum till it was dark." + +"But then," said Leila, "he would have been too late with General Parke's +message." + +"Of course, Master John couldn't sham dead like I would.--I don't despise +bullets like he does. Once before he had orders to go somewhere, and +couldn't get across a river. He was as mad as a wet hen." + +"A wet hen--delightful! Did he do it?" + +"Guess you don't know him! When Master John wants anything, well, he's a +terrible wanter--always was that way even when he was a boy--when he +wants anything, he gets it." + +"Indeed! does he? I think he is waiting for you, Josiah." + +The black's conclusive summary hardened the young woman's heart. She sat +a while smiling, then took up a book and failed to become interested. + +As John became familiar with the altered life of a household once happy +and in pleasant relation to the outer world, he felt as Leila had done +the depressing influence of a home in which the caprices of an invalid +life were constantly to be considered. Meanwhile his own spare figure +gained flesh, and on one sunny morning--he long remembered it--he was +rather suddenly free from pain, and with only the stiff elbow was, as +McGregor described it, "discharged cured." + +For some time he had been feeling that in bodily vigour and sense of +being his normal self he had been rapidly gaining ground. The relief from +the thraldom of pain brought a sudden uplift of spirits and a feeling of +having been born anew into an inheritance of renewed strength and of +senses sharpened beyond what he had ever known. A certain activity of +happiness like a bodily springtime comes with such a convalescence. +Ceasing to feel the despotism of self-attention, he began to recover his +natural good sense and to watch with more care his uncle's state, his +aunt's want of consideration for any one but James Penhallow, and the +effect upon Leila of this abnormal existence. He began to understand that +to surely win this sad girl-heart there must be a patient siege, and +above all something done for the master of Grey Pine. He recognized with +love's impatience the beauty of this young life amid the difficulties of +the Colonel's moods and Ann Penhallow's ill-concealed jealousy. A great +passion may be a very selfish thing, or in the nobler natures rise so +high on the wings of love that it casts like the singing lark no shadow +on the earth. He could wait and respect with patient affection the sense +of duty which perhaps--ah! that perhaps--made love a thing which must +wait--yes, and wait too with helpful service where she too had nobly +served. + +When the day came for his first venture on a horse and he rode through +the young leafage of June, no enterprise seemed impossible. How could he +be of use to her and these dear people to whom he owed so much? War had +been costly, but it had taught him that devotion to the duty of the hour +which is one of the best lessons of that terrible schoolmaster. There +was, as he saw every day, no overruling common sense in the household of +Grey Pine, and no apparent possibility of reasonable control. Just now it +was worse than ever, and he meant to talk it over with the two McGregors. +With Josiah riding behind him, he left a message here and there in the +village, laughing and jesting, with a word of sympathy where the war had +left its cruel memories. He had been in the little town very often since +his return, but never before when free from pain or with the pleasant +consciousness that he had it in his power to be to these friends of his +childhood what the Colonel had been. He talked to Joe Grace, left a +message for Pole's son, and then rode on to his appointment. + +He sat down with father and son in the unchanged surroundings of the +untidy office; even the flies were busy as before on the old man's +tempting bald head. + +"Well, John," said the doctor, "what's up now? The Squire won't see me at +all." Tom sat still and listened. + +"There are two things to consider, and I want your advice; but, first, I +want to say that there is no head to that family. I wonder how Leila +stands it. I mean that your advice shall be taken about a consultation +with Prof. Askew." + +"You want my advice? Do you, indeed! Mrs. Penhallow will ask the +Colonel's opinion, he will swear, and the matter is at an end." + +"I mean to have that consultation," said John. Tom laughed and nodded +approval. + +"It's no use, John, none," said the older man. + +"We shall see about that. Do you approve?--that is my question." + +"If that's the form of advice you want, why, of course--yes--but count me +out." + +"Count me in, John," said the younger surgeon. "I know what Askew will +say and what should have been done long ago." + +"An operation?" asked his father. + +"Yes, sir, an operation." + +"Too late!" + +"Well," said John, "he gets no worse; a week or two will make no +difference, I presume." + +"None," said Dr. McGregor. + +"It may," said Tom. + +"Well, it may have to wait. Just now there is a very serious question. +Aunt Ann made last night the wild suggestion that the Colonel might be +amused if we had one of those rummage-sales with which she used to +delight the village. Uncle Jim at once declared it to be the thing he +would like best. Aunt Ann said we must see about it at once. Her +satisfaction in finding an amusement which the Colonel fancied was really +childlike. Leila said nothing, nor did I. In fact, the proposal came +about when I happened unluckily to say what a fine chance Uncle Sam had +for a rummage-sale after a forced march or a fight. I recall having said +much the same thing long ago in a letter to Leila." + +"Then there's nothing to be done just now, John," remarked Tom McGregor, +"but I cannot conceive of anything more likely to affect badly a +disordered brain." + +The older man was silent until John asked, "Is it worth while to talk to +Aunt Ann about it--advise against it?" + +"Quite useless, John. I advise you and Leila quietly to assist your aunt, +and like as not the Colonel may forget all about it in a day or two." + +"No, Doctor. To-day he had Billy up with him in the attic bringing down +whatever he can find, useful or useless." + +With little satisfaction from this talk, John rode homeward. Sitting in +the saddle at the post-office door, he called for the mail. Mrs. Crocker, +of undiminished bulk and rosiness, came out. + +"How's your arm, Captain? I bet it's more use than mine. The rheumatism +have took to permanent boarding in my right shoulder--and no glory like +you got to show for it." + +"I could do without the glory." + +"No, you couldn't. If I was a man, I'd be glad to swap; you've got to +make believe a bit, but the town's proud of you. I guess some one will +soon have to look after them Penhallow mills." Mrs. Crocker put a +detaining hand on his bridle reins. + +"Yes, yes," said John absently, glancing well pleased over a kind letter +of inquiry from General Parke. "Well, what else, Mrs. Crocker?" + +"The Colonel quite give me a shock this morning. He's not been here--no, +not once--since he came home. Well, he walked in quite spry and told me +there was to be a rummage-sale in a week, and I was to put up a notice +and tell everybody. Why, Mr. John, he was that natural. He went away +laughing because I offered to sell my old man--twenty-five cents a +pound. I did notice he don't walk right." + +"Yes, I have noticed that; but this notion of a rummage-sale has seemed +to make him better. Now, suppose you let my reins go." + +"Oh, Mr. John, don't be in such a hurry. It's surely a responsible place, +this post-office; I don't ever get time for a quiet talk." + +"Well, Mrs. Crocker, now is your chance." + +"That's real good of you. I was wanting to ask if you ever heard anything +of Peter Lamb. He wrote to his mother he was in the army, and then that +was the end of it. She keeps on writing once a week, and the letters come +back stamped 'not found.' I guess he's wandering somewhere." + +"Like enough. I went to see her last week, but I could not give her any +comfort. She couldn't have a worse thing happen than for Peter to come +home." + +"Well, Captain John, when you come to have babies of your own, you'll +find mothers are a curious kind of animal." + +"Mothers!" laughed John. "I hope there won't be more than one. Now, I +really must go." + +"Oh, just one more real bit of news. Lawyer Swallow's wife was here +yesterday with another man to settle up her husband's business." + +"Is he dead?" + +"They say so, but you can't believe everything you hear. Now, don't +hurry. What most killed Swallow was just this: He hated Pole like poison, +and when he got a five hundred dollar mortgage-grip on Pole's pasture +meadow, he kept that butcher-man real uneasy. When you were all away, +Swallow began to squeeze--what those lawyers call 'foreclose.' It's +just some lawyer word for robbery." + +"It's pretty bad, Mrs. Crocker, but two people are waiting for you and +this isn't exactly Government business." + +"Got to hear the end, Captain." + +"I suppose so--what next?" Dixy wondered why the spur touched him even +lightly. + +"Pole, he told Mrs. Penhallow all about it, and she wasn't as glad to +help her meat-man as she was to bother Swallow, so she took over the +mortgage. When the Squire first came home from Washington and wasn't like +he was later, she told him, of course. Now everybody knows Pole's ways, +and so the Squire he says to me--he was awful amused--'Mrs. Crocker, I +asked Mrs. Penhallow how Pole was going to pay her.' She said she did put +that at Pole, and he said it wouldn't take long to eat up that debt at +Grey Pine. He wouldn't have dared to speak like that to your aunt if she +hadn't got to be so meek-like, what with war and bother." By this time +Dixy was with reason displeased and so restless that Mrs. Crocker let the +reins drop, but as John Penhallow rode away she cried, "The price of +meats at Grey Pine has been going up ever since, until Miss Leila--" The +rest was lost to the Captain. He rode away laughing as he reflected on +what share of Pole's debt he was to devour. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + + +The bustle and folly of a rummage-sale was once in every two or three +years a frolic altogether pleasant to quiet Westways. It enabled Ann +Penhallow and other wise women to get rid of worn-out garments and other +trash dear to the male mind. When Leila complained of the disturbing +antecedents of a rummage-sale, Mrs. Crocker, contributive of unasked +wisdom, remarked, "Men have habits, and women don't; women have blind +instincts. You'll find that out when you're married. You see marriage is +a kind of voyage of discovery. You just remember that and begin early to +keep your young man from storing away useless clothes and the like. +That's where a rummage-sale comes in handy." + +Leila laughed. "Why not sell the unsatisfactory young man, Mrs. Crocker?" + +"Well, that ain't a bad idea," said the post-mistress slyly, "if he's a +damaged article--a rummage-sale of husbands not up to sample." + +"A very useful idea," said the young woman. "Good-bye." + +In the afternoon a day later, Leila, making her escape from her aunt's +busy collections, slipped away into the woods alone. The solitude of the +early woodland days of summer were what she needed, and the chance they +gave for such tranquil reflection as the disturbance and restless state +of her home just now made it rarely possible to secure. She tried to put +aside her increasing anxiety about her uncle and had more difficulty in +dealing with John Penhallow and his over-quiet friendliness. She thought +too of her own coldly-worded letters and of the suffering of which she +had been kept so long ignorant. He had loved her once; did he now? She +was annoyed to hear the voice of Mark Rivers. + +"So, Leila, you have run away, and I do not wonder. This turmoil is most +distressing." + +"Yes, yes--and everything--those years of war and what it has brought +us--and my dear Uncle Jim--and how is it to end? Let us talk of something +else. I came here to be--well, to see if I could find peace of soul and +what these silent forests have often given me, strength to take up again +the cares and troubles of life." He did not excuse his intrusion nor seem +to notice the obvious suggestions, but fell upon their personal +application to himself. + +"They have never done that for me," he said sadly. "There is some defect +in my nature--some want. I have no such relation to nature; it is +speechless to me--mute, and I never needed more what I fail to find in +myself. The war and its duties gave me the only entire happiness I have +had for years." Then he added, in a curiously contemplative manner, "It +does seem as if a man had a right to some undisturbed happiness in life. +I must go. I leave you to the quiet of the woods." + +"I am sorry," she said, "I am sorry that you are able to imply that you +have never known happiness. Surely you cannot mean that." It was all she +could say. His look of profound melancholy hurt her, for like all who +knew Mark Rivers well, she loved, respected and admired him. + +He made no explanatory reply, but after a brief silence said, "I must go, +Leila, where there are both duties and dangers--not--no, not in cities." + +"I trust you do not mean to leave us--surely not!" + +"No, not yet--not while I can be of use to these dear friends." + +As she moved on at his side or before him, he saw too well the easy grace +of her strong young virgin form, the great blue eyes, the expressive +tenderness of features which told of dumb sympathy with what she had no +knowledge to understand. He longed to say, "I love you and am condemned +by my conscience to ask no return." It would only add to his unhappiness +and disturb a relation which even in its incompleteness was dear to him. +The human yearning to confess, to win even the sad luxury of pity beset +the man. In his constant habit of introspection, he had become +unobservant and had no least idea that the two young people he loved so +well were nearing what was to him forever impossible. + +"Let me sit down," he said unwilling to leave her; "I am tired." He was +terribly afraid of himself and shaken by a storm of passion, which left +his sensitive body feeble. + +She sat down with him on a great trunk wrecked a century ago. "Are you +not well?" she asked, observing the paleness of his face. + +"No, it is nothing. I am not very well, but it is nothing of moment. +Don't let it trouble you--I am much as usual. I want, Leila, what I +cannot get--what I ought not to get." Even this approach to fuller +confession relieved him. + +"What is there, my dear Mr. Rivers, you cannot get? Oh! you are a man to +envy with your hold on men, your power to charm, your eloquence. I have +heard Dr. McGregor talk of what you were among the wounded and the dying +on the firing-line. Don't you know that you are one of God's helpful +messengers, an interpreter into terms of human thought and words of what +men need to-day, when--" + +"No, no," he broke in, lifting a hand of dissenting protest. The flushed +young face as she spoke, his sense of being nobly considered by this +earnest young woman had again made him feel how just the little more +would have set free in ardent words what he was honestly striving to +control. + +"Thank you, my dear Leila, I could wish I were all you think I am; but +were it all true, there would remain things that sweeten life and which +must always be forbidden to me." + +He rose to his feet once again master of his troubled soul. "I leave +you," he said, "and your tireless youth to your walk. We cannot have +everything, I must be contented in some moment of self-delusion to half +believe the half of what you credit me with." + +"Then," cried Leila, laughing, "you would have only a fourth." + +"Ah! I taught you arithmetic too well." He too laughed as he turned away. +Laughter was rare with him and to smile frequent. He walked slowly away +to the rectory and for two days was not seen at Grey Pine. + +Leila, more at ease and relieved by the final gay banter, strolled into +the solemn quiet of the pines the Squire had so successfully freed from +underbrush and left in royal solitude. At the door of the old log-cabin +she lay down on the dry floor of pine-needles. The quick interchange of +talk had given her no chance to consider, as now she reviewed in +thoughtful illumination, what had seemed to her strange. She tried to +recall exactly what he had said. Of a sudden she knew, and was startled +to know. She had come into possession of the power of a woman innocent of +intention to inflict pain on a strong and high-minded man. A lower nature +might have felt some sense of triumph. It left her with no feeling but +the utmost distress and pitiful thinking of what had gone wrong in this +man's life. Once before she had been thus puzzled. The relief of her walk +was gone. She gathered some imperfect comfort in the thought that she +might not have been justified in her conclusions regarding a man who was +in so many ways an unexplained personality. + +During the next few days the village was in a state of anticipative +pleasure and of effort to find for the rummage-sale articles which were +damaged or useless. At Grey Pine John and Leila Grey were the only +unexcited persons. She was too troubled in divers ways to enjoy the +amusement to be had out of what delighted every one else except John +Penhallow. To please his aunt he made some small and peculiar offerings, +and daily went away to the mills to meet and consult with the Colonel's +former partners. He was out of humour with his world, saw trouble ahead +if he did as he meant to do, and as there was an east wind howling +through the pines, his wounded arm was recording the storm in dull aches +or sharp twinges. He smoked, I fear, too much during these days of +preparation for the rummage-sale, and rode hard; while Leila within the +dismantled house was all day long like the quiet steadying flywheel in +some noisy machinery. What with Billy as the over-excited Colonel's aide +and her aunt aggrieved by a word of critical comment on her husband's +actions, Leila had need of all the qualities required in a household +where, as it seemed to her, it was hard to keep tongue or temper quiet. + +Mr. Rivers towards the end of the week came in often, and would, of +course, see that the Sunday school hall was made ready for the sale. He +would make some contributions and help to arrange the articles for the +sale. The Colonel's continuity of childlike interest deceived him into +sharing the belief of Ann Penhallow, who was, Leila thought, unreasonably +elated. Meanwhile Leila felt as a kind of desertion John's successive +days of absence. Where was he? What was he doing? Once she would have +asked frankly why he left to her the burden of cares he ought to have +been eager to share, while Mark Rivers was so steadily helpful. When Ann +Penhallow asked him to act as salesman, he said that he was at her +disposal. The Colonel declared that was just the thing, and John must +uncover and announce the articles to be sold. He said, "How long ago was +the last sale? Wasn't it last year?" + +"No, dear, not so lately." + +"I must have forgotten. Perhaps, Rivers, we might sell a few useless +people. What would Leila fetch in the marriage market?" Ann somewhat +annoyed said nothing; nor did Rivers like it. The Colonel continued, +"Might sell John--badly damaged." + +"I must go," said Rivers. "I have my sermon to think over. I mean to use +the text you gave me, Leila, some two weeks ago." + +Sunday went by, and Tuesday, the day of the sale, came with a return of +the east wind and a cold downpour of rain. The Colonel and Billy were +busy late in the day; Mrs. Ann was tired; while John in some pain was +silent at dinner. The carriage took the Colonel and his wife to the hall. +He was now quiet and answered curtly the too frequent questions about how +he felt. + +"We will send back for you, Leila," said her aunt. + +"No, I want to walk there with John." + +The Captain looked up surprised, "Why, yes, with pleasure." + +She came down in her rain-cloak. "Take a large umbrella, John. How it +blows!" + +As they set off in the face of a rain-whipped wind, he said, "Take my +arm, Leila--the other side--the sound arm." + +"You were in pain at dinner, John." + +"It is my familiar devil, the east wind, but don't talk of it." + +She understood him, and returned, "I will not if you don't wish me to +talk of it. Where have you been all these uneasy days?" + +"Oh, at the mills. Uncle refuses to speak of business and I am trying to +understand the situation--some one must." + +"I see--you must explain it all to me later." + +"I will. One of the mill men of my Corps needed help. I have asked Tom to +see him. How depressed Mr. Rivers seems. Gracious, how it rains!" + +"Yes, he is at his worst. I am sorry you missed his sermon on Sunday--it +was great. He talked about Lincoln, and used a text I gave him some time +ago." + +"What was it?" + +"It is in Exodus: 'Ye have seen what I did unto the Egyptians and how I +bare you on eagles' wings, and brought you unto myself.'" + +John's ready imagination began for a silent moment to play with the +words. "How did he use it, Leila?" + +"Oh, he told the preceding story briefly, and then his great seeking eyes +wandered a little and he said, 'Think how the uplift of God's eagles' +wings enlarged their horizon!' Then he seemed to me to have the idea that +they might not comprehend, so he made one of those eloquent pauses and +went on to say, 'You can all, like Lincoln, rise as he rose from the +lesser things of a hard life to see more widely and more surely the +duties of life. The eagle-wings of God's uplifting power are for you, +for me, for all of us.' He made them understand." + +"I am sorry I missed it. I spent the Sunday morning with my engineer." + +"Aren't you getting wet, John?" + +"No. How did he end?" + +"What I did not like was the dwelling on Lincoln's melancholy, and the +effort it must have cost him--at times. It seemed to me, John, as if he +was preaching to himself. I wonder if clergymen often preach to +themselves. Some of us have to. The sketch of Lincoln's life was to me a +wonder of terse biography. At the close he did not dwell on the murder, +but just said--'Then--and then, my friends, God took him to himself.'" + +"Thank you, Leila. What a lot of wagons--we must have half the +county--and in this rain too." + +"Now, John, you hate this affair, and so do I; but the Westways people +think it great fun, and in the last few years they have had very little." + +"_Ni moi non plus, Mademoiselle Grey._" + +"Yes, yes," she said, "I know, John, but make it go--make it gay, John. +It will soon be over." + +"I will try." They left their wet garments in an empty outer room and +entering by a side door stood beside the raised platform at the end of +the crowded hall. + +Quite a hundred villagers or farming people, young and old, filled the +room, and the air was oppressively heavy. At one end on a raised platform +the Colonel was seated, and near by his wife well pleased to see him +smiling as he recognized here and there some of the farmers who had been +the playmates of his youth. John stood by the long table on which, +covered by sheets, lay the articles for sale. Rivers came forward to the +front of the platform, leaving Leila, who declined to sit down, at one +side with Mr. Grace and the two McGregors. + +The murmur of voices ceased; there was an appearance of expectant +attention. Rivers raised a hand, and said, "You are all, I am sure, most +glad to welcome the friend who like others among you has paid so dearly +for keeping unbroken the union of the States." Loud applause followed, as +he paused. "An occasion like this brings together young and old for +good-humoured fun, and may remind you of a similar meeting years ago. +This is to be a rummage-auction of useful things out of use, and of +useless things. If you will explain why anybody wants useless things I +shall know why some of you come to hear me preach or"--with a slight +pause--"my friend, Grace." Every one laughed, and John and Leila alike +felt that Rivers had struck the right note. + +"Captain John Penhallow"--loud plaudits--"Captain John Penhallow will +mention the articles for sale. Now, as you see, they are all hidden--some +of them I have never seen. Whoever makes the highest bid of the sale for +the most useless article will collect the whole product--the whole +proceeds of the sale, and"--he laughed--"will pay it over to the girl +about to be married." + +This was really great fun, and even John felt some relief as the hall +rang with merry laughter. Only Tom McGregor was grave while he watched +the Colonel. As Rivers spoke, Colonel Penhallow stood up, swayed a +little, straightened his tall figure, and waving Rivers aside said, "I +shall now conduct this sale." This was only a pleasant surprise to the +audience, and was welcomed with noisy hands. + +The two McGregors exchanged looks of anxious alarm as the Colonel said, +"Now, John!" Mrs. Penhallow smiled approval. + +John uncovered a corner of the nearest sheet and brought out a clock +without hands. "First article! Who'll bid? I think the hands have all +struck like the mill-hands down East. Five cents--do I hear ten? +Going--gone," cried the Colonel. + +A rag doll came next and brought a penny. There was high bidding over a +heavy band-box. When it went for half a dollar to Mrs. Crocker and was +found to contain a shrivelled pumpkin of last year's crop, the audience +wildly congratulated the post-mistress. + +John, who was now thoroughly in the spirit of their fun, produced two +large apples. "Now what daughter of Eve will bid," said the elated +Colonel. Leila laughing bid fifty cents. "Going--gone." + +"Look out for the serpent, Miss Grey," said Grace. + +Leila handed the apples to a small girl, who losing no time followed +Eve's remote example. "Oh, mother!" she cried, "it's got a five-dollar +piece in it--most broke my new tooth." + +"The root of all evil," said Grace. + +There were pots that were cracked or bottomless, old novels, and to the +evident dismay of John a favourite smoking jacket. Ann clapped her hands +with delight as John shook at her a finger of reproach. Then came tied up +in paper, which John unrolled, the long-forgotten cane of his youth, and +how it got there the Squire or Billy may have known. John bid, but at +a warning signal from Leila gave up, as she recaptured her property. +There were other apples, with and without money; and so with fun and +merriment the sale went on to Westways' satisfaction. + +"What's this," said John, with an unpleasant shock of annoyance as he +uncovered the Colonel's war-worn uniform. He hesitated, looking towards +his uncle who seemed bewildered. "That's that rascal, Billy--it's a +mistake," exclaimed the Colonel. + +"No, sir," shouted Billy, "Squire told me to take 'em. There's a sword +too. Squire said it wasn't any use now." + +No one laughed; it was obviously one of Billy's blunders. John put the +worn uniform and the sword aside and threw a cover over them. It was an +unpleasant reminder of the Colonel's state of mind and disturbed the +little group at one side of the stage. John made haste to get away from +it. + +"Last article for sale--it's large and must be bought covered up. Who +will bid?" Amid laughter the bids rose. At a dollar and ten cents it fell +to Mrs. Pole, and proved when uncovered to be another band-box. Mrs. Pole +came forward, and Ann Penhallow pleased to have been able to amuse her +husband said, "We are curious, Mrs. Pole, open it." Mrs. Pole obeyed, and +as she held up the rolled package it dropped into the unmistakable form +of a man's breeches. + +Westways exploded into wild applause, understanding joyously this freak +of fortune. Mrs. Pole joined in their merriment, and the carpenter +punched the butcher in the ribs for emphasis, as he said, "How's that, +Pole?" The butcher made use of unpleasant language, as John relieved +said, "The sale is over. You can settle with Mr. Grace." As he spoke he +moved over to where Leila stood beside the two McGregors. + +The people rose and put on their cloaks preparing to leave. Then John +heard Tom McGregor say, "Look out, father! Something is going to happen." + +The Colonel moved forward unsteadily. His face flushed, grew pale, and +something like a grimace distorted his features, as he said, "The sale is +not over, sit down." + +People took their places again wondering what was to come. Then with the +clear ringing voice the cavalry lines knew in far-away Indian wars, he +cried, "We will now sell the most useless article in Westways. Who'll buy +silly Billy?" + +"Can't sell me," piped out Billy's thin voice as he fled in alarm, amid +laughter. + +"The sale is over, uncle," said John. + +"No, sir--don't interrupt. I'd like to sell Swallow." + +This was much to their taste. "Guess he's sold a many of us," cried an +old farmer. + +"Why, he's dead," said Mrs. Crocker. + +The Colonel's gaze wandered. The little group of friends became +hopelessly uneasy; even Mrs. Ann ceased to smile. "You stand up, Polly +Somers--you are the handsomest girl in the county," which was quite true. + +The girl, who was near by, sat still embarrassed. "Get up," said +Penhallow sharply. + +"She's withdrawed these three months," cried a ready-witted young farmer. + +"Oh, is she? Well, then, we will go on." Tom McGregor went quietly up the +two steps to the platform. All those who were near to the much-loved +master of Grey Pine stood still aware of something wrong and unable to +interfere. Rivers alone moved towards him and was put aside by an +authoritative gesture. The moment of silence was oppressive, and Leila +was hardly conscious of the movement which carried her up beside Dr. +McGregor to the level of the platform. + +"Oh, do something," she whispered; "please do something." + +"It is useless--this can't last." + +"Uncle Jim," she exclaimed in her despair, and what more she would have +urged was unheard or unsaid as the Colonel turned towards her and cried, +"One more for sale!" + +No one spoke. At last these various people who loved the man well saw +more or less clearly that he was no longer their James Penhallow of +other days. He went on at once with raised voice: "Last sale--Leila +Grey--likely young woman--warranted sound--single or double harness. +Fetch her up." His confusion of mind was painfuly apparent. "Who'll bid?" +A suppressed titter rose from the younger people. + +"She is withdrawn, uncle," said John Penhallow distinctly. + +"Ah! who did you say--Like Polly, owner withdraws her--Can't you speak +out?" + +"I said, withdrawn, sir," John repeated. As he spoke he saw the Colonel +stagger backwards and sink into his chair; his face became white and +twitched; his head fell to one side; he breathed stertorously, flushed +slightly, and was instantly as one asleep. + +Ann Penhallow and the two doctors were at his side. Rivers called out, +"Leave the room, all of you, please. Open the windows, Grace!" + +"Is he dead?" asked Ann of McGregor. + +"No, no--it is a slight fit--there is no danger." + +A moment later Penhallow opened his eyes, sat up, and said, "Where am I? +What's all this about?" + +John said, "A bit faint, uncle. The carriage is waiting." He staggered to +his feet, and seizing Rivers's arm followed Ann and John in silence. With +Rivers they were driven back to Grey Pine. Of all Ann Penhallow's schemes +to amuse or interest her husband this had been the most utter failure. + +Every one had gone from the hall when John missing Leila returned to the +outer room to put on his cloak. The boy-cap Leila liked to wear in bad +weather, her rain-cloak, his umbrella, were as they had been left. He +stood still in the first moment available for thought and knew that here +was a new trouble. She must have been so shocked and ashamed as to have +fled in the rain eager to get away. + +Neither he nor any man could have realized what she felt as her uncle +talked wildly--and she had been put up for sale. She used none of the +resources of reason. All her body was hot with the same flush of shame +which burned in her face. In her passion of disgust and anger, she +hurried out into the storm. The chill of the east wind was friendly. She +gave no other thought to the wind-driven rain, but ran through the woods +like a wild thing, all virginal woman, unreasonable, insulted, angry as a +child is angry--even her uncle was forgotten. She ran upstairs, the glory +of her rain-soaked hair in tumbled disorder, and in her room broke into +the open speech which passion confides to the priest solitude. + +"Oh, John Penhallow, how could you! That ends it--a man who could--and +oh, John Penhallow!" She cried a little, wailing in a childish way, and +then with some returning sense of anxiety put herself in condition to go +downstairs, where she learned that her uncle was in bed. She went back to +her room. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + + +A half hour later John sat alone in the library. He had much to disturb a +young man trained to obey and at need command, and was feeling the +responsibility of an unusual position. At last he wrote a note to his +aunt and sent it up to her by a maid. In a few minutes Ann Penhallow +appeared. + +"What is it, John? I cannot leave James alone long." She sat down. "Now +don't keep me." + +"I need not detain you long, but I feel that you ought to know, Aunt Ann, +that I have had a talk with Tom McGregor and have sent a telegram to Dr. +Askew desiring him to come at once and see my uncle. I ought to hear +to-morrow." + +She rose to her feet. "You did this, John, without a word to me and +knowing that your uncle has over and over said he would not listen to +anything of the kind. You have taken a great liberty--I shall telegraph +for your doctor not to come. James is always better after these attacks." + +Much surprised, he said, "These attacks--has he had them before?" + +"Oh, twice--very slight." + +"But, aunt, do you not understand how serious this one was?" + +"He is better already--much better. There should not be any need to +remind you that you are not the head of this house. I shall telegraph at +once, in the morning, and stop him." + +"It will be too late, aunt." + +"Then your doctor may go back. I will not see this doctor if in spite of +my telegram he should come. You will understand, John, that this ends it. +I certainly will not have James constantly irritated. I shall telegraph +now--at once." + +"You will do, aunt, as it seems best to you." He saw the telegram written +and heard her order to send it to the Westways office. + +His aunt, having settled the matter, went upstairs, an angry and +indignant woman, leaving in the library a man resolute not to accept +defeat. + +He wrote a second message: "Disregard Mrs. Penhallow's telegram. Come at +once. Fee at discretion. Will meet you at Westways Crossing." + +He roused up Josiah and gave his order. "Ride to the mills and get this +despatch sent to-night or early to-morrow--oh, to-night, somehow. It is +important. Pay some one--only get it sent. Here are five dollars." + +He was of no mind to meet either Leila or his aunt, and to escape them +breakfasted early next morning, and riding to the mills was pleased to +avoid another painful interview. On his return at evening the dinner at +Grey Pine was made rather less uncomfortable by the presence of Rivers +who talked to Ann Penhallow while the Colonel dozed in his armchair. +Accustomed to have her decisions obeyed in her home, Ann Penhallow had +now dismissed the question of a consultation as settled, and had quite +lightly mentioned to Leila that John had revived the subject and that she +had once for all put an end to it. + +She was sorry to have had to be so positive, but was pleased to be done +with the matter in dispute. She little knew the young soldier. When he +was certain that the consultant would come, he began to consider what he +would do if his aunt did simply refuse to see Dr. Askew. She might, in +fact, be as resolute as her nephew. + +In her trouble about her husband's mishap, Ann Penhallow hardly regarded +her niece's unpleasant share in the sad ending of the rummage-sale--it +was relatively of no moment. Nor would the girl herself have been willing +to discuss it. John Penhallow should have held his tongue, and now all +Westways must be laughing--and she would never--never--forgive him. +Evidently her aunt had scolded him about that consultation. She had a +little curiosity to know how he had taken it and how he looked when he +came to match the will of his young manhood against the unreasonable +obstinacy of the woman he had been taught to obey. She observed next day +at breakfast that John was more than usually gay, as he asked if there +were any errands. There were none. He loitered about waiting and at last +went out to the back porch where he stood a minute looking over the box +hedge which bounded the garden. Leila was busy taking tribute from the +first roses of the summer days. As she bent over, she let them fall one +by one into the basket at her feet. Now and then she drew up her tall +figure, and seemed to John as she paused to be deep in thought. When she +became aware of his approach, she fell again to harvesting roses. + +He said, "Leila, before I go to the mills, I want to talk with you about +what is troubling me. In fact--" + +Without looking up she broke into his attempt to explain himself, "I am +in no mood to discuss anything, John Penhallow." + +He was frankly puzzled. Of the many Leilas, this was a new acquaintance, +but he said quietly, "It is necessary to make a statement--I want first +to explain." + +She refreshed her rising anger with words. "I do not want any +explanation--there are things no woman can pardon. I was insulted." + +"My dear Leila, upon my honour I do not know what you mean." + +She was near to saying, "I am not yours, or dear." Something in the look +of the attentive face and the calmness of his manner put her on guard, +and she said only, "That is, I presume, because you are not a woman." + +He said, "I do not regret that, but you clearly are thinking of one thing +and I of another. It must be the rummage-sale. I have no desire to +discuss that sorrowful business, Miss Grey. You have quite misapprehended +me. It is of Uncle Jim I want to talk--in fact, to ask advice." + +"I did not understand," she said, flushing a little. His formal manner +was very unpleasant, and to be called Miss Grey was ridiculous. If he had +shown anger or even annoyance it would have eased the situation. He went +on to explain himself, rather aware of her embarrassment and not +altogether sorry for her mishap. + +"I said I want help--advice. I have sent for Prof. Askew. Aunt Ann has +telegraphed him not to come. I wired him to disregard her message. He has +answered me that he will be here at the house, if the train is on time, +about six to-day. It is our last hope, but it is a hope. Aunt Ann must +see this gentleman--I say she must. Now, how can it be managed?" + +Leila let fall a handful of roses into the basket and faced him. "Take +time," he said. "I do really need help--how can I make Aunt Ann see this +famous surgeon? Take time," he repeated. + +Here was for Leila a rather astonishing revelation of resolute aggressive +manhood--a new John Penhallow. Relieved to have been taken out of her +angry mood, she stood still a moment while he waited on her counsel. +"There is but one way," she said, "it is the only way. I do not like +it--whether you will be willing to accept it, I do not know." + +"And still you advise it?" + +"I do not." + +"Well, what is it?" + +"At about six every afternoon, when Uncle Jim is asleep, Aunt Ann is +almost certain to be in her little library-room. Take Dr. Askew in, +present him, and walk out. She will hate it, but she is sure to be what +she is always to a guest. He will have his chance." + +"Thank you, Miss Grey."--How she hated that!--"You have helped me." He +touched his army cap in salute and left her alone. At the garden gate he +looked back--Miss Grey was also looking back, and vexed at being thus +caught bent down again and cut buds and roses with sharp nips of the +scissors. + +It was not in the nature or breeding of John Penhallow to like Leila's +plan for securing to the surgeon a chance to impose on a reluctant woman +a clearly stated opinion which otherwise she might have the courage to +disregard. But what else could he do? A little after six he met the +carriage far down the avenue and walked slowly to the house with the +younger McGregor and the surgeon. + +"You are most welcome," said John. "Dr. McGregor has, I trust, told you +of our difficulties with my aunt?" + +Askew smiled. "Yes; it is no uncommon case. I may add that Dr. McGregor's +letters have satisfied me that an immediate operation offers the only and +too long delayed chance of success. I must, of course, see Mrs. +Penhallow--the sooner the better." + +"Yes--pray follow me." He led the way across the hall, opened the library +door, and said to the astonished lady, "Prof. Askew, Aunt Ann." Then he +went out. + +Well aware of being trapped, Mrs. Penhallow stood up and apparently at +perfect ease said, "You must have had a very tiresome journey." + +"Not very," he returned, as he accepted a seat. + +Then the little lady sat up and said, "You must pardon me if I say that +this consultation has been brought about by my nephew against my +husband's wishes." + +"And your own?" + +"Yes, my own." + +"I so understand it. May I say in my defence that I missed your telegram +and only saw it when it was sent after me on the train, but now I am +here." She had not the courage to say what she would have liked to say, +and he went on. "General Hancock saw me a day or two back. What he said +of your husband gave me at once a personal interest in him. Isn't it +odd how one is brought to realize what a small place our world is? I was +at Port Delaware before the war ended and saw there--I was on inspection +duty--a Confederate Colonel, Henry Grey--a prisoner. Is he not a relation +of the handsome Miss Grey we met on the avenue?" + +"My niece. He is my brother." + +"Indeed! I gave some advice about his wound--it was not serious. May I +talk to you a little about your husband?" + +She felt herself cornered, and could not escape without discourtesy, +of which she was quite incapable; "Or," he added, "may I not rather talk +first to Colonel Penhallow, and later to you? It is, I take it, his view +of this very grave matter which naturally influences you." + +For the briefest of moments she made no reply. Then she stood up and +felt the force conveyed in the personality of George Askew, as he +towered over her, a man of unusual height. She looked up at the large +kind face the long sad wards knew so well. The lines of thought were +deeply graven below a broad forehead thinly crowned with yellow hair now +fast greying. He showed no sign of impatience. "Yes," she said, "that +will be better--you must see Mr. Penhallow before you talk to me. If he +consents to do what you want to do--I--Well, Dr. Askew, I am just now too +angry to reason. Have the kindness to follow me." + +She was unwilling to give her husband any more choice than John Penhallow +had given her. If the Colonel became irritable and declined to accept the +visit of this impressive personage as a surgeon, well, that must of +course end the matter. But as he went upstairs behind her, there arose in +her mind a storm-battered hope. + +The surgeon was smiling and so far pleased. He was greatly interested in +the case he was about to see. It had excited some discussion as unusual, +and the unusual in surgery or medicine has many times been the guide to +broad highways of usefulness where the daring of the one has made easy +the way for the many. Now he meant to win the confidence of the man, if +he proved sane enough to reason. He might also have to make more complete +his conquest of this coldly civil hostess. It was for him an old game, +and he played it with tact and skill. + +She paused at the door. "Pray wait a moment, Doctor. No--he has wakened, +I hear him." He stopped her. + +"Before we see the Colonel--before I see him--I want you to be heartily +in accord with any decision we may reach. There are but two courses which +seem to me possible, and I do want you to feel sure that either you will +have to watch a mind crumble hopelessly or, if we succeed, see one of +those amazing recoveries which are like the dawning of day. I say this +most earnestly, because your hearty help may be wanted. If he says _no_ +to our decision, his fate may really rest with your will to stand by me." + +This was pretty hard, and no time was given for discussion. She looked up +at the kind pleading face, and while feeling that she must yield, +hesitated--so distinctly hesitated that the surgeon's brow became +severely grave as the furrows between the eyes deepened in growing +wonder. He took her hand as if to get into some personal touch with a +woman whose opposition he could not understand. "You will help me? In +this man's condition a word may win or lose a game in which the stake +is a life--oh, that is little--or the restoration of a noble, useful +mind. I know you will help me." + +She looked down, and said faintly, "Yes." + +"Thank you." He smiled--"Bless me! what a little hand," he said, as he +let it fall. + +She opened the door and as he followed her, stepped aside, saying +bravely, "Here is a friend, James. You will like to see Dr. Askew." + +He took the chair she set at the bedside, while the Colonel regarded him +suspiciously, saying, "I think I heard of you after Gettysburg." + +"Yes, I took care of General Hancock. A lot of us went down to help. +Curious case his--a ball hit the pommel of his saddle and drove a nail +into his leg." + +"Yes, I heard of it. It was thought they were firing nails--queer that!" + +Askew seized on the moment of illumined intelligence, wondering what dull +surgeon had set in this man's mind an obsession which forbade all other +opinion. "Hancock will suffer long--but now, about you--did no one think +you could be relieved by an operation? Take your time to answer me." + +Penhallow, groping in the confusion of remote memories, returned, "I seem +to recall--yes--it was talked of--" + +"But not done? Some one is responsible for these years of pain. You do +suffer?" + +"Oh, my God! yes. I try to bear it." His eyes filled. "Is it too late?" + +"No," said Askew, "it is not." What doubt he had he put aside. + +"Then we will see to-morrow." + +"An operation!" said Ann, alarmed. A look conquered her. "You will do, +James, whatever Dr. Askew wishes?" + +"I will--but don't make me talk any more, Ann--my head aches." + +Askew rose. "Please to send up the Drs. McGregor. May I make use of +another room?" + +"Yes, of course." + +Ann Penhallow found Dr. Tom and his father on the porch with Leila and +John. She said, "Take the doctors up to my own room, Leila, and I want to +talk with John--there are some arrangements to make." + +Leila, guiltily conscious of her share in securing the surgeon's +interview with her aunt, was glad to accept the hint and the chance to +escape. + +Ann sat down beside John, and said, "John, why did you trick me into a +talk with Dr. Askew?" + +"Because, aunt, you said you would not see him--and it was necessary." + +"You took me too literally." + +"I took you at your word--something had to be done. If it fails, we are +no worse off." + +"But it may fail--oh! what if it does, John." + +"Aunt Ann, I am in despair. Listen to me; no, I must talk it out. The +agreement with uncle's old partners ended with the war. Things at the +mills are in confusion--what is to be done? I asked Uncle Jim to give me +a power of attorney to act for him. He refused. You supported him. Delay +is ruinous, and yet we can do nothing. You are vexed with me--Yes--you +have not given me my morning kiss for days. Leila is unreasonably angry +with me because that dreadful night I did the only thing possible in my +power to stop my uncle. I am most unhappy. I sometimes think I had better +go away and look for work as an engineer, and--you did love me once." He +rose and walked up and down the porch silent; he had emptied mind and +heart. Then he paused before her. She was crying, as she said, "Don't +reproach me, John--I can't bear it--I have had to bear too much +to-day--and you were so naughty." He leaned over and kissed her forehead. +"John," she said, "there is to be an operation to-morrow. It is terrible. +May the good God be kind to him and us. Now go away--I want to be alone. +See that Dr. Askew is well cared for." + +"Certainly, Aunt Ann." He had won his battle. + +At dinner the doctor was at pains to dispel the gloom which, as he well +knew, falls on those who love when one of the critical hours of life +approaches. When they left the table he went into the library with the +doctors and John, where they smoked many pipes and talked war. + +At breakfast next day Askew's account of his early morning drew a smile +even from Ann Penhallow. "Sleep! Yes, I suppose I slept. There was a +blank of some hours. I am apt to waken early. At dawn there was a bright +red-eyed sky, then it clouded as if the eyes had shut. A little later +Miss Grey rode away on a chestnut horse. I walked through your garden +and an unseen lady gave me this rose-bud. I had a joyful swim. As I came +back I saw Captain Penhallow ride away--and why not with you, Miss Grey? +You may perceive that I am a dangerous man to entertain. If you do not +prefer better society, may I ask to ride with you to-morrow?" + +"What better society?" asked Leila. + +"Oh, Miss Grey, alone--by herself." + +The two young people understood the charitable gaiety of his talk, but +although one of them at least was feeling a sudden access of relief the +quick jesting chat and laughter became distressing to Ann Penhallow. At +last she rose and excused herself, saying, "Another cup? My niece will +give it to you." + +"One moment," he returned--his face became grave. "I shall operate early +this morning. You must go out-of-doors--the porch--I suggest the porch. +I shall send down Dr. McGregor to tell you frankly the result of my +operation. I want Captain Penhallow, and with him and the two McGregors +we shall care for my patient. I hope the doctors will let you see the +Colonel in a week. I shall trespass on your hospitality for two days +more." + +"I could wish it were a week. I shall do precisely what you desire." + +John Penhallow caught some signal of amused surprise in Leila's looks. He +checked his own smile of partnership in mirth at Ann Penhallow's sudden +subjugation, feeling that with Leila the intimacies of mirth were at an +end. + +Ann took her knitting and went out upon the back porch. "How many rows +can I knit until I hear? No, Leila--I want to be alone. Here is a note +from Mr. Rivers. The Bishop met him at Harrisburg and carried him off to +Philadelphia. I hope there is no scheme to take him away. Now go, dear." +She heard the voices of the McGregors as they went upstairs. She sat +alone and waited. + +Among the friends who know me only through my summer-born books, there +must be many who can recall such hours of suspense as Ann Penhallow +endured. The clock in the hall struck ten. A little later her keen sense +made her aware of the faint odour of ether from the open windows on the +second floor. She let fall her work, went down the garden path, and +walked with quick steps among the firstlings of June. Then came Tom +McGregor swiftly, and in his smiling face she read good news. + +"It is all right," he said; "it is over. There was a fracture of the +fragile inner layer of the bone--a piece was pressing on the brain--it +was easily removed. The doctor is very much pleased. Oh, my dear Mrs. +Penhallow, there are better days ahead for you and him. Now, I must go +back." + +"Thank God!" she said, "and--and you--and--John. God forgive me, I have +been a fool!" + +The next two days went by without incident. Askew rode, walked, and had +no news for her except, "He is doing well." He would say no more. What +hours of doubt, of watchful fear, he had, she never knew. On the morning +of the third day, while the carriage waited to carry him away, Mrs. +Penhallow led him into her library. + +"Now," she said, with her cheque-book open before her, "we owe you a +debt none can pay, but let me offer you my most humble apologies for my +behaviour when you came." + +"Please, don't," he returned. + +"But I had to. And now, let me know what is our lesser and more material +debt?" + +He rose, smiling. "It has been my happy, unbroken rule to take nothing +from any soldier who served in this sad war--oh! on either side. I have +made, I hope, some friends. The Colonel asked to-day about a horse +Dixy--I think--and when could he ride. You may imagine my pleasure. He +will get well, but you must be patient. I leave him in competent hands, +and in the fall I mean to come back and shoot your woodcocks. Good-bye." +He was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + + +A week later Ann Penhallow was told that she might see her husband. She +entered his bedroom with timidity. "Oh, Ann, my most dear Ann!" he cried, +as she kissed him. His expression of recovered intelligence overcame her +for a moment. + +She faltered, "How are you feeling, James--any better?" + +"Better--I am well." + +"Hardly, dear--do be careful." She was unable to accept as a wholesome +reality this amazing resurrection of a mind. + +He understood her need for some reassurance, and said, "Don't worry about +me, Ann. It is like a vague dream, all these many months--but a dream you +know fades fast. My own memories get clearer--some things are quite +lost--some are as distinct as if they happened yesterday. The war is a +puzzle to me--and--if I try to remember, it confuses me. But I must not +talk war to you--I do remember that. I won't do it again, dear." + +There was something so childlike in this that it almost overcame the +woman's steadily guarded calm. She had been warned to be careful that +there should be no excitement to agitate a mind which was slowly groping +its way out of the shadows of half-illumined memories. + +"Oh, my dear James," she said quietly, "talk of war or anything; it is +over." Despite her cautious command of her voice it trembled with emotion +as she said, "Nothing is of any moment but you--you. What do I care for +the war or--or anything but to have you as you were? Oh, my God! I am +thankful." + +It disturbed him, as she saw. He felt and looked puzzled as he said, "I +see--I am not quite clear-headed yet, Ann." + +"No, but you will be. Don't try too hard, James. We must be patient and +wait." + +"I will--I will--and it is such a relief to have no pain and to see you." + +Then as he asked about Leila and the mill work, the younger doctor came +in and said, "Time is up, Mrs. Penhallow." + +"What--already, Tom?" + +"But I want to know more," said the Colonel. "Wasn't there a +rummage-sale--" + +"Yes; but now you must let Mrs. Penhallow go. You are mending daily. +To-morrow Mrs. Penhallow may come again, and there will be to-morrow, and +many happy to-morrows." She went out and downstairs singing in a low +sweet voice--a long lost habit. + +If to watch with an aching heart the hopeless decay of a mind be the most +distressing of all human trials, surely there can be few greater joys +than to see a disordered intellect emerge day by day into possession of +its long lost capacities. James Penhallow was soon able to sign a power +of attorney enabling John to reconstruct the old partnership with his own +name added to the firm. + +Very soon town and county shared in the growth of prosperity which +followed the war. Rivers was the only one who was not what his friends +desired, and never was his melancholy mood more noticeable. + +The master of Grey Pine was, of course, many months in recovering his +normal state of mind. The man's bodily strength had not been seriously +impaired, and the return of his natural gaiety and his eager resumption +one by one of his old habits filled his home with that cheerfulness which +is the relieving and precious gift of convalescence. Penhallow's +remembrances of the war were rapidly recovered as he talked to John, +but much of his recent life was buried in the strange graveyard of +memory, which gave up no reminding ghosts of what all who loved the man +feared might haunt him. + +When satisfied of the certainty of his uncle's recovery John Penhallow +hurt by Leila's continual coldness and seeing for it no reasonable +explanation gave more and more time to the mills in which the family +fortunes were so seriously concerned. On the first of September he was +glad to go away on business which carried him to several of the large +cities, and resulted in orders which would keep the works busy for many +months. He no longer wrote to Leila, nor did he expect letters from her. +He considered any nearer relation than friendship to be at an end, but to +lose that also seemed to him a quite too needlessly cruel loss, and now +for the first time on returning he approached Grey Pine without pleasure. +He had telegraphed to have a horse sent to meet him at Westways Crossing, +that he might ride on to the mills after seeing his uncle. + +Having taken the night train, it was about noon when Leila saw him coming +up the avenue. She went forward to the roadside and as he sat in the +saddle shook his hand, saying, "I am sorry you were delayed, John. You +will be disappointed to know that Uncle Jim and Aunt Ann left home +yesterday." She wished that he had not quite so clearly shown the limits +of his regret, as he said quietly, "Well, I shall miss them, of course." + +"A letter from aunt's brother, Henry Grey, asked them to visit him at the +old Maryland home. I think it both pleased and surprised Aunt Ann. I am +to join them later. Josiah is to matronize me--or, if you like, patronize +me. Uncle Jim was delighted to be asked and hopes to reconcile the +brothers. Henry's letter was very kind, but he is still suffering from +his wound. Of course, Aunt Ann was happy." + +He looked down at the upturned face as he sat in the saddle. She had +given him no warm word of personal welcome. "Well, it can't be helped. +I had much to talk over with uncle." Then he laughed. + +"What amuses you, John?" + +"Oh, I should like to see the interview. Both Uncle Jim and I had queer +encounters with Henry Grey." + +"Uncle Jim!--what--when?" + +"Ask him. I should have liked to add George Grey to the party. As for +your Uncle Henry"--John smiled--"a serious wound is rather productive of +the unexpected, as I know. I will see you at dinner--now I must go on to +the mills." He rode away thinking without pleasure of being alone with +Leila. + +The presence of the maids who waited at dinner kept their conversation +on the Colonel's rapid gain in health, village incidents, and the mill +life--mere loitering disconnected talk of no interest except to fill the +hour of two people who would have preferred to be silent. + +John said, as he rose from the table, "I have a letter to write, Leila, +and so I must leave you to the better company of your book." Once--but a +little while ago--he would have asked what book was now on hand. "Any +messages for aunt or uncle?" + +"None--I wrote this morning." + +He sat down in the library at his old desk and wrote: "Dear Leila"--Then +he stood up--the easy freedom of the letter was denied to him. He was in +the mood when outspoken speech, always for him the more natural way of +expressing himself, became imperative. He went back to the hall. + +The book lay face down on her lap. "What is it, John?" she asked. + +"I want to talk to you--not here. Come into the library; those maids hear +everything." + +"Certainly," she said, "if you want me." + +She sat down, and John leaning against the mantel and looking down at +her, said, "I came in here to write to you what is not easy to write or +say--I prefer to put it into speech." + +"Indeed! I am quite ready to listen." + +"After your recent treatment of me, I have no inclination to make myself +needlessly unpleasant. You have made it plain to me that what my heart +longs for is to be put aside forever. There is something due to a man's +self-respect. But if you were a man, Leila, I could say more easily +something else. Are we--am I to lose also your friendship--or is even +that at an end?" + +The blue eyes became less adventurous as she said, "I don't understand +you, John." + +"I think you do. Long as I have known you, I cannot have known you fully. +Blake used to say that everybody is several people, and just now--here +has come into my life some one I don't know--and don't want to know." + +"Indeed! It must be rather confusing to be several people. Your friend, +Mr. Blake, as your letters showed, was rather given to enigmatical +statements. I should like to know him. Would you please, John, to bring +me my fan--I left it in that delightful book you interrupted." + +"Certainly," he said, now a trifle more at ease. For Leila to ask of any +one such a service was so unlike her that he felt it to be a betrayal of +embarrassment, and was humorously pleased as he went and came again. + +She took the fan and played with that expressive piece of a woman's +outfit while John brought the talk back to its starting-point. + +"Cannot you be the Leila I used to know--a frank girl; or are you to use +one of your many disguises and just leave things as they have been of +late?" + +"If you will say plainly just what you mean, John"--the fan was in active +use--"I will be as frank as possible." + +"But you may not like it, Leila." + +"Oh, go on. I know you are going to be unpleasant." + +He looked at her with surprise. "We are fencing--and I hate it. Once at +West Point I was fencing with a man, my friend; the button broke off my +foil and I hurt him seriously. He fell dead beside me in the trenches at +Vicksburg--dead!" + +"Oh, John!"--the fan ceased moving. + +"What I mean is that one may chance, you or I, to say something that will +leave in memory that which no years will blot out. Don't be vexed with +me. I have had a cruel summer. What with Uncle Jim and Aunt Ann--and now +with you, I--well--you told me after that dreadful night when Uncle Jim +was so wild that I had insulted you--" + +"Don't talk of it," she cried. "I was put to shame before all those +grinning people. You ought to have said nothing--or something better than +that farmer boy said--" + +"Well--perhaps, Leila; but the point is not _what_ I said in my desire to +help you and stop a man for the time insane. The point is that I did not +insult you; for an insult to be really that it must be intentional." + +"Then you think I was unreasonably angry?" + +"Yes, I do; and ever since then you have been coldly civil. I cannot +stand it. I shall never again ask you for what you cannot give, but if +you are to continue to resent what I said, then Grey Pine is no home for +me." + +She stood up, the fan falling to the floor. "What do you want me to say, +John Penhallow?" + +"Wait a little--just a word more. It was what poor Uncle Jim said that +hurt you. You could not turn on him; in your quite natural dismay or +disgust you turned on me, who meant only to help in a dreadful situation. +You know I am right"--his voice rose as he went on--"it is I, not you, +who am insulted. If you were a man, I should ask for an apology; as +you are the woman I have hopelessly loved for years, I will not ask you +to say you were wrong--I do not want you to say that. I want you to say +you are sorry you hurt me." + +"I am sorry I hurt you, John. Will that do?"--her eyes were filling. + +"Yes--but--" + +"But what?" + +"Oh, I want you to feel sorry." + +"Don't say any more," she returned. "Let us be friends again." She put +out her hand, he took it, picked up her fan, laid it on the table, and +saying "Thank you!" opened the door towards which she moved and closed it +after her. + +"And so"--she kept saying to herself--"we are to be no more than +friends." She sat still staring across the hall, trying to read. She was +fast losing control of the woman who was fenced in by social rule and +custom, trained to suppress emotion and to be the steady mistress of +insurgent passion. "My God," she murmured, "I should never have been +angry when he bought me, if I had not loved him--and now it is all +over--perhaps!" + +Some readjustment there may have been, for when he reentered the hall an +hour later, she was reading. He said, as she looked up, "I mean to have a +long tramp to-morrow. I shall start early and walk to the mills and on to +the ore-beds. Then I shall return over the hills back of Westways, and +bring you, I hope, a few wood-pigeons. I may be a little late for +dinner." + +"But, John, it is quite twelve miles, and you will have to carry a +gun--and your arm--" + +John laughed happy laughter. "That was so like Aunt Ann!" + +"Was it?--and now you will say 'yes, yes, you are quite right,' and walk +away and do just as you meant to do, like Uncle Jim." + +"I may, but I will not walk further than Grey Pine." The air had +cleared--he had done some good! + +"Good-night," he said, "it is late." + +"Don't go too far, John. I shall read a while. This book is really so +interesting. We will talk about it." + +"Good-night, once more." + +The woman he left in the hall laid her book aside. Her unreasonable +vexation had gone, defeated by the quiet statement of his simply +confessed unhappiness. She looked about the hall and recalled their youth +and the love of which she still felt sure. The manliness of his ways +appealed to her sense of the value of character. Why she had been so +coldly difficult of approach she did not know. What woman can define that +defensive instinct? "He shall ask me again, and I--ah, Heaven!--I love +him." A wild passionate longing shook her as she rose to her feet. + +At early morning John wandered away through the woods feeling the joyful +relief from the hot air of cities. After his visit to the mills and the +iron-mines, he struck across a somewhat unfamiliar country, found few +birds, and the blackened ravage of an old forest fire. He returned to the +well-known river-bank below the garden and the pines, and instead of +going to Grey Pine as he had meant to do went on as far as the cabin, +failing to get any more birds. He had walked some fourteen miles, and was +reminded by a distinct sense of fatigue that the body had not yet +regained its former vigour. + +It was about five of the warm September day when he came to the old +log-house. Smiling as he recalled the memories of his childhood, he went +into the cabin and found its shelter pleasant and the cooling air of +evening grateful. He took off his game bag, laid it on the floor, set his +gun against the wall, and glad of a rest sat down. Having enjoyed his +first smoke of the day, he let his head drop on the floor, and by no +means intending it fell asleep. + +Leila too was in a happier mood, and sure of not meeting John set out to +walk through the forest. After a pleasant loitering stroll she stopped at +the cabin door, and as she glanced in saw John Penhallow asleep. She +leaned against the door post and considered the motionless sleeper in the +shadows of the closing day. She was alone with him--alone as never +before. He would neither question nor make answer. Strange thoughts came +into her mind, disturbing, novel. How could he sleep without a pillow? It +must be an army habit after tent-less nights of exhaustion in the deadly +trenches. People--men--had tried to kill this living silent thing before +her; and he too--he too had wanted to kill. She wondered at that as with +the motion of a will-less automaton she drew nearer step by step. Her +feet unwatched struck the half-filled game-bag. She stumbled, caught her +breath, and had a moment of fear as she hung the bag on the wooden hook +upon which as a child she used to hang her sun-bonnet. + +Then again some natural yearning moved her, and unresisting as in a dream +she drew still nearer--merely a woman in an unguarded moment once again +under the control of a great passion which knew no social rule of conduct +nor the maiden modesties of a serenely dutiful life. At each approach, +she stood still, unashamed, innocent of guile, thrilling with emotion +which before in quiet hours had been felt as no more disturbing than the +wandering little breezes which scarcely stir the leafage of the young +spring. She stood still until she won bodily mastery of this stormy +influence with its faintly conveyed sense of maiden terror. Her thoughts +wandered as she looked down on the sleeper. In voiceless self-whispered +speech she said, "Ah me! he used to be so vexed when I said he was too +young to ask me--a woman--to marry him. How young he looks now!" The +wounded arm forever crippled lay across his breast. She caught her +breath. "I wonder," she thought, "if we get younger in sleep--and then +age in the daytime. Good Heavens! he is smiling like a baby. Oh! but I +should like to know what he is thinking of." There was unresisted +fascination in the little drama of passionate love so long repressed. + +She knelt beside him, saw the one great beauty of the hardy bronzed +face, the mouth now relaxed, with the perfect lip lines of a young +Antinous. She bent over him intent, reading his face as a child reads +some forbidden book, reading it feature by feature as a woman reads +for the first time with understanding a passionate love-poem. Ah, if he +would but open his eyes and then sleep again and never know. He moved, +and she drew back ready for flight, shy and startled. And now he was +quiet. "I must--I must," she murmured. "His lips? Ah! would they +forgive?--and--if, if he wakens, I shall die of shame. Oh, naughty +love of mine that was so cruel yesterday, I forgive you!" What would he +do--must he do--if he wakened? The risk, the urgent passion of appealing +love, gave her approach the quality of a sacred ceremonial. She bent +lower, not breathing, fearful, helpless, and dropt on his forehead a +kiss, light as the touch a honey-seeking butterfly leaves on an unstirred +flower. He moved a little; she rose in alarm and backed to the door. "Oh! +why did I?" she said to herself, reproachful for a moment's delicious +weakness. She looked back at the motionless sleeper, as she stood in the +doorway. "Why did I?--but then he does look so young--and innocent." + +Once more in the world of custom, she fled through the forest shadows, +and far away sank down panting. She caught up the tumbled downfall of +hair, and suddenly another Leila, laughed as she remembered that he would +miss the game-bag he had set at his side. How puzzled he would be when he +missed it. Amused delight in his wondering search captured her. She saw +again the beauty of his mouth and the face above it as she recalled what +her Aunt Margaret Grey had mischievously said to her, a girl, of James +Penhallow. "He has the one Penhallow beauty--the mouth, but then he has +that monumental Penhallow nose--it might be in the way." She had not +understood, but now she did, and again laughing went away homeward, not +at all unhappy or repentant, for who would ever know, and love is a +priest who gives absolution easily. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + + +In her room she went straight to the long cheval glass and looked at +Leila Grey. "So, he will never ask me again?" The mirror reported a quite +other answer. "Mark Rivers once said conscience runs down at times like a +watch. I must have forgotten to wind up mine. How could I have done it!" +She blushed a little at the remembrance. "Well, he will never know." She +dressed in white summer garb with unusual care and went down the stairs +smiling. + +"The Captain is not in yet," said the maid. + +She waited long for John Penhallow, who had gone up the back stairs, and +now at last came down to dinner. + +"Excuse me, Leila. I was so very tired that I fell asleep in the old +cabin, but I had a noble tramp, and there are some birds, not many; I +shot badly." He said no word of the displaced game-bag, which made her +uneasy, but talked of the mills and of some trouble at the mines about +wages. She pretended to be interested. + +After dinner, she said, "You will want to smoke--come into Uncle Jim's +library. I like the pipe smell. How Aunt Ann detests it!" + +"Has Uncle Jim gone back to his pipe?" he inquired, as she sat down. + +"Yes, and Aunt Ann declares that she likes it now." + +"How pleasantly you women can fib," remarked John. + +She made no reply except, "Well, sometimes." He did not fill his pipe +although he lighted in succession two matches and let them burn out. + +"Why don't you smoke, John?" This was a vague effort at the self-defence +which she felt might be needed, the mood of the hour not being at all +like the mood of two hours ago. + +"No," he replied, "not yet. Where did you walk--or did you walk?" + +"Oh, I took a little stroll through the woods." + +"Did you chance to go by the old cabin?" This was very dreadful. + +"Oh, one hardly remembers if one passes places seen every day. Why do you +ask, John?"--and then knew she was fatally blundering. + +"Why? Oh, I fell asleep, and when I woke up my game-bag had mysteriously +hung itself on the wall." + +"You might have put it there and forgotten it." + +"No, some one must have been in the cabin." + +"Oh, John, how stupid of us! Why, of course, it was Josiah." + +John was in a state of mind to enjoy the game, and shaking his head in +negation said, "No, Josiah passed me long before. He had a lot of frogs +he caught in Lonesome Man's Swamp." + +Miss Leila having exhausted all the possible explanations, said with +sweet simplicity, "Did you ever find out the origin of that name? Who was +the _lonesome man_? You see, John, lonesome seems to stand for lonely and +sad, as Mr. Rivers said." This was rather too clever, but the young woman +was so near detection as not to think wisely. + +John repeated her words, "Lonely and sad." He had been humorously sure of +his prey, but the words she used had the effect of bringing into direct +speech the appeal she had been trying to evade and knew was near at hand. + +He stood leaning against the mantel, his crippled arm caught in his +waistcoat. Repeating her word "lonesome" "more than merely alone"--he +put aside his pipe, the companion of many camp-fires. His moment of +after-silence caused the blue eyes to question timidly with upward glance +as their owner sat below him. He was very grave as he said, "I have come, +Leila, to a critical time in my life. I loved you in a boy's unmeaning +way; I loved you as a lad and a man. I have said so often in one way or +another. You told me at West Point pretty plainly that--oh, you made it +clear--that I was a boy asking a woman for her heart. It was years ago." + +"John, I--want to--" + +"Well--later--now I mean to have my say. You were not altogether wrong. +I told you that I should ask again when I had more to offer than a boy +cadet. Since then I have held my tongue, or said enough to be sure that +your reply made clear that my time had not yet come. + +"You cannot know how much you have been a part of my life. I went +gladly into the war because it was a righteous cause. No man thinks +as he goes into action, this is for my country, but--well, Leila, many +times when men were falling around me, you have been with me. If a fatal +ball had found me, I should have carried with me to another world a +thought of you. This is not mere lover's talk. I believe in you--you are +a noble-minded woman, worthy of any man's love, but"--and he smiled--"as +Josiah put it, you are rather numerous." + +"Am I?--I am much obliged by Josiah's study of my character." + +"Don't, please, Leila! It is true. I have been as good as my word. +I have been through all that can tempt in camps and cities. I was only +a young officer, but I have won praise from men whose praise is history. +Did you ever think that an honest love may be to a man like a second--an +angelic--conscience? By Heaven! Leila, it should make a woman careful." + +The woman's eyes had long since been lost to the man's, as with bent head +she listened intently, for the first time amazed at what she had been to +a man whose ideals were of the highest and his ways beyond reproach. A +coy upward lift of the proudly carried head--a mere glance of transient +reply--too brief for the man to read--might have meant, "Have not I +too been careful of my life!" + +He went on slowly. "You and I have not been spared the discipline of +responsibility. Action, danger--helps a man. You at home have had the +worst of it--you dear, sweet, beautiful thing. It would have made some +women peevish or rebellious. You have grown under it in mind and heart, +and I think the soul has fed the dear body. To have set you free from +Aunt Ann's morbid unreason and the sorrow of Uncle Jim's condition would +have been enough to repay my taking over responsibilities which Aunt Ann +should have borne." + +"John--I--" + +"No, dear, let me say a word more. I have at last talked myself out--or +almost. It is vain to put me aside again. You do not dare to say you do +not love me--" + +"You have not asked me," she murmured. + +"No, I said I would not yesterday. A tender word would have brought me to +your feet--and I was very sore." + +"If you were a woman, you would have understood and--" + +"Oh, wait a little," he said. "You are going to ask me to marry you, +Leila Grey--" She was on her feet. "Take care," he cried, and a smile on +the strong battle-tried face arrested her angry outburst. + +She said only, "Why?--I ask--you--why indeed?" + +"Because, Leila, you owe it to my self-respect--because you have given +that which implies love, and all I ask--" + +She looked up at him with eyes that implored pity, but all she found +herself able to say was, "I don't understand." + +"You kissed me in the cabin this afternoon--I was not asleep--I had half +risen when I heard you, and I fell back in wondering quiet to see what +you would do or say when you should wake me up." + +She was silent. + +"And then you kissed me--" + +"Oh, John! how wicked of you--why did you keep so still?" + +"I waited--longing." + +"For what?" + +"Hoping you would kiss me again." + +"What! twice?" she cried. "How could you think I would kiss you twice--I +was so ashamed--" + +"Well, Leila?" + +She began to feel that she was perilously close to tears, as he said +softly, "Leila Grey!" + +"John Penhallow, will you take me--oh, John! I love you." + +He caught her hand and touched it with his lips reverently. + +"If," she cried, "if you do not give me back my kiss, I shall die of +shame." + +He bent over her and kissed her forehead lightly, as though he were in +fear of too familiar approach to a thing too sacred for a rude caress. A +great surf-like rush of comprehension swept over the woman. "Was I so +loved as this--so honoured?" Then she said suddenly, "You are pale--are +you in pain?" for she saw him grasp the wounded arm and set his teeth. + +"Yes, yes--sometimes--when things happen--it wakes up and reminds me. I +shall be better in a moment. Take care"--for her arms were around him--"I +think, dear, I am not yet as strong as I shall be--but love is a great +tonic, and--I can bear no more to-night. I am in pain. I fear this has +been too much for me." + +Then he kissed her on lips that took it as a great draft from the +fountain of youth and love. "To-morrow, dear, we will ride together--in +the morning. Ah, together!" + +"Where--Jack?" + +"Oh, into fairyland! God bless you! Great Heavens, how beautiful you are! +Good-night!" + +She fell into a seat as he went out, and heard his feet on the +stair--then he stood beside her again. + +"Leila, forgive me--I was hard--uncourteous--to make you say--" + +"Hush!" she cried, between tears and laughter, as she put her hand over +his mouth, "no one shall abuse my Jack--not even Captain Penhallow. +There, sir! I deserved it." She ran by him, and was gone. + +I have not the pass-words into fairyland, and where they rode that +morning in September is not within my knowledge; nor can I say what +adventures they may have met with. The byways of this enchanted land +here and there by ill-luck come near to the haunts of men, who may catch +glimpses of such as ride through fairyland unsuspicious of other eyes. +Billy neglectful of mails this morning, was on the river bobbing for +eels. To be long attentive to anything was for him impossible, wherefore +his wandering gaze caught sight for a moment through the fringe of +willows of two people riding slowly. He saw with amazement that on +horseback in fairyland the feat of kissing is possible. + +Some hours later, my lovers, feeling as John wickedly quoted, that "the +world is too much with us," rode into Westways to get Billy's neglected +mail. + +Mr. Crocker, lean and deaf, at ease in charge of the grocery counter, sat +unoccupied in his shirt sleeves, while Mrs. Crocker bent over the mail +she had sorted. There were letters for the little group of village folk, +who read them at once as they sat on the step or as they moved away +stumbling along the sidewalk. + +Mrs. Crocker sallied out with a batch of letters. "Quite a lot, Captain. +Good-morning, Leila." + +"Mail these, Mrs. Crocker," said the travellers fresh from fairyland. + +"I saw some was from the Squire and some from Mrs. Penhallow--Squire's +writing better." + +"You wicked Mrs. Crocker," said John, "how much you pick up of folk's +secrets, I should like to know--" + +"Secrets!" laughed Leila. "They can't be read on the outside of letters." + +Then Mrs. Crocker on the sidewalk to them on horseback began to talk. +John seeing that Leila was interested and amused sat still and listened. + +"Secrets," exclaimed the post-mistress, "ain't all inside of letters. +They're on the envelopes sometimes. Oh! I've seen 'em in war time, +letters that looked like they'd been out in the rain--sort of blistered; +and people here in those days just tore open their letters and laughed or +cried." Mrs. Crocker caught her breath and paused. + +"I know, John," said Leila in a low aside. + +"And there used to come back from the front letters marked 'missing' or +'can't be found.' Folks used to come in gay and go away with a letter +just crumpled up in a hand. And now it's all over--and up you come right +gallant and happy. Here comes old Granny Lamb tottering along. I'd invent +a letter from that brute if I could. I tell you, Leila, mother-hope dies +hard." + +"It is sad--dreadful. Come, John." + +"One minute, please," said Mrs. Crocker, "I'm not half done. I tell you, +Captain John, there's a heap of human nature comin' and goin' through a +post-office. Well, good-bye." + +They rode away to Grey Pine exchanging bits from their letters. Their +uncle and aunt would be home in a week. "Sooner--if they get the letter +I mailed last night," laughed Leila. + +"I should like to have seen it." + +"No doubt." + +At the open avenue gate Josiah was waiting. He saluted in soldier +fashion, Penhallow acknowledging the greeting in like manner. + +Josiah said, "Wouldn't you just let me have a minute with the Captain?" + +Leila laughed. "Certainly." She rode away wondering what Josiah had to +report alone to the man who for him was and always would he Captain +despite the old custom of the regular army. + +"Well, Josiah--nothing wrong, I trust." + +"No, sir--everything just entirely right--but first I got to ask your +advice. I've had a letter from the Colonel--he just says some things +ought to make a man kind of blush." + +John had the odd thought that a blush must be the securely private +property of a fellow as black as this grey-headed old friend. "What does +he say, Josiah?" + +"He wants to give me a farm." + +"Well, why not--you have earned a dozen." + +"I'd like it--but--if you're goin' to marry Miss Leila, I'd rather live +with you." + +"Good Heavens!" said the traveller out of fairyland, "what put that in +your head?" + +Josiah smiled. "You'll please to excuse me, Captain--but I thought I +ought to tell you about that fool Billy. He was bobbin' for eels--and--he +saw you go by--" + +"Well, what else?" + +"He met me and he said, 'Saw Mr. John kissin' Miss Leila!' He was off +like a shot singin' out 'Goin' to get married, sure.' It will be all over +Westways by noon, sir." + +John laughed. "Well, it's true, Josiah--Confound Billy! Well, what more?" + +"Oh, I would rather live with you. The Colonel wants to give me a +farm--don't want any farm." + +"Well, well--we'll see about it later." + +"The trouble would be, sir, who's to shave the Colonel?" + +"That's serious," said John, as he rode away to rejoin Leila, who had +meant to keep their secret from the village until their aunt's return. +Three days went by before Ann Penhallow's letter of reply came to hand. + +"Well, any more news, Leila?" said John. + +"Yes, but not altogether pleasant--I am to leave early tomorrow. Uncle +Jim will meet me in Philadelphia--and, oh! I know Aunt Ann well--there +will be no end of shopping." + +"I should feel worse about it, Leila, but I see by one of my letters +that there is some row in Pittsburgh over our last rails. I am not +responsible, but I must go to-night and see about it. Isn't it dreadful, +Leila?" + +The two having come of late into a great inheritance in fairyland +demanding close personal attention were at one as regarded absence. + +After dinner Leila said, "My order to report to headquarters from +heart-quarters was in the second post-script. I have saved the rest of +the letter for you." + +"Read it, please." + +"MY DEAR CHILDREN: You are a pair of young ostriches--you know what they +do. Did you suppose a middle-aged ostrich could not use her eyes? I did +think it took a quite needless length of time." + +"Isn't that absurd, John, as if--" + +"Well, what more?" + +She read on--"I dislike long engagements--" + +"Now, that is better, Leila." + +"Your uncle says you must live at Grey Pine. I said, no--young married +people had better be alone. He must build you a house on the river nearer +the mills. I am making a list of what furniture you will require--" + +"There is more of that--much more, John, and a list of things to be done +before her return. Isn't that like what aunt was before the war?" + +John laughed. "Well, she will have her way." + +"More or less," said Leila. "Oh, there's another postscript!" + +"Well?" + +"I think you should be married about Christmas week. Of course, Mark +Rivers will marry you, and I shall ask the Bishop to assist, when I see +him on our way home. Don't fail to write to both your uncles." + +"It is certainly complete," said John. He left for Pittsburgh that night. + + * * * * * + +I have little to add to this long story. The days went by swiftly, and +after a week all of the family, except John, were once more together at +Grey Pine. Mark Rivers had also returned. He was too evidently in one of +his moods of sombre silentness, but his congratulations were warm and as +he sat at dinner he made unusual efforts to be at his agreeable best. + +When they left the table, he said, "No, Colonel, I shall not smoke +to-night. May I have a few minutes of your time, Mrs. Penhallow?" + +"Certainly, Mark--I want to talk to you about the Bible Class--I mean to +take it up again." She led the way into her own little library. "Sit +down--there is so much to talk over. Of course, you will marry these dear +children somewhere about Christmas time." + +"No," he said, "I shall be far away." + +"Away! Oh, Mark! surely you do not mean to leave us." + +"Yes, I am going to live as a missionary among the Indians." + +"You cannot--you really cannot--where could you be more useful than +here?" + +"No, I must go. My life on the whole has been most happy here--and how to +thank you I fail to be able to say." + +"But why," she urged, "why do you go?" + +"Oh--I want--I must have an active life, open air, even risks. The war +gave me what I need for entire competence of body and mind to use in my +Master's service. But now, the war is at an end--" + +"Thank God! But all you ask--and more--Mark, except danger, are +here--and oh, but we shall miss you, and more than ever when we miss +too these children. Think of it--don't make up your mind until James +talks to you--" + +"No, I go to-morrow." + +"But it does seem to me, Mark, that you are making a serious change +without sufficient consideration of what you lose and we lose." + +"Yes, yes," he returned, "I know--but to remain is for me impossible." + +"But why?" + +He was silent a moment, looking at this dear friend with the over-filled +eyes of a troubled and yet resolute manhood. Then he said, "I did not +mean to tell you why in my weakness flight alone will save me from what +has been to me unbearable here and ever will be." + +"Can I in any way help you?" + +"No." + +"But what is it--trust me a little--what is it?" + +He hesitated, and then said, "It is Leila Grey! God pity my weakness, and +you will say good-bye and give the Squire this note and them my love." He +was gone. + +The woman sat still for an hour, pitiful, and understanding the flight +of a too sensitive man. Then she gave her husband the note, with her +good-night, and no other word. Of why her friend had gone she said later +nothing, except to defend him for his obedience to the call of duty. Late +that evening John returned. + +When after breakfast next day he and Leila were riding through the +wood-roads of the forest, John said, "I cannot or I could not see why +Mr. Rivers went away so abruptly." + +"Nor I," said Leila. Then there was one of those long silences dear to +lovers. + +"What are you thinking of, Jack?" + +"Uncle Jim told me last night the story of the early life of Mark +Rivers." + +"Tell it to me." + +He told it--"But," he continued, "that was not all of him. I have heard +Mr. Rivers hold at the closest attention a great crowd of soldiers with +that far-carrying voice; and then to hear as he led them singing the old +familiar hymns--perhaps a thousand men--oh, it was a thing to remember! +And they loved him, Leila, because behind the battle line he was coolly, +serviceably brave; and in the hospital wards--well, as tender as--well, +as you would have been. I wondered, Leila, why he did not marry again. +The first was a mistake, but I suppose he knew that for him to marry +would have been wrong, with that sad family history. Probably life never +offered him the temptation." + +"Perhaps not," said Leila, and they rode out of the woods and over the +meadows. "Let us talk of something less sad." + +"Well, Leila, a pleasant thing to discuss is Tom McGregor. I suspect him +of a fortunate love affair with the daughter of the General at Fortress +Monroe." + +"Indeed--but what else? Oh, our own great debt to him!" + +"Uncle Jim is considering that. We may trust him to be more than +generous. Yes, surely. Now for a run over this grass. Can you take that +fence?" + +"Can I, indeed! Follow me, Jack." + +"Anywhere. Everywhere, Leila!" + + + + +THE END + + + + +Books by + +Dr. S. Weir Mitchell + + +Fiction + +HUGH WYNNE. + +CONSTANCE TRESCOT. + +THE YOUTH OF WASHINGTON. + +CIRCUMSTANCE. + +THE ADVENTURES OF FRANÇOIS. + +THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A QUACK. + +DR. NORTH AND HIS FRIENDS. + +IN WAR TIME. + +ROLAND BLAKE. + +FAR IN THE FOREST. + +CHARACTERISTICS. + +WHEN ALL THE WOODS ARE GREEN. + +A MADEIRA PARTY. + +THE RED CITY. + +HEPHZIBAH GUINNESS. + +A COMEDY OF CONSCIENCE. + +A DIPLOMATIC ADVENTURE. + +THE GUILLOTINE CLUB. + +JOHN SHERWOOD, IRONMASTER. + +WESTWAYS. + + +Essays. + +DOCTOR AND PATIENT. + +WEAR AND TEAR.--HINTS FOR THE OVERWORKED. + + +Poems. + +COLLECTED POEMS. + +THE WAGER, AND OTHER POEMS. + +THE COMFORT OF THE HILLS. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WESTWAYS*** + + +******* This file should be named 14153-8.txt or 14153-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/4/1/5/14153 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + diff --git a/old/14153-8.zip b/old/14153-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..470da44 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/14153-8.zip diff --git a/old/14153.txt b/old/14153.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..386e99e --- /dev/null +++ b/old/14153.txt @@ -0,0 +1,19361 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Westways, by S. Weir Mitchell + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Westways + +Author: S. Weir Mitchell + +Release Date: November 26, 2004 [eBook #14153] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WESTWAYS*** + + +E-text prepared by Audrey Longhurst, Mary Meehan, and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + +WESTWAYS + +A Village Chronicle + +by + +S. WEIR MITCHELL, M.D., LL.D. + +Author of _Hugh Wynne_, _The Adventures of Francois_, _Constance +Trescot_, etc., etc. + +1913 + + + + + + + +I DEDICATE THIS BOOK WHICH RECALLS CERTAIN SCENES OF THE CIVIL WAR TO THE +MEMORY OF MY THREE BROTHERS + +R.W.M. +N.C.M. +E.K.M. + +ALL OF WHOM SERVED IN THE ARMIES OF THEIR COUNTRY + + + + +PREFACE + + +There will be many people in this book; some will be important, others +will come on the scene for a time and return no more. The life-lines of +these persons will cross and recross, to meet once or twice and not +again, like the ruts in a much used road. To-day the stage may be +crowded, to-morrow empty. The corner novels where only a half dozen +people are concerned give no impression of the multitudinous contacts +which affect human lives. Even of the limited life of a village this is +true. It was more true of the time of my story, which lacking plot must +rely for interest on the influential relations of social groups, then +more defined in small communities than they are to-day. + +Long before the Civil War there were in the middle states, near to or +remote from great centres, villages where the social division of classes +was tacitly accepted. In or near these towns one or more families were +continuously important on account of wealth or because of historic +position, generations of social training, and constant relation to the +larger world. They came by degrees to constitute what I may describe as +an indistinct caste, for a long time accepted as such by their less +fortune-favoured neighbours. They were, in fact, for many years almost as +much a class by themselves as are the long-seated county families of +England and like these were looked to for helpful aid in sickness and in +other of the calamities of life. The democrat time, increasing ease of +travel and the growth of large industries, gradually altered the relation +between these small communities, and the families who in the smaller +matters of life long remained singularly familiar with their poorer +neighbours and in the way of closer social intimacies far apart. + +It seemed to me worth while to use the life of one of these groups of +people as the background of a story which also deals with the influence +of politics and war on all classes. + + + + +WESTWAYS + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +The first Penhallow crossed the Alleghanies long before the War for +Independence and on the frontier of civilisation took up land where the +axe was needed for the forest and the rifle for the Indian. He made a +clearing and lived a hard life of peril, wearily waiting for the charred +stumps to rot away. + +The younger men of the name in Colonial days and later left the place +early, and for the most part took to the sea or to the army, if there +were activity in the way of war. In later years, others drifted westward +on the tide of border migration, where adventure was always to be had. +This stir of enterprise in a breed tends to extinction in the male lines. +Men are thinned out in their wooing of danger--the _belle dame sans +merci_. Thus there were but few Penhallows alive at any one time, and +yet for many years they bred in old-fashioned numbers. + +As time ran on, a Penhallow prospered in the cities, and clinging to +the land added fresh acres as new ambitions developed qualities which +are not infrequently found in descendants of long-seated American +families. It was not then, nor is it now, rare in American life to find +fortune-favoured men returning in later days to the homes of their youth +to become useful in many ways to the communities they loved. One of +these, James Penhallow,--and there was always a James,--after greatly +prospering in the ventures of the China trade, was of the many who about +1800 bought great tracts of land on the farther slope of the Pennsylvania +Alleghanies. His own purchases lay near and around the few hundred acres +his ancestor took up and where an aged cousin was left in charge of the +farm-house. When this tenant died, the house decayed, and the next +Penhallow weary of being taxed for unproductive land spent a summer on +the property, and with the aid of engineers found iron in plenty and soft +coal. He began about 1830 to develop the property, and built a large +house which he never occupied and which was long known in the county as +"Penhallow's Folly." It was considered the more notably foolish because +of being set, in unAmerican fashion, deep in the woods, and remote from +the highway. What was believed to be the oldest pine-tree in the county +gave to the place the popular name of "Grey Pine" and being accepted by +the family when they came there to live, "Penhallow's Folly" ceased to be +considered descriptive. + +The able and enterprising discoverer of mines had two sons. One of them, +the youngest, married late in life, and dying soon after left a widow and +a posthumous son John, of whom more hereafter. The elder brother was +graduated from West Point, served some years with distinction, and +marrying found himself obliged to resign his captaincy on his father's +death to take charge of the iron-mills and mines, which had become far +more important to the family than their extensive forest-holdings on the +foot-hills of the western watershed of the Alleghanies. + +The country had long been well settled. The farmers thrived as the mills +and mines needed increasing supplies of food and the railway gave access +to market. The small village of Westways was less fortunate than the +county. Strung along the side of the road opposite to Penhallow's woods, +it had lost the bustling prosperity of a day when the Conestoga wagons +stopped over-night at the "General Wayne Inn" and when as yet no one +dreamed that the new railroad would ruin the taverns set at intervals +along the highway to Pittsburgh. Now that Westways Crossing, two miles +away, had been made the nearest station, Westways was left to live on the +mill-wages and such profits as farming furnished. + +When Captain James Penhallow repaired the neglected house and kept the +town busy with demands for workmen, the village woke up for a whole +summer. In the autumn he brought to Grey Pine his wife, Ann Grey, of the +well-known Greys of the eastern shore of Maryland. A year or two of +discomfort at Western army-posts and a busy-minded, energetic +personality, made welcome to this little lady a position which provided +unaccustomed luxuries and a limitless range of duties, such as were to +her what mere social enjoyments are to many women. Grey Pine--the house, +the flower and kitchen-gardens, the church to be built--and the schools +at the mills, all were as she liked it, having been bred up amid the +kindly despotism of a great plantation with its many dependent slaves. + +When Ann Penhallow put Grey Pine and the Penhallow crest on her +notepaper, her husband said laughing that women had no rights to crests, +and that although the arms were surely his by right of good Cornish +descent, he thought their use in America a folly. This disturbed Ann +Penhallow very little, but when they first came to Grey Pine the headings +of her notepaper were matters of considerable curiosity to the straggling +village of Westways, where she soon became liked, respected, and +moderately feared. A busy-minded woman, few things in the life of the +people about her escaped her notice, and she distributed uninvited +counsel or well-considered charity and did her best to restrain the more +lavish, periodical assistance when harvests were now and then bad--which +made James Penhallow a favourite in the county. + +Late in the summer of 1855, John Penhallow's widow, long a wandering +resident in Europe, acquired the first serious illness of a +self-manufactured life of invalidism and promptly died at Vevey. Her only +child, John, was at once ordered home by his uncle and guardian, James +Penhallow, and after some delay crossed the sea in charge of his tutor. +The dependent little fellow hid under a natural reserve what grief he +felt, and accustomed to being sent here and there by an absent mother, +silently submissive, was turned over by the tutor to James Penhallow's +agent in Philadelphia. On the next day, early in November, he was put in +charge of a conductor to be left at Westways Crossing, where he was told +that some one would meet him. + +The day was warm when in the morning he took his seat in the train, +but before noon it became clouded, and an early snow-storm with sudden +fall of temperature made the boy sensible that he was ill-clothed to +encounter the change of weather. He had been unfortunate in the fact +that his mother had for years used the vigilant tyranny of feebleness +to enforce upon the boy her own sanitary views. Children are easily +made hypochondriac, and under her system of government he became +self-attentive, careful of what he ate and extremely timid. There +had been many tutors and only twice long residence at schools in Vevey +and for a winter in Budapest. The health she too sedulously watched she +was fast destroying, and her son was at the time of her death a thin, +pallid, undersized boy, who disliked even the mild sports of French lads, +and had been flattered and considered until he had acquired the +conviction that he was an important member of an important family. His +other mother--nature--had given him, happily, better traits. He was an +observer, a born lover of books, intelligent, truthful, and trained +in the gentle, somewhat formal, manners of an older person. Now for the +first time in his guarded life he was alone on a railway journey in +charge of the conductor. A more unhappy, frightened little fellow could +hardly have been found. + +The train paused at many stations; men and women got on or got out of the +cars, very common-looking people, surely, he concluded. The day ran by to +afternoon. The train had stopped at a station for lunch, but John, +although hungry, was afraid of being left and kept the seat which he +presumed to be his own property until a stout man took half of it. A +little later, a lean old woman said, "Move up, sonny," and sat down. +When she asked his name and where he lived, he replied in the coldly +civil manner with which he had heard his mother repress the good-natured +advances of her wandering countrymen. When again the seat was free, he +fell to thinking of the unknown home, Grey Pine, which he had heard his +mother talk of to English friends as "our ancestral home," and of the +great forests, the mines and the iron-works. Her son would, of course, +inherit it, as Captain Penhallow had no child. "Really a great estate, +my dear," his mother had said. It loomed large in his young imagination. +Who would meet him? Probably a carriage with the liveried driver and the +groom immaculate in white-topped boots, a fur cover on his arm. It would, +of course, be Captain Penhallow who would make him welcome. Then the +cold, which is hostile to imagination, made him shiver as he drew his +thin cloak about him and watched the snow squadrons wind-driven and the +big flakes blurring his view as they melted on the panes. By and by, two +giggling young women near by made comments on his looks and dress. +Fragments of their talk he overheard. It was not quite pleasant. "Law! +ain't he got curly hair, and ain't he just like a girl doll," and so on +in the lawless freedom of democratic feminine speech. The flat Morocco +cap and large visor of the French schoolboy and the dark blue cloak with +the silver clasp were subjects of comment. One of them offered peanuts or +sugar-plums, which he declined with "Much obliged, but I never take +them." Now and then he consulted his watch or felt in his pocket to be +certain that his baggage-check was secure, or looked to see if the little +bag of toilet articles at his feet was safe. The kindly attentions of +those who noticed his evident discomfort were neither mannerless nor, as +he thought, impertinent. A woman said to him that he seemed cold, +wouldn't he put around him a shawl she laid on his knees. He declined it +civilly with thanks. In fact, he was thinly and quite too lightly clad, +and he not only felt the cold, but was unhappy and utterly unprepared by +any previous experience for the mode of travel, the crowded car and the +rough kindness of the people, who liking his curly hair and refined young +childlike face would have been of service if he had accepted their +advances with any pleasure. Presently, after four in the afternoon, the +brakeman called "All out for Westways Crossing." + +John seized his bag and was at the exit-door before the train came to a +stand. The conductor bade him be careful, as the steps were slippery. As +the engine snorted and the train moved away, the conductor cried out, +"Forgot your cane, sonny," and threw the light gold-mounted bamboo from +the car. He had a new sense of loneliness as he stood on the roofless +platform, half a foot deep in gathering snow, which driven by a pitiless +gale from the north blew his cloak about as he looked to see that his +trunk had been delivered. A man shifted a switch and coming back said, +"Gi'me your check." John decided that this was not safe, and to the man's +amusement said that he would wait until the carriage of Captain Penhallow +arrived. The man went away. John remained angrily expectant looking up +the road. Presently he heard the gay jingle of bells and around a turn of +the road came a one-horse sleigh. It stopped beside him. He first saw +only the odd face of the driver in a fur cap and earlets. Then, tossing +off the bear skins, bounded on to the platform a young girl and shook +herself snow-free as she threw back a wild mane of dark red hair. + +"Halloa! John Penhallow," she cried, "I'm Leila Grey. I'm sent for you. +I'm late too. Uncle James has gone to the mills and Aunt Ann is busy. +Been here long?" + +"Not very," said John, his teeth chattering with cold. + +"Gracious! you'll freeze. Sorry I was late." She saw at a glance the low +shoes, the blue cloak, the kid gloves, the boy's look of suffering, and +at once took possession of him. + +"Get into the sleigh. Oh! leave your check on the trunk or give it to +me." She was off and away to the trunk as he climbed in, helpless. She +undid the counter check, ran across to the guard's house, was back in a +moment and tumbled in beside him. + +"But, is it safe? My trunk, I mean," said John. + +"Safe. No one will steal it. Pat will come for it. There he is now. Tuck +in the rugs. Put this shawl around you and over your head." She pinned it +with ready fingers. + +"Now, you'll be real comfy." The chilled boy puzzled and amused her. + +As he became warm, John felt better in the hands of this easy despot, but +was somewhat indignant. "To send a chit of a girl for him--John +Penhallow!" + +"Now," she cried to the driver, "be careful. Why did they send _you_?" + +Billy, a middle-aged man, short-legged and long of body, turned a +big-featured head as he replied in an odd boyish voice, "The man was busy +giving a ball in the stable." + +"A ball"--said John--"in the stable?" + +"Oh! that is funny," said the girl. "A ball's a big pill for Lucy, my +mare. She's sick." + +"Oh! I see." And they were off and away through the wind-driven snow. + +The girl, instinctively aware of the shyness and discomfort of her +companion, set herself to put him at ease. The lessening snow still fell, +but now a brilliant sun lighted the white radiance of field and forest. +He was warmer, and the disconnected chat of childhood began. + +"The snow is early. Don't you love it?" said the small maid bent on +making herself agreeable. + +"No, I do not." + +"But, oh!--see--the sun is out. Now you will like it. I suppose you don't +know how to walk in snow-shoes, or it would be lovely to go right home +across country." + +"I never used them. Once I read about them in a book." + +"Oh! you'll learn. I'll teach you." + +John, used to being considered and flattered, as he became more +comfortable began to resent the way in which the girl proposed to +instruct him. He was silent for a time. + +"Tuck in that robe," she said. "How old are you?" + +"This last September, fifteen. How old are you?" + +"Guess." + +"About ten, I think." Now this was malicious. + +"Ten, indeed! I'm thirteen and ten months and--and three days," she +returned, with the accuracy of childhood about age. "Were you at school +in Europe?" + +"Yes, in France and Hungary." + +"That's queer. In Hungary and France--Oh! then you can speak French." + +"Of course," he replied. "Can't you?" + +"A little, but Aunt Ann says I have a good accent when I read to her--we +often do." + +"You should say 'without accent,'" he felt better after this assertion of +superior knowledge. She thought his manners bad, but, though more amused +than annoyed, felt herself snubbed and was silent for a time. He was +quick to perceive that he had better have held his critical tongue, and +said pleasantly, "But really it don't matter--only I was told that in +France." + +She was as quick to reply, "You shouldn't say 'don't matter,' I say that +sometimes, and then Uncle James comes down on me." + +"Why? I am really at a loss--" + +"Oh! you must say 'doesn't'--not 'don't.'" She shook her great mass of +hair and cried merrily, "I guess we are about even now, John Penhallow." + +Then they laughed gaily, as the boy said, "I wasn't very--very +courteous." + +"Now that's pretty, John. Good gracious, Billy!" she cried, punching the +broad back of the driver. "Are you asleep? You are all over the road." + +"Oh! I was thinkin' how Pole, the butcher, sold the Squire a horse that's +spavined--got it sent back--funny, wasn't it?" + +"Look out," said Leila, "you will upset us." + +John looked the uneasiness he felt, as he said, "Do you think it is +safe?" + +"No, I don't. Drive on, Billy, but do be careful." + +They came to the little village of Westways. At intervals Billy +communicated bits of village gossip. "Susan McKnight, she's going to +marry Finney--" + +"Bother Susan," cried Leila. "Be careful." + +John alarmed held on to his seat as the sleigh rocked about, while Billy +whipped up the mare. + +"This is Westways, our village. It is just a row of houses. Uncle James +won't sell land on our side. Look out, Billy! Our rector lives in that +small house by the church. His name is Mark Rivers. You'll like him. +That's Mr. Grace, the Baptist preacher." She bade him good-day. "Stop, +Billy!" + +He pulled up at the sidewalk. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Crocker," she said, +as the postmistress came out to the sleigh. "Please mail this. Any +letters for us?" + +"No, Leila." She glanced at the curly locks above the thin face and the +wrapped up form in the shawl. "Got a nice little girl with you, Leila." + +John indignant said nothing. "This is a boy--my cousin, John Penhallow," +returned Leila. + +"Law! is that so?" + +"Get on," cried Leila. "Stop at Josiah's." + +Here a tall, strongly built, very black negro came out. "Fine frosty day, +missy." + +"Come up to the house to-night. Uncle Jim wants you." + +"I'll come--sure." + +"Now, get along, Billy." + +The black was strange to the boy. He thought the lower orders here +disrespectful. + +"Josiah's our barber," said Leila. "He saved me once from a dreadful +accident. You'll like him." + +"Will I?" thought John, but merely remarked, "They all seem rather +intimate." + +"Why not?" said the young Republican. "Ah! here's the gate. I'll get out +and open it. It's the best gate to swing on in the whole place." + +As she tossed the furs aside, John gasped, "To swing on--" + +"Oh, yes. Aunt Ann says I am too old to swing on gates, but I do. It +shuts with a bang. I'll show you some day." + +"What is swinging on a gate?" said John, as she jumped out and stood in +the snow laughing. Surely this was an amazing kind of boy. "Why, did you +never hear the rhyme about it?" + +"No," said John, "I never did." + +"Well, you just get on the gate when it's wide open and give a push, and +you sing-- + + "If I was the President of these United States, + I'd suck molasses candy and swing upon the gates. + +"There! Then it shuts--bang!" With this bit of child folklore she +scampered away through the snow and stood holding the gate open while +Billy drove through. She reflected mischievously that it must have been +three years since she had swung on a gate. + +John feeling warm and for the first time looking about him with interest +began to notice the grandeur of the rigid snow-laden pines of an +untouched forest which stood in what was now brilliant sunshine. + +As Leila got into the sleigh, she said, "Now, Billy, go slowly when you +make the short turn at the house. If you upset us, I--I'll kill you." + +"Yes, miss. Guess I'll drive all right." But the ways of drivers are +everywhere the same, and to come to the end of a drive swiftly with crack +of whip was an unresisted temptation. + +"_Sang de Dieu!_" cried John, "we will be upset." + +"We are," shouted Leila. The horse was down, the sleigh on its side, and +the cousins disappeared in a huge drift piled high when the road was +cleared. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +John was the first to return to the outer world. He stood still, seeing +the horse on its legs, Billy unharnessing, Leila for an instant lost to +sight. The boy was scared. In his ordered life it was an unequalled +experience. Then he saw a merry face above the drift and lying around it +a wide-spread glory of red hair on the white snow. In after years he +would recall the beauty of the laughing young face in its setting of dark +gold and sunlit silver snow. + +"Oh, my!" she cried. "That Billy! Don't stand there, John; pull me out, +I'm stuck." + +He gave her a hand and she bounded forth out of the drift, shaking off +the dry snow as a wet dog shakes off water. "What's the matter, John?" + +He was trying to empty neck, pocket and shoes of snow, and was past +the limits of what small endurance he had been taught. "I shall catch +my death of cold. It's down my back--it's everywhere, and I--shall +get--laryngitis." + +The brave blue eyes of the girl stared at his dejected figure. She was at +heart a gentle, little woman-child, endowed by nature with so much of +tom-boy barbarism as was good for her. Just now a feeling of contemptuous +surprise overcame her kindliness and her aunt's training. "There's your +bag on the snow, and Billy will find your cap. What does a boy want with +a bag? A boy--and afraid of snow!" she cried. "Help him with that +harness." + +He made no reply, but looked about for his lost cane. Then the young +despot turned upon the driver. "Wait till Uncle James hears; he'll come +down on you." + +"My lands!" said Billy, unbuckling a trace, "I'll just say, I'm sorry; +and the Squire he'll say, don't let it happen again; and I'll say, yes, +sir." + +"Yes, until Aunt Ann hears," said Leila, and turned to John. His attitude +of utter helplessness touched her. + +"Come into the house; you must be cold." She was of a sudden all +tenderness. + +Through an outside winter doorway-shelter they entered a hall unusually +large for an American's house and warmed by two great blazing hickory +wood-fires. "Come in," she cried, "you'll be all right. Sit down by the +fire; I'll be down in a minute, I want to see where Aunt Ann has put +you." + +"I am much obliged," said John shivering. He was alone, but wet as he was +the place captured an ever active imagination. He looked about him as he +stood before the roaring fire. To the right was an open library, to the +left a drawing-room rarely used, the hall being by choice the favoured +sitting-room. The dining-room was built out from the back of the hall, +whence up a broad stairway Leila had gone. The walls were hung with +Indian painted robes, Sioux and Arapahoe weapons, old colonial rifles, +and among them portraits of three generations of Penhallows. Many older +people had found interesting the strange adornment of the walls, where +amid antlered trophies of game, buffalo heads and war-worn Indian relics, +could be read something of the owner's tastes and history. John stood by +the fire fascinated. Like many timid boys, he liked books of adventure +and to imagine himself heroic in situations of peril. + +"It's all right. Come up," cried Leila from the stair. "Your trunk's +there now. There's a fine fire." + +Forgetful of the cold ride and of the snow down his back, he was +standing before the feathered head-dress of a Sioux Chief and +touching the tomahawk below it. He turned as she spoke. "Those must +be scalp-locks--three." He saw the prairie, the wild pursuit--saw them +as she could not. He went after her upstairs, the girl talking, the +boy rapt, lost in far-away battles on the plains. + +"This is your room. See what a nice fire. You can dry yourself. Your +trunk is here already." She lighted two candles. "We dine at half-past +six." + +"Thank you; I am very much obliged," he said, thinking what a mannerless +girl. + +Leila closed the door and stood still a moment. Then she exclaimed, +"Well, I never! What will Uncle Jim say?" She listened a moment. No +one was in the hall. Then she laughed, and getting astride of the +banister-rail made a wild, swift and perilous descent, alighting at the +foot in the hall, and readjusting her short skirts as she heard her aunt +and uncle on the porch. "I was just in time," she exclaimed. "Wouldn't I +have caught it!" + +The Squire, as the village called him, would have applauded this form of +coasting, but Aunt Ann had other views. "Well!" he said as they came in, +"what have you done with your young man?" + +Now he was for Leila anything but a man or manly, but she was a loyal +little lady and unwilling to expose the guest to Uncle Jim's laughter. +"He's all right," she said, "but Billy upset the sleigh." She was longing +to tell about that ball in the stable, but refrained. + +"So Billy upset you; and John, where is he?" + +"He's upstairs getting dried." + +"It is rather a rough welcome," remarked her aunt. + +"He lost his cap and his cane," said Leila. + +"His cane!" exclaimed her uncle, "his cane!" + +"I must see him," said his wife. + +"Better let him alone, Ann." But as usual she took her own way and went +upstairs. She came down in a few minutes, finding her husband standing +before the fire--an erect, soldierly figure close to forty years of age. + +"Well, Ann?" he queried. + +"A very nice lad, with such good manners, James." + +"Billy found his cap," said Leila, "but he couldn't get the sleigh set up +until the stable men came." + +"And that cane," laughed Penhallow. "Was the boy amused or--or scared?" + +"I don't know," which was hardly true, but the chivalry of childhood +forbade tale-telling and he learned very little. "He was rather tired and +cold, so I made him go to his room and rest." + +"Poor child!" said Aunt Ann. + +James Penhallow looked at Leila. Some manner of signals were +interchanged. "I saw Billy digging in the big drift," he said. "I trust +he found the young gentleman's cane." Some pitying, dim comprehension of +the delicately nurtured lad had brought to the social surface the +kindliness of the girl and she said no more. + +"It is time to dress for dinner," said Ann. Away from the usages of the +city she had wisely insisted on keeping up the social forms which the +Squire would at times have been glad to disregard. For a moment Ann +Penhallow lingered. "We must try to make him feel at home, James." + +"Of course, my dear. I can imagine how Susan Penhallow would have +educated a boy, and now I know quite too well what we shall have to +undo--and--do." + +"You won't, oh! you will not be too hard on him." + +"I--no, my dear--but--I suspect his American education has begun +already." + +"What do you mean?" + +"Ask Leila--and Billy. But that can wait." They separated. + +While his elders were thus briefly discussing this new addition to the +responsibilities of their busy lives, the subject of their talk had been +warmed into comfortable repossession of his self-esteem. He set in order +his elaborate silver toilet things marked with the Penhallow crest, saw +in the glass that his dress and unboylike length of curly hair were as he +had been taught they should be; then he looked at his watch and went +slowly downstairs. + +"Halloa! John," he heard as he reached the last turn of the stairs. "Most +glad to see you. You are very welcome to your new home." The man who +hailed him was six feet two inches, deep-chested, erect--the West Point +figure; the face clean-shaven, ruddy, hazel-eyed, was radiant with the +honest feeling of desire to put this childlike boy at ease. + +The little gentleman needed no aid and replied, "My dear uncle, I cannot +sufficiently thank you." A little bow went with his words, and he +placidly accepted his aunt's embrace, while the hearty Miss Leila looked +on in silence. The boy's black suit, the short jacket, the neat black +tie, made the paleness of his thin large-featured face too obvious. Then +Leila took note of the court shoes and silk socks, and looked at Uncle +Jim to see what he thought. The Squire reserved what criticism he may +have had and asked cheerfully about the journey, Aunt Ann aiding him with +eager will to make the boy feel at home. He was quite enough at home. It +was all agreeable, these handsome relations and the other Penhallows on +the walls. He had been taught that which is good or ill as men use it, +pride of race, and in his capacity to be impressed by his surroundings +was years older than Leila. He felt sure that he would like it here at +Grey Pine, but was surprised to see no butler and to be waited on at +dinner by two neat little maids. + +When Ann Penhallow asked him about his schools and his life in Europe, he +became critical, and conversed about picture-galleries and foreign life +with no lack of accuracy, while the Squire listened smiling and Leila sat +dumb with astonishment as the dinner went on. He ate little and kept in +mind the endless lessons in regard to what he should or should not eat. +Meanwhile, he silently approved of the old silver and these well-bred +kinsfolk, with a reserve of doubt concerning his silent cousin. + +His uncle had at last his one glass of Madeira, and as they rose his aunt +said, "You may be tired, John; you ought to go to bed early." + +"It is not yet time," he said. "I always retire at ten o'clock." + +"He 'retires,'" murmured his uncle. "Come, Ann, we will leave Leila to +make friends with the new cousin. Try John at checkers, Leila. She +defeats me easily." + +"I--never saw any one could beat me at _jeu des dames_," said John. It +was a fine chance to get even with Leila for the humiliating adventures +of a not very flattering day. + +"Well, take care," said the Squire, not altogether amused. "Come, Ann." +Entering the large library room he closed the door, drew over it a +curtain, filled his pipe but did not light it, and sat down at the fire +beside his wife. + +"Well, James," she said, "did you ever see a better mannered lad, and so +intelligent?" + +"Never--nor any lad who has as good an opinion of his small self. He is +too young for his years, and in some ways too old. I looked him over a +bit. He is a mere scaffolding, a sickly-looking chap. He eats too little. +I heard him remark to you that potatoes disagreed with him and that he +never ate apples." + +"But, James, what shall we do with him? It is a new and a difficult +responsibility." + +"Do with him? Oh! make a man of him. Give him and Leila a week's holiday. +Turn him loose with that fine tom-boy. Then he must go to school to Mark +Rivers with Leila and those two young village imps, the doctor's boy and +Grace's, that precious young Baptist. They will do him good. When Mark +reports, we shall see further. That is all my present wisdom, Ann. Has +the _Tribune_ come? Oh! I see--it is on the table." + +Ann was still in some doubt and returned to the boy. "And where do I come +in?" + +"Feed the young animal and get the tailor in the village to make him some +warm rough clothes, and get him boots for the snow--and thick gloves--and +a warm ready-made overcoat." + +"I will. But, James, Leila will half kill him. He is so thin and pale. He +looks hardly older than she does." Then Ann rose, saying, "Well, we shall +see, I suppose you are right," and after some talk about the iron-works +left him to his pipe. + +When she returned to the hall, the two children were talking of +Europe--or rather Leila was listening. "Well," said the little lady, Ann +Penhallow, "how did the game go, John?" + +"I am rather out of practice," said John. Leila said nothing. He had been +shamefully worsted. "I think I shall go to bed," he remarked, looking at +his watch. + +"I would," she said. "There are the candles. There is a bathroom next to +you." + +He was tired and disgusted, but slept soundly. When at breakfast he said +that he was not allowed tea or coffee, he was fed with milk, to which +with hot bread and new acquaintance with griddle cakes he took kindly. +After breakfast he was driven to the village with his aunt and equipped +with a rough ready-made overcoat and high boots. He found the dress +comfortable, but not to his taste. + +When he came back, the Squire and Leila had disappeared and he was left +to his own devices. He was advised by his aunt to walk about and see the +stables and the horses. That any boy should not want to see the horses +was inconceivable in this household. He did go out and walk on the porch, +but soon went in chilled and sat down to lose himself in a book of polar +travel. He liked history, travel and biographies of soldiers, fearfully +desiring to have his own courage tested--a more common boy-wish than +might be supposed. He thought of it as he laid down the book and began to +inspect again the painted buffalo skins on the wall, letting his +imagination wander when once more he touched a Sioux tomahawk with its +grim adornment of scalp-locks. He was far away when he heard his aunt +say, "You were not out long, John. Did they show you the horses?" + +Shy and reserved in novel surroundings, he was rather too much at his +ease amid socially familiar things, and now said lightly that he had not +seen the stables. "Really, Aunt Ann, I prefer to read or to look at these +interesting Indian relics." + +"Ask your uncle about them," she said, "but you will find out that horses +are important in this household." She left him with the conviction that +James Penhallow was, on the whole, right as to the educational needs of +this lad. + +After lunch his uncle said, "Leila will show you about the place. You +will want to see the horses, of course, and the dogs." + +"And my guinea pigs," added Leila. + +He took no interest in either, and the dogs somewhat alarmed him. His +cousin, a little discouraged, led him away into the woods where the +ancient pines stood snow laden far apart with no intrusion between them +of low shrubbery. Leila was silent, half aware that he was hard to +entertain, and then mischievously wilful to give this indifferent cousin +a lesson. Presently he stood still, looking up at the towering cones of +the motionless pines. + +"How stately they are--how like old Vikings!" he said. His imagination +was the oldest mental characteristic of this over-guarded, repressed +boyhood. + +Leila turned, surprised. This was beyond her appreciative capacity. "Once +I heard Uncle Jim say something like that. He's queer about trees. He +talks to them sometimes just like that. There's the biggest pine over +there--I'll show it to you. Why! he will stop and pat it and say, 'How +are you?'--Isn't it funny?" + +"No, it isn't funny at all. It's--it's beautiful!" + +"You must be like him, John." + +"I--like him! Do you think so?" He was pleased. The Indian horseman of +the plains who could talk to the big tree began to be felt by the boy as +somehow nearer. + +"Let's play Indian," said Leila. "I'll show you." She was merry, intent +on mischief. + +"Oh! whatever you like." He was uninterested. + +Leila said, "You stand behind this tree, I will stand behind that one." +She took for herself the larger shelter. "Then you, each of us, get ready +this way a pile of snowballs. I say, Make ready! Fire! and we snowball +one another like everything. The first Indian that's hit, he falls down +dead. Then the other rushes at him and scalps him." + +"But," said John, "how can he?" + +"Oh! he just gives your hair a pull and makes believe." + +"I see." + +"Then we play it five times, and each scalp counts one. Now, isn't that +real jolly?" + +John had his doubts as to this, but he took his place and made some +snowballs clumsily. + +"Make ready! Fire!" cried Leila. The snowballs flew. At last, the girl +seeing how wildly he threw exposed herself. A better shot took her full +in the face. Laughing gaily, she dropped, "I'm dead." + +The game pleased him with its unlooked-for good luck. "Now don't stand +there like a ninny--scalp me," she cried. + +He ran to her side and knelt down. The widespread hair affected him +curiously. He touched it daintily, let it fall, and rose. "To pull at a +girl's hair! I couldn't do it." + +Leila laughed. "A good pull, that's how to scalp." + +"I couldn't," said John. + +"Well, you are a queer sort of Indian!" She was less merciful, but in the +end, to her surprise, he had three scalps. "Uncle Jim will laugh when I +tell him," she said. "Shall we go home?" + +"No, I want to see Uncle Jim's big tree." + +"Oh! he's only Uncle Jim to me. Aunt don't like it. He will tell you some +day to call him Uncle Jim. He says I got that as brevet rank the day my +mare refused the barnyard fence and pitched me off. I just got on again +and made her take it! That's why he's Uncle Jim." + +John became thoughtful about that brevet privilege of a remote future. He +had, however, persistent ways. "I want to see the big pine, Leila." + +"Oh! come on then. It's a long way. We must cut across." He followed her +remorselessly swift feet through the leafless bushes and drifts until +they came upon a giant pine in a wide space cleared to give the veteran +royal solitude. "That's him," cried Leila, and carelessly cast herself +down on the snow. + +The boy stood still in wonder. Something about the tree disturbed him +emotionally. With hands clasped behind his back, he stared up at its +towering heights. He was silent. + +"What's the matter? What do you see?" She was never long silent. He was +searching for a word. + +"It's solemn. I like it." He moved forward and patted the huge hole with +a feeling of reverence and affection. "I wish he could speak to us. How +are you, old fellow?" + +Leila watched him. As yet she had no least comprehension of this sense of +being kindred to nature. It is rare in youth. As he spoke, a little +breeze stirred the old fellow's topmost crest and a light downfall of +snow fell on the pair. Leila laughed, but the boy cried, "There! he has +answered. We are friends." + +"Now, if that isn't Uncle Jim all over. He just does make me laugh." + +John shook off the snow. "Let's go home," he said. He Was warm and red +with the exercise, and in high good-humour over his success. "Did you +never read a poem called 'The Talking Oak'? I had a tutor used to read it +to me." + +"Now, the idea of a tree talking!" she said. "No, I never heard of it. +Come along, we'll be late. That's funny about a tree talking. Can you +run?" + +They ran, but not far, because deep snow makes running hard. It was after +dark when they tramped on to the back porch. John's experience taught him +to expect blame for being out late. No one asked a question or made a +remark. He was ignored, to his amazement. Whether, as he soon learned, he +was in or out, wet or dry, seemed to be of no moment to any one, provided +he was punctual at meal-times. It was at first hard to realize the +reasonable freedom suddenly in his possession. The appearance of complete +want of interest in his health and what he did was as useful a moral +tonic as was for the body the educational out-of-doors' society of the +fearless girl, his aunt's niece whom he was told to consider as his +cousin. To his surprise, he was free to come and go, and what he or Leila +did in the woods or in the stables no one inquired. Aunt Ann uneasy would +have known all about them, but the Squire urged, that for a time, "let +alone" was the better policy. This freedom was so unusual, so +unreservedly complete, as to rejoice Leila, who was very ready to use the +liberty it gave. In a week the rector's school would shut them up for +half of the day of sunlit snow. Meanwhile, John wondered with interest +every morning where next those thin active young legs would lead him. + +The dogs he soon took to, when Leila's whistle called them,--a wild +troop, never allowed beyond the porch or in the house. For some occult +reason Mrs. Ann disliked dogs and liked cats, which roamed the house at +will and were at deadly feud with the stable canines. No rough weather +ever disturbed Leila's out-of-door habits, but when for two days a lazy +rain fell and froze on the snow, John declared that he could not venture +to get wet with his tendency to tonsilitis. As Leila refused indoor +society and he did not like to be left alone, he missed the gay and +gallant little lady, and still no one questioned him. On the third day at +breakfast Leila was wildly excited. The smooth ice-mailed snow shone +brilliant in the sunshine. + +"Coasting weather, Uncle Jim," Leila said. + +"First class," said her uncle. "Get off before the sun melts the crust." + +"Do be careful, dear," said Ann Penhallow, "and do not try the farm +hill." + +"Yes, aunt." The Squire exchanged signal glances with Leila over the +teacup he was lifting. "Come, John," she said. "No dogs to-day. It's just +perfect. Here's your sled." + +John had seen coasting in Germany and had been strictly forbidden so +perilous an amusement. As they walked over the crackling ice-cover of the +snow, he said, "Why do you want to sled, Leila? I consider it extremely +dangerous. I saw two persons hurt when we were in Switzerland." His +imagination was predicting all manner of disaster, but he had the moral +courage which makes hypocrisy impossible. From the hill crest John looked +down the long silvery slope and did not like it. "It's just a foolish +risk. Do you mean to slide down to that brook?" + +"Slide! We coast, we don't slide. I think you had better go back and tell +Uncle Jim you were afraid." + +He was furious. "I tell you this, Miss Grey--I am afraid--I have been +told--well, never mind--that--well---I won't say I'm not afraid--but I'm +more afraid of Uncle James than--than--of death." + +She stood still a moment as she faced him, the two pair of blue eyes +meeting. He was very youthful for his years and was near the possibility +of the tears of anger, and, too, the virile qualities of his race were +protesting forces in the background of undeveloped character. The sweet +girl face grew red and kinder. "I was mean, John Penhallow. I am sorry I +was rude." + +"No--no," he exclaimed, "it was I who was--was--ill-mannered. I--mean to +coast if I die." + +"Die," she laughed gaily. "Let me go first." + +"Go ahead then." She was astride of the sled and away down the long +descent, while he watched her swift flight. He set his teeth and was off +after her. A thrill of pleasure possessed him, the joy of swift movement. +Near the foot was an abrupt fall to a frozen brook and then a sharp +ascent. He rolled over at Leila's feet seeing a firmament of stars and +rose bewildered. + +"Busted?" cried Leila, who picked up the slang of the village boys to her +aunt's disgust. + +"I am not what you call busted," said John, "but I consider it most +disagreeable." Without a word more he left her, set out up the hill and +coasted again. He upset half-way down, rolled over, and got on again +laughing. This time somehow he got over the brook and turned crossly on +Leila with, "I hope now you are satisfied, Miss Grey." + +"You'll do, I guess," said she. "I just wondered if you would back out, +John. Let's try the other hills." He went after her vexed at her way of +ordering him about, and not displeased with John Penhallow and his new +experience in snatching from danger a fearful joy. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +The difficult lessons on the use of snow-shoes took up day after day, +until weary but at last eager he followed her tireless little figure far +into the more remote woods. "What's that?" he said. + +"I wanted you to see it, John." It was an old log cabin. "That's where +the first James Penhallow lived. Uncle Jim keeps it from tumbling to +pieces, but it's no use to anybody." + +"The first Penhallow," said John. "It must be very old." + +"Oh! I suppose so--I don't know--ask Uncle Jim. They say the Indians +attacked it once--that first James Penhallow and his wife fought them +till help came. I thought you would like to see it." + +He went in, kicking off his snow-shoes. She was getting used to his +silences, and now with some surprise at his evident interest followed +him. He walked about making brief remarks or eagerly asking questions. + +"They must have had loop-holes to shoot. Did they kill any Indians?" + +"Yes, five. They are buried behind the cabin. Uncle Jim set a stone to +mark the place." + +He made no reply. His thoughts were far away in time, realizing the +beleaguered cabin, the night of fear, the flashing rifles of his +ancestors. The fear--would he have been afraid? + +"When I was little, I was afraid to come here alone," said the girl. + +"I should like to come here at night," he returned. + +"Why? I wouldn't. Oh! not at night. I don't see what fun there would be +in that." + +"Then I would know--" + +"Know what, John? What would you know?" + +"Oh! no matter." He had a deep desire to learn if he would be afraid. +"Some day," he added, "I will tell you. Let's go home." + +"Are you tired?" + +"I'm half dead," he laughed as he slipped on his snow-shoes. + +A long and heavy rain cleared away the snow, and the more usual softness +of the end of November set in. Their holiday sports were over for a time, +to John's relief. On a Monday he went through the woods with Leila to the +rectory. Mark Rivers, who had only seen John twice, made him welcome. The +tall, thin, pale man, with the quiet smile and attentive grey eyes, made +a ready capture of the boy. There were only two other scholars, the sons +of the doctor and the Baptist preacher, lads of sixteen, not very +mannerly, rather rough country boys, who nudged one another and regarded +John with amused interest. In two or three days John knew that he was in +the care of an unusually scholarly man, who became at once his friend +and treated the lazy village boys and him with considerate kindliness. +John liked it. To his surprise, no questions were asked at home about the +school, and the afternoons were often free for lonely walks, when Leila +went away on her mare and John was at liberty to read or to do as best +pleased him. At times Leila bored him, and although with his well-taught +courteous ways he was careful not to show impatience, he had the +imaginative boy's capacity to enjoy being alone and a long repressed +curiosity which now found indulgence among people who liked to answer +questions and were pleased when he asked them. Very often, as he came +into easier relations with his aunt, he was told to take some query she +could not answer to Uncle James or the rector. A rather sensitive lad, he +soon became aware that his uncle appeared to take no great interest in +him, and, too, the boy's long cultivated though lessening reserve kept +them apart. Meanwhile, Ann watched with pleasure his gain in +independence, in looks and in appetite. While James Penhallow after his +game of whist at night growled in his den over the bitter politics of the +day, North and South, his wife read aloud to the children by the fireside +in her own small sitting-room or answered as best she could John's +questions, confessing ignorance at times or turning to books of +reference. It was not always easy to satisfy this restless young mind in +a fast developing body. "Were guinea pigs really pigs? What was the +hematite iron-ore his uncle used at the works?" Once he was surprised. He +asked one evening, "What was the Missouri Compromise?" He had read so +much about it in the papers. "Hasn't it something to do with slavery? +Aunt Ann, it must seem strange to own a man." His eager young ears had +heard rather ignorant talk of it from his mother's English friends. + +His aunt said quietly, "My people in Maryland own slaves, John. It is not +a matter for a child to discuss. The abolitionists at the North are +making trouble. It is a subject--we--I do not care to talk about." + +"But what is an abolitionist, aunt?" he urged. + +She laughed and said gaily, "I will answer no more conundrums; ask your +uncle." + +Leila who took no interest in politics fidgeted until she got her chance +when Mrs. Ann would not answer John. "I want to hear about that talking +oak, John." + +She was quicker than he to observe her aunt's annoyance, and Ann, glad to +be let off easily, found the needed book, and for a time they fell under +the charm of Tennyson, and then earlier than usual were sent to bed. + +The days ran on into weeks of school, and now there were snow-shoe tramps +or sleigh rides to see some big piece of casting at the forge, where +persistently-curious John did learn from some one what hematite was. The +life became to him steadily more and more pleasant as he shed with ease +the habits of an over regulated life, and living wholesome days prospered +in body and mind. + +Christmas was a disappointment to Leila and to him. There was an outbreak +of measles at Westways and there would be no carols, nor children +gathered at Grey Pine. Ann's usual bounty of toys was sent to the +village. John's present from his uncle was a pair of skates, and then +Leila saw a delightful chance to add another branch of education. Next +morning, for this was holiday-week, she asked if he would like to learn +to skate. They had gone early to the cabin and were lazily enjoying a +rest after a snow-shoe tramp. He replied, in an absent way, "I suppose I +may as well learn. How many Indians were there?" + +"I don't know. Who cares now?" + +"I do." + +"I never saw such a boy. You can't ride and you can't skate. You are just +good for nothing. You're just fit to be sold at a rummage-sale." + +He was less easily vexed than made curious. "What's a rummage-sale?" + +"Oh! we had one two years ago. Once in a while Aunt Ann says there must +be one, so she gathers up all the trash and Uncle Jim's old clothes (he +hates that), and the village people they buy things. And Mr. Rivers sells +the things at auction, you know--and oh, my! he was funny." + +"So they sell what no one wants. Then why does any one buy?" + +"I'm sure, I don't know." + +"I wonder what I would fetch, Leila?" + +"Not much," she said. + +"Maybe you're right." He had one of the brief boy-moods of +self-abasement. + +Leila changed quickly. "I'll bid for you," she said coyly. + +He laughed and looked up, surprised at this earliest indication of the +feminine. "What would you give?" he asked. + +"Well, about twenty-five cents." + +He laughed. "I may improve, Leila, and the price go up. Let us go and +learn to skate--you must teach me." + +"Of course," said Leila, "but you will soon learn. It's hard at first." + +At lunch, on Christmas day, John had thanked his uncle for the skates in +the formal way which Ann liked and James Penhallow did not. He said, "I +am very greatly obliged for the skates. They appear to me excellent." + +"What a confoundedly civil young gentleman," thought Penhallow. "I have +been thinking you must learn to skate. The pond has been swept clear of +snow." + +"Thank you," returned the boy, with a grin which his uncle thought odd. + +"Leila will teach you." + +John was silent, regarding his uncle with never dying interest, the +soldier of Indian battles, the perfect rider and good shot, adored in the +stables and loved, as John was learning, in all the country side. John +was in the grip of a boy's admiration for a realized ideal--the worship, +by the timid, of courage. Of the few things he did well, he thought +little; and an invalid's fears had discouraged rough games until he had +become like a timorous girl. He had much dread of horses, and was +alarmingly sure that he would some day be made to ride. Once in Paris he +had tried, had had a harmless accident and, willingly yielding to his +mother's fears, had tried no more. + +Late in the afternoon, Leila, with her long wake of flying hair, burst +into the Squire's den. "What the deuce is the matter?" asked +Penhallow. + +"Oh! Uncle Jim, he can skate like--like a witch. I couldn't keep near +him. He skated an 'L' for my name. Uncle Jim, he's a fraud." + +Penhallow knew now why the boy had grinned at him. "I think, Leila, he +will do. Where did he learn to skate?" + +"At Vevey, he says, on the Lake." + +"Yes, of Geneva." + +"Tom McGregor was there and Bob Grace. We played tag. John knows a way to +play tag on skates. You must chalk your right hand and you must mark with +it the other fellow's right shoulder. It must be jolly. We had no chalk, +but we are to play it to-morrow. Isn't it interesting, Uncle John?" + +Penhallow laughed. "Interesting, my dear? Oh! your aunt will be after you +with a stick." + +"Aunt Ann's--stick!" laughed Leila. + +"My dear Leila," he said gravely, "this boy has had all the manliness +coddled out of him, but he looks like his father. I have my own ideas of +how to deal with him. I suppose he will brag a bit at dinner." + +"He will not, Uncle Jim." + +"Bet you a pound of bonbons, Leila." + +"From town?" + +"Yes." + +"All right." + +"Can he coast? I did not ask you." + +"Well! pretty well," said Leila. For some unknown reason she was +unwilling to say more. + +"Doesn't the rector dine here, to-day, Leila?" + +"Yes, but--oh! Uncle Jim, we found a big hornets' nest yesterday on the +log cabin. They seemed all asleep. I told John we would fight them in the +spring." + +"And what did he say?" + +"He said: 'Did they sting?'--I said: 'That was the fun of it!'" + +"Better not tell your aunt." + +"No, sir. I'm an obedient little girl." + +"You little scamp! You were meant to be a boy. Is there anything you are +afraid of?" + +"Yes, algebra." + +"Oh! get out," and she fled. + +At dinner John said no word of the skating, to the satisfaction of Leila +who conveyed to her uncle a gratified sense of victory by some of the +signs which were their private property. + +Leaving the cousins to their game of chess, Penhallow followed his wife +and Mark Rivers into his library. "Well, Mark," he said, "you have had +this boy long enough to judge; it is time I heard what you think of him. +You asked me to wait. The youngster is rather reticent, and Leila is +about the only person in the house who really knows much about him. He +talks like a man of thirty." + +"I do not find him reticent," remarked Mrs. Ann, "and his manners are +charming--I wish Leila's were half as good." + +"Well, let's hear about him." + +"May I smoke?" asked the rector. + +"Anywhere but in my drawing-room. I believe James would like to smoke in +church." + +"It might have its consolations," returned Penhallow. + +"Thanks," said Rivers smiling. Neither man took advantage of her unusual +permission. "But you, Squire, have been closer than I to this interesting +boy. What do you make of him?" + +"He can't ride--he hardly knows a horse from a mule." + +"That's not his fault," said Mrs. Penhallow, "he's afraid of horses." + +"Afraid!" said her husband. "By George! afraid of horses." + +"He speaks French perfectly," said Mark Rivers. + +"He can't swim. I got that out of Leila. I understand he tried it once +and gave it up." + +"But his mother made him, James. You know Susan. She was as timid as a +house-fly for herself, and I suppose for him." + +"I asked him," said Rivers, "if he knew any Latin. He answered me in +Latin and told me that at Budapest where he was long at school the boys +had to speak Latin." + +"And the rest, Rivers. Is he well up in mathematics?" + +"No, he finds that difficult. But, upon my word, Squire, he is the most +doggedly persistent fellow I have ever had to teach and I handled many +boys when I was younger. I can take care of my side of the boy." + +"He can skate, James," said Mrs. Ann. + +"Yes, so I hear. I suppose that under Leila's care and a good out-of-door +life he will drop his girl-ways--but--" + +"But what, James?" + +"Oh! he has been taught that there is no shame in failure, no disgrace in +being afraid." + +"How do you know he is afraid, my dear James?" + +"Oh! I know." Leila's unwillingness to talk had given him some suspicion +of the truth. "Well, we shall see. He needs some rough boy-company. I +don't like to have the village boys alone with Leila, but when she has +John with her it may be as well to ask Dr. McGregor's son Tom to coast +and play with them." + +"He has no manners," said Mrs. Penhallow. + +"Then he may get some from John. He never will from Leila. I will take +care of the rest, Rivers. He has got to learn to ride." + +"You won't be too hard on him, James?" said his wife. + +"Not unless he needs it. Let us drop him." + +"Have you seen yesterday's papers?" asked Rivers. "Our politics, North +and South, look to me stormy." + +Penhallow shook his head at the tall rector. The angry strife of sections +and parties was the one matter he never discussed with Ann Penhallow. The +rector recalled it as he saw Mrs. Ann sit up and drop on her lap the +garment upon which her ever industrious hands were busy. Accepting +Penhallow's hint, Rivers said quickly, "But really there is nothing new," +and then, "Tom McGregor will certainly be the better for our little +gentleman's good manners, and he too has something to learn of Tom." + +"I should say he has," said Penhallow. + +"A little dose of West Point, I suppose," laughed Mrs. Ann. "It is my +husband's one ideal of education." + +"It must once, I fancy, have satisfied Ann Grey," retorted the Squire +smiling. + +"I reserve any later opinion of James Penhallow," she said laughing, and +gathering up her sewing bag left them, declaring that now they might +smoke. The two men rose, and when alone began at once to talk of the +coming election in the fall of 1856 and the endless troubles arising out +of the Fugitive Slave Act. + +The boy who had been the subject of their conversation was slowly +becoming used to novel surroundings and the influence they exerted. Ann +talked to him at times of his mother, but he had the disinclination to +speak of the dead which most children have, and had in some ways been +kept so much of a child as to astonish his aunt. Neither Leila nor any +one could have failed to like him and his gentle ways, and as between +him and the village boys she knew Leila preferred this clever, if too +timid, cousin. So far they had had no serious quarrels. When she rode +with the Squire, John wandered in the woods, enjoying solitude, and +having some appreciative relation to nature, the great pine woods, the +strange noises of the breaking ice in the river, the sunset skies. + +Among the village boys with whom at the rector's small school and in +the village John was thrown, he liked least the lad McGregor, who had +now been invited to coast or skate with the Grey Pine cousins. Tom had +the democratic boy-belief that very refined manners imply lack of some +other far more practical qualities, and thus to him and the Westways +boys John Penhallow was simply an absurd Miss Nancy kind of lad, and it +was long after the elders of the little town admired and liked him that +the boys learned to respect him. It was easy to see why the generous, +good-tempered and pleasant lad failed to satisfy the town boys. John had +been sedulously educated into the belief that he was of a class to which +these fellows did not belong, and of this the Squire had soon some +suspicion when, obedient as always, John accepted his uncle's choice of +his friend the doctor's son as a playmate. + +He was having his hair cut when Tom McGregor came into the shop of +Josiah, the barber. "Wait a minute," said John. "Are you through, Mr. +Josiah?" + +Tom grinned, "Got a handle to your name?" + +"Yes, because Master John is a gentleman." + +"Then I'll call you Mister too." + +"It won't ever make you Mister," said the barber, "that kind's born so." + +John disliked this outspoken expression of an opinion he shared. +"Nonsense," he said. "Come up, Tom, this afternoon. Don't forget the +muskrat traps, Mr. Josiah." + +"No, sir. Too early yet." + +"All right," returned Tom. "I'll come." + +March had come and the last snow still lay on the land when thus invited +Tom joined John and Leila in the stable-yard. "Let's play tag," cried +Leila. Tom was ready. + +"Here's a stick." They took hold of it in turn. Tom's hand came out on +top. "I'm tagger. Look out!" he cried. + +They played the game. At last he caught Leila, and crying out, "You're +tagged," seized her boy-cap and threw it up on to the steep slope of the +stable roof. + +"Oh! that's not fair," cried the girl. "You are a rude boy. Now you've +got to get it." + +"No, indeed. Get the stable-man to get it." + +She turned to John, "Please to get it." + +"How can I?" he said. + +"Go up inside--there's a trap door. You can slide down the snow and get +it." + +"But I might fall." + +"There's your chance," said Tom grinning. John stood, still irresolute. +Leila walked away into the stable. + +"She'll get a man," said Tom a little regretful of his rudeness, as she +disappeared. + +In a moment Leila was up in the hayloft and out on the roof. Spreading +out arms and thin legs she carefully let herself slide down the soft snow +until, seizing her cap, she set her feet on the roof gutter, crying out, +"Get a ladder quick." Alarmed at her perilous position, they ran and +called out a groom, a ladder was brought, and in a moment she was on the +ground. + +Leila turned on the two lads. "You are a coward, Tom McGregor, and you +too, John Penhallow. I never--never will play with you again." + +"It was just fun," said Tom; "any of the men could have poked it down." + +"Cowards," said the girl, tossing back her dark mass of hair and moving +away without a look at the discomfited pair. + +"I suppose now you will go and tell the Squire," said Tom. He was +alarmed. + +She turned, "I--a tell-tale!" Her child-code of conduct was imperative. +"I am neither a tell-tale nor a coward. 'Tell-tale pick a nail and hang +him to a cow's tail!'" and with this well-known declaration of her creed +of playground honour, she walked away. + +"She'll tell," said Tom. + +"She won't," said John. + +"Guess I'll go home," said Tom, and left John to his reflections. +They were most disagreeable. + +John went into the woods and sat down on a log. "So," he said aloud, "she +called me a coward--and I am--I was--I can't bear it. What would my uncle +say?" His eyes filled. He brushed away the tears with his sleeve. A +sudden remembrance of how good she had been to him, how loyally silent, +added to his distress. He longed for a chance to prove that he was not +that--that--Eager and yet distrustful, he got up and walked through the +melting snow to the cabin, where he lay on the floor thinking, a prey to +that fiend imagination, of which he had a larger share than is always +pleasant when excuses are needed. + +Leila was coldly civil and held her tongue, but for a few days would not +go into the woods with him and rode alone or with her uncle. Tom came no +more for a week, until self-assured that the Squire had not heard of his +behaviour, as he met him on the road with his usual hearty greeting. Ann +Penhallow saw that the boy was less happy than usual and suspected some +mild difficulty with Leila, but in her wise way said nothing and began to +use him for some of her many errands of helpfulness in the village and on +the farms, where always he made friends. Seeing at last that the boy was +too silent and to her eye unhappy, she talked of it to Mark Rivers. The +next day, after school, he said to John, "I want to see that old cabin in +the woods. Long as I have lived here I have never been that far. Come and +show me the way. I tried once to find it and got lost. We can have a +jolly good talk, you and I." + +The word of kindly approach was timely. John felt the invitation as a +compliment, and was singularly open to the approval his lessons won from +this gentle dark-eyed man. "Oh!" he said, "I should like that." + +After lunch, Leila, a little penitent, said with unwonted shyness, "The +woods are very nice to-day, and I found the first arbutus under the +snow." + +When John did not respond, she made a further propitiatory advance, "It +will soon be time for that hornets' nest, we must go and see." + +"What are you about?" said Mrs. Ann; "you will get stung." + +"Pursuit of natural history," said Penhallow smiling. + +"You are as bad as Leila, James." + +"Won't you come?" asked the girl at last. + +"Thank you. I regret that I have an engagement with Mr. Rivers," said +John, with the prim manner he was fast losing. + +"By George!" murmured Penhallow as he rose. + +John looked up puzzled, and his uncle, much amused, went to get his boots +and riding-dress. "Wait till I get you on a horse, my Lord Chesterfield," +he muttered. "He and Leila must have had a row. What about, I wonder." He +asked no questions. + +With a renewal of contentment and well-pleased, John called for the +rector. They went away into the forest to the cabin. + +"And so," said Rivers, "this is where the first Penhallow had his Indian +fight. I must ask the Squire." + +"I know about it," said John. "Leila told me, and"--he paused, "I saw +it." + +"Oh! did you? Let's hear." They lay down, and the rector lazily smoked. +"Well, go ahead, Jack, I like stories." He had early rechristened him +Jack, and the boy liked it. + +"Well, sir, they saw them coming near to dusk and ran. You see, it was a +clearing then; the trees have grown here since. That was at dusk. They +barred the door and cut loop-holes between the logs. Next morning the +Indians came on. She fired first, and she cried out, 'Oh! James, I've +killed a man.'" + +"She said that?" asked Rivers. + +"Yes, and she wouldn't shoot again until her man was wounded, then she +was like a raging lioness." + +"A lioness!" echoed Rivers. + +"By evening, help came." + +"How did you know all this?" + +"Oh! Leila told me some--and the rest--well, sir, I saw it. I've been +here often." + +The rector studied the excited young face. "Would you like to have been +there, Jack?" + +"No." + +"Why not?" + +"I should have been afraid, and--" Then quickly, "I suppose he was; she +was; any one would have been." + +"Like as not. He for her, most of all. But there are many kinds of fear, +Jack." + +John was silent, and the rector waited. Then the boy broke out, "Leila +told me last week I was a coward." + +"Indeed! Leila told you that! That wasn't like her, Jack. Why did she say +it?" + +This was a friendly hearer, whose question John had invited. To-day the +human relief of confession was great to the boy. He told the story, in +bits, carefully, as if to have it exact were essential. Mark Rivers +watched him through his pipe smoke, trying to think of what he could or +should say to this small soul in trouble. The boy was lying on the floor +looking up, his hands clasped behind his head. "That's all, sir. It's +dreadful." + +The young rector's directness of character set him on the right path. "I +don't know just what to say to you, Jack. You see, you have been taught +to be afraid of horses and dogs, of exposure to rain, and generally of +being hurt, until--Well, Jack, if your mother had not been an invalid, +she would not have educated you to fear, to have no joy in risks. Now you +are in more wholesome surroundings--and--in a little while you will +forget this small trouble." + +The young clergyman felt that in his puzzle he had been rather vague, and +added pleasantly, "You have the courage of truth. That's moral courage. +Tom would have explained or denied, or done anything to get out of the +scrape, if the Squire had come down on him. You would not." + +"Oh! thank you," said John. "I'm sorry I troubled you." + +"You did in a way; but you did not when you trusted a man who is your +friend. Let us drop it. Where are those Indian graves?" + +They went out and wandered in the woods, until John said, "Oh! this must +be that arbutus Leila talks about, just peeping out from under the snow." +They gathered a large bunch. + +"It is the first breath of the fragrance of spring," said Rivers. + +"Oh! yes, sir. How sweet it is! It does not grow in Europe." + +"No, we own it with many other good and pleasant things." + +When they came to the house, Leila was dismounting after her ride. John +said, "Here Leila, I gathered these for you." + +When she said, "Thank you, John," he knew by her smiling face that he was +forgiven, and without a word followed her into the hall, still pursued by +the thought; but I was afraid. He put aside this trouble for a time, and +the wood sports with Leila were once more resumed. What thought of his +failure the girl still kept in mind, if she thought of it at all, he +never knew, or not for many days. He had no wish to talk of it, but +fearfully desired to set himself right with her and with John Penhallow. + +One day in early April she asked him to go to the stable and order her +horse. He did so, and alone with an unpleasant memory, in the stable-yard +he stood still a moment, and then with a sudden impulse threw his cap up +on to the roof. He took a moment to regret it, and then saying, "I've got +to do it!" he went into the stable and out of the hay-loft on to the +sloping roof. He did not dare to wait, but let himself slide down the +frozen snow, seized his cap, and knew of a sudden that the smooth +ice-coating was an unsuspected peril. He rolled over on his face, +straightened himself, and slid to the edge. He clutched the gutter, hung +a moment, and dropped some fifteen feet upon the hard pavement. For a +moment the shock stunned him. Then, as he lay, he was aware of Billy, +who cried, "He's dead! he's dead!" and ran to the house, where he met +Mrs. Ann and Leila on the porch. "He's killed--he's dead!" + +"Who? Who?" they cried. + +"Mr. John, he's dead!" + +As Billy ran, the dead got his wits about him, sat up, and, hearing Billy +howling, got on his feet. His hands were torn and bleeding, but he was +not otherwise damaged. He ran after Billy, and was but a moment behind +him. + +Mrs. Ann was shaking the simple fellow, vainly trying to learn what had +happened. Leila white to the lips was leaning against a pillar. John +called out, "I'm all right, aunt. I had a fall--and Billy, do hold your +tongue." + +Billy cried, "He's not dead!" and fled as he had come. + +"My poor boy," said Mrs. Ann, "sit down." He gladly obeyed. + +At this moment James Penhallow came downstairs. "What's all this row +about, Ann? I heard Billy--Oh, so you're the dead man, John. How did you +happen to die?" + +"I fell off the stable roof, sir." + +"Well, you got off easily." He asked no other questions, to John's +relief, but said, "Your hands look as if you had fought our big tom-cat." + +John had risen on his uncle's approach. Now Penhallow said, "Sit +down. Put some court-plaster on those scratches, Ann, or a postage +stamp--or--so--Come, Leila, the horses are here. Run upstairs and get +my riding-whip. That fool brought me down in a hurry. When the chimney +took fire last year he ran through the village yelling that the house +was burned down. Don't let your aunt coddle you, John." + +"Do let the boy alone, James." + +"Come, Leila," he said. + +"I think I won't ride to-day, Uncle Jim." + +A faint signal from his wife sent him on his way alone with, "All right, +Leila. Any errands, my dear?" + +"No--but please call at the grocer's and ask him why he has sent no +sugar--and tell Mrs. Saul I want her. If Pole is in, you might mention +that when I order beef I do not want veal." + +While John was being plastered and in dread of the further questions +which were not asked, Leila went upstairs, and the Squire rode away to +the iron-works smiling and pleased. "He'll do," he murmured, "but what +the deuce was my young dandy doing on the roof?" The Captain had learned +in the army the wisdom of asking no needless questions. "Leila must have +been a pretty lively instructor in mischief. By and by, Ann will have it +out of the boy, and--I must stop that. Now she will be too full of +surgery. She is sure to think Leila had something to do with it." He saw +of late that Ann was resolute as to what to him would be a sad loss. +Leila was to be sent to school before long--accomplishments! "Damn +accomplishments! I have tried to make a boy out of her--now the +inevitable feminine appears--she was scared white--and the boy was pretty +shaky. I am sure Leila will know all about it." That school business had +already been discussed with his wife, and then, he thought, "There is to +come a winter in the city, society, and--some nice young man, and so +good-bye, my dear comrade. Get up, Brutus." He dismissed his cares as the +big bay stretched out in a gallop. + +After some surgical care, John was told to go to his room and lie down. +He protested that he was in no need of rest, but Ann Penhallow, positive +in small ways with every one, including her husband, sent John away with +an imperative order, nor on the whole was he sorry to be alone. No one +had been too curious. He recognized this as a reasonable habit of the +family. And Leila? He was of no mind to be frank with her; and this he +had done was a debt paid to John Penhallow! He may not have so put it, +but he would not admit to himself that Leila's contemptuous epithet had +had any influence on his action. The outcome was a keen sense of happy +self-approval. When he had dressed for dinner, feeling pretty sore all +over, he found Leila waiting at the head of the stairs. + +"John Penhallow, you threw your cap on the roof and went up to get it, +you did." + +"I did, Leila, but how did you know?" + +She smiled and replied, "I--I don't know, John. I am sorry for what I +said, and oh! John, Uncle Jim, he was pleased!" + +"Do you think so?" + +"Yes." She caught his hand and at the last landing let it fall. At +dinner, the Squire asked kindly: "Are you all right, my boy?" + +"Yes, sir," and that was all. + +Mark Rivers, who had heard of this incident from Mrs. Penhallow, and at +last from Leila, was alone in a position to comprehend the motives which +combined to bring about an act of rashness. The rector had some sympathy +with the boy and liked him for choosing a time when no one was present +to witness his trial of himself. He too had the good sense like the +Squire to ask no questions. + +Meanwhile, Tom McGregor came no more, feeling the wound to his pride, but +without the urgent need felt by John to set himself in a better position +with himself. He would have thought nothing of accepting Leila's +challenge, but very much wanted to see the polite girl-boy brought to +shame. In fact, even the straightforward Squire, with all his ready +cordiality, at times found John's extreme politeness ridiculous at his +age, but knew it to be the result of absurd training and the absence +of natural association with other and manly boys. To Tom it was +unexplained and caused that very common feeling of vague suspicion of +some claim to superiority which refined manners imply to those who lack +manners altogether. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +April passed, the arbutus fragrance was gone, while the maples were +putting forth ruddy buds which looked like a prophecy of the distant +autumn and made gay with colour the young greenery of spring. Meanwhile, +school went on, and John grew stronger and broader in this altogether +wholesome atmosphere of outdoor activity and indoor life of kindness and +apparently inattentive indifference on the part of his busy uncle. + +On an evening late in May, 1856 (John long remembered it), the Squire as +usual left their little circle and retired to the library, where he +busied himself over matters involving business letters, and then fell to +reading in the _Tribune_ the bitter politics of Fremont's contest with +Buchanan and the still angry talk over Brooks's assault on Senator +Sumner. He foresaw defeat and was with cool judgment aware of what the +formation of the Republican Party indicated in the way of trouble to +come. The repeal of the Missouri Compromise had years before disturbed +his party allegiance, and now no longer had he been able to see the grave +question of slavery as Ann his wife saw it. He threw aside the papers, +set his table in order, and opening the door called John to come in and +pay him a visit. The boy rose surprised. Never once had this +over-occupied man talked to him at length and he had never been set free +to wander in the tempting wilderness of books, which now and then when +James Penhallow was absent were remorselessly dusted by Mrs. Ann and the +maid, with dislocating consequences over which James Penhallow growled in +belated protest. + +John went in, glanced up at the Captain's sword over the mantelpiece, and +sat down as desired by the still-needed fire. + +"John," said his uncle in his usual direct way, "have you ever been on +the back of a horse?" + +"Yes, sir, once--in Paris at a riding-school." + +"Once! You said 'once'--well?" + +"I fell off--mother was with me." + +"And you got on again?" + +"No, sir." + +"Why not?" + +John flushed and hesitated, watched by the dark-eyed Squire. "I was +afraid!" He would not say that his mother forbade it. + +"What is your name?" + +"John, sir," he returned astonished. + +"And the rest--the rest, sir," added his uncle abruptly. + +John troubled by the soldier's impatient tones said: "Penhallow, sir." He +was near to a too emotional display. + +"And you, John Penhallow, my brother's son, were afraid?" + +"I was." It was only in part true. His mother had forbidden the master to +remount him. + +"By George!" said Penhallow angrily, "I don't believe you, I can't!" + +John rose, "I may be a coward, Uncle James, but I never lie." + +Penhallow stood up, "I beg your pardon, John." + +"Oh! no, Uncle James. I--please not." He felt as if the tall soldier was +humiliating himself, but could not have put it in words. + +"I was hasty, my boy. You must, of course, learn to ride. By the way, do +you ever read the papers?" + +"Not often, sir--hardly ever. They are kept in your library or Aunt +Ann's." + +"Well, it is time you did read them. Come in here when you want to be +alone--or any time. You won't bother me. Take what books you want, and +ask me about the politics of the day. The country is going to the devil, +but don't discuss this election with your aunt." + +"No, sir." He had gathered from the rector enough to make him understand +the warning. + +John went out with the idea that this business of learning to ride was +somewhere in the future. He was a little disturbed when the next day +after breakfast his uncle said, "Come, John, the horses are in the +training-ring." + +Mrs. Ann said, "James, if you are going to apply West Point riding-school +methods to John, I protest." + +"Then protest, my dear," he said. + +"You will kill him," she returned. + +"My dear Ann, I am not going to kill him, I am going to teach him to +live. Come, John. I am going to teach him to ride." Raising horses was +one of the Squire's amusements, and the training-course where young +horses were broken usually got an hour of his busy day. + +"May I come?" asked Leila. + +"Please, not," said John, anticipating disaster and desiring no amused +spectators. + +"In a week or so, yes, Leila," said Penhallow, "not now." + +There were two stable-boys waiting and a pony long retired on grassy +pension. "Now," said Penhallow, "put a foot on my knee and up you go." + +"But, there's no saddle." + +"There are two. The Lord of horses put one on the back of a horse and +another under a man. Up! sir." John got on. "Grip him with your legs, +hold on to the mane if you like, but not by the reins." The pony feeling +no urgency to move stood still and nibbled the young grass. A smart tap +of the Squire's whip started him, and John rolled off. + +"Come, sir, get on." The boys from the stable grinned. John set his +teeth. "Don't stiffen yourself. That's better." + +He fell once again, and at the close of an hour his uncle said, "There +that will do for to-day, and not so bad either." + +"I'd like to try it again, sir," gasped John. + +"You young humbug," laughed Penhallow. "Go and console your distracted +aunt. I am off to the mills." + +The ex-captain was merciless enough, and day after day John was so stiff +that, as he confessed to Leila, a jointed doll was a trifle to his +condition. She laughed, "I went through it once, but one day it came." + +"What came, Leila?" + +"Oh! the joy of the horse!" + +"I shall never get to that." But he did, for the hard riding-master +scolded, smiled, praised, and when at last John sat in the saddle the +bareback lessons gave him a certain confidence. The training went on day +after day, under the rule of patient but relentless efficiency. It was +far into June when, having backed without serious misadventures two or +three well-broken horses, Penhallow mounted him on Leila's mare, Lucy, +and set out to ride with him. + +"Let us ride to the mills, John." The mare was perfectly gaited and easy. +They rode on, talking horses. + +"You will have to manage the mills some day," said Penhallow. "You own +quite a fifth of them. Now I have three partners, but some day you and I +will run them." The boy had been there before with Rivers, but now the +Squire presented him to the foreman and as they moved about explained the +machinery. It was altogether delightful, and this was a newly discovered +uncle. On the way home the Squire talked of the momentous November +elections and of his dread of the future with Buchanan in power, while he +led the way through lanes and woods until they came to the farm. + +"We will cross the fields," he said, and dismounting took down the upper +bars of a fence. Then he rode back a little, and returning took the low +fence, crying, "Now, John, sit like a sack--loosely. The mare jumps like +a frog; go back a bit. Now, then, give her her head!" For a moment he was +in the air as his uncle cried, "You lost a stirrup. Try it again. Oh! +that was better. Now, once more, come," and he was over at Penhallow's +side. He had found the joy of the horse! "A bit more confidence and +practice and you will do. I want you to ride Venus. She shies at a +shadow--at anything black. Don't forget that." + +"Oh, thank you, Uncle James!" + +"It is Uncle Jim now, my boy. I knew from the first you would come out +all right. I believe in blood--horses and men. I believe in blood." This +was James Penhallow all over. A reticent man, almost as tenderly trustful +as a woman, of those who came up to his standards of honour, truth and +the courage which rightly seemed to him the backbone of all the virtues. + +What John thought may be readily imagined. Accustomed to be considered +and flattered, his uncle's quiet reserve had seemed to him disappointing, +and now of late this abrupt praise and accepting comradeship left the +sensitive lad too grateful for words. The man at his side was wise enough +to say no more, and they rode home and dismounted without further speech. + +After dinner John sought a corner with Leila, where he could share with +her his new-born enthusiasm about horses. The Squire called to the rector +and Mrs. Ann to come into his library. "Sit down, Mark," he said, "I am +rash to invite you; both you and Ann bore me to death with your Sunday +schools and the mill men who won't come to church. I don't hear our +Baptist friend complain." + +"But he does," said Rivers. + +"I do not wonder," said Ann, "that they will not attend the chapel." + +"If," said Penhallow, "you were to swap pulpits, Mark, it would draw. +There are many ways--oh, I am quite in earnest, Ann. Don't put on one of +your excommunicating looks. I remember once in Idaho at dusk, I had two +guides. They were positive, each of them, that certain trails would lead +to the top. I tossed up which to go with. It was pretty serious--Indians +and so on--I'll tell you about it some time, rector. Well, we met at dawn +on the summit. How about the moral, Ann?" + +Ann Penhallow laughed. In politics, morals and religion, she held +unchanging sentiments. "My dear James, people who make fables supply the +morals. I decline." + +"Very good, but you see mine." + +"I never see what I do not want to see," which was pretty close to the +truth. + +"The fact is," said Rivers, "I have preaccepted the Squire's hint. Grace +is sick again. I tell him it is that last immersion business. I have +promised to preach for him next Sunday, as your young curate at the mills +wants to air his eloquence here." + +"Not really!" said Mrs. Ann, "at his chapel?" + +"Yes, and I mean to use a part of our service." + +"If the Bishop knew it." + +"If! he would possibly forbid it, or be glad I did it." + +Mrs. Ann totally disapproved. She took up her knitting and said no more, +while Rivers and Penhallow talked of a disturbance at the works of no +great moment. The rector noticed Mrs. Penhallow's sudden loss of interest +in their talk and her failure to comment on his statement, an unusual +thing with this woman, who, busy-minded as the bee, gathered honey of +interest from most of the affairs of life. In a pause of the talk he +turned to her, "I am sorry to have annoyed you," he said--"I mean about +preaching for Grace." + +"But why do you do it?" + +"Because," he returned, "my Master bids me. Over and over one finds in +His Word that he foreknew how men would differ and come to worship Him +and use His revelations in ways which would depend on diversity of +temperaments, or under the leadership of individual minds of great force. +It may be that it was meant that we should disagree, and yet--I--yet +as to essentials we are one. That I never can forget." + +"Then," she said quickly, "you are of many creeds." + +"No and yes," he returned smiling. "In essentials yes, in ceremonial +usage no; in some other morsels of belief held by others charitably +dubious--I dislike argument about religion in the brief inadequateness of +talk--especially with you from whom I am apt to differ and to whom I owe +so much--so very much." + +She took up her knitting again as she said, "I am afraid the balance of +debt is on our side." + +"Then," said Penhallow, who, too, disliked argument on religion, "if you +have got through with additions to the useless squabbles of centuries, +which hurt and never help, I--" + +"But," broke in his wife, "I have had no answer." + +"Oh, but you have, Ann; for me, Rivers is right." + +"Then I am in a minority of one," she returned, "but I have not had my +say." + +"Well, dear, keep it for next time. Now I want, as I said, a little +counsel about John." + +"And about Leila, James. Something has got to be done." + +The Squire said ruefully, "Yes, I suppose so. I do not know that anything +needs to be done. You saw John's condition before dinner. He had a +swollen nose and fair promise of a black eye. I asked you to take no +notice of it. I wanted first to hear what had happened. I got Leila on +the porch and extracted it by bits. It seems that Tom was rude to Leila." + +"I never liked your allowing him to play with the children, James." + +"But the boy needs boy-company." + +"And what of Leila? She needs girl-company." + +"I fear," said Rivers, "that may be the case." + +"It is so," said Mrs. Ann decisively, pleased with his support. "What +happened, James?" + +"I did not push Leila about what Tom did. John slapped his face and got +knocked down. He got up and went at Tom like a wildcat. Tom knocked him +down again and held him. He said that John must say he had had enough." + +"He didn't," said Rivers, "I am sure he didn't." + +"No, Mark, he said he would die first, which was what he should have +said. Then Billy had the sense to pull the big boy off, and as Leila was +near tears I asked no more questions. It was really most satisfactory." + +"How can you say that?" said his wife. "It was brutal." + +"You do not often misunderstand me, Ann. I mean, of course, that our boy +did the right thing. How does it strike you, Mark?" + +He had a distinct intention to get the rector into trouble. "Not this +time, Squire," and he laughed. "The boy did what his nature bade him. Of +course, being a nice little boy, he should have remonstrated. There are +several ways--" + +"Thanks," said Penhallow. "Of course, Ann, the playing with Tom will end. +I fancy there is no need to interfere." + +"He should be punished for rudeness to Leila," said Mrs. Penhallow. + +"Oh, well, he's a rough lad and like enough sorry. How can I punish him +without making too much of a row." + +"You are quite right, as I see it," said Rivers. "Let it drop; but, +indeed, it is true that Leila should have other than rough lads as +school-companions." + +"Oh, Lord! Rivers." + +"I am glad to agree with you at least about one thing," said Mrs. +Penhallow. "In September John will be sixteen, and Leila a year or so +younger. She is now simply a big, daring, strong boy." + +"If you think that, Ann, you are oddly mistaken." + +"I am," she said; "I was. It was only one end of my reasons why she must +go to school. Before John came and when we had cousins here--girls, she +simply despised them or led them into dreadful scrapes." + +"Well, Ann, we will talk it over another time." + +Rivers smiled and Ann Penhallow went out, longing to attend to the +swollen face now bent low over a book. The two men she left smoked in +such silence as is one of the privileges of friendship. At last Penhallow +said, "Of course, Mark, my wife is right, but I shall miss the girl. My +wife cannot ride with me, and now I am to lose Leila. After school come +young men. Confound it, rector, I wish the girl had less promise of +beauty--of--well, all the Greys have it--attractiveness for our sex. Some +of them are fools, but they have it all the same, and they keep it to the +end. What is most queer about it is that they are not easily won. The men +who trouble hearts for a game do not win these women." + +"Some one will suffer," said Rivers reflectively. He wondered if the +wooing of Ann Grey by this masterful man had been a long one. A moment he +gave to remembrance of his own long and tender care of the very young +wife he had won easily and seen fade with terrible slowness as her life +let fall its joys as it were leaf by leaf, with bitter sense of losing +the fair heritage of youth. Now he said, "Were all these women, Squire, +who had the gift of bewitchment, good?" + +"No, now and then hurtful, or honest gentlewomen, or like Ann Grey too +entirely good for this wicked world--" + +"As Westways knows," said Rivers, thinking how the serene beauty of a +life of noble ways had contributed spiritual charm to whatever Ann +Penhallow had of attractiveness. "But," he went on, "Leila cannot go +until the fall, and you will still have the boy. I had my doubts of your +method of education, but it has worked well. He has a good mind and is so +far ahead of his years in education that he will be ready for college too +early." + +"Well, I hate to think of these changes. He must learn to box." + +"Another physical virtue to be added," laughed Rivers. + +"Yes, he must learn to face these young country fellows." After a brief +pause he added, "I am looking forward to Buchanan's nomination and +election, Mark, with anxiety. Both North and South are losing temper." + +"Yes, but shall you vote for him? I presume you have always been a +Democrat, more or less--less of late." + +"I shall vote for Fremont if he is nominated; not wholly a wise choice. I +am tired of what seems like an endless effort North and South, to add +more exasperations. It will go on and on. Each section seems to want to +make the other angry." + +"It is not Mrs. Penhallow's opinion, I fear. The wrongdoing is all on our +side." + +Said the Squire gravely, "That is a matter, Mark, we never now +discuss--the one matter. Her brothers in Maryland, are at odds. One at +least is bitter, as I gather from their letters." + +"Well, after the election things will quiet down, as usual." + +"They will not, Mark. I know the South. Unhappily they think we live by +the creed of day-book and ledger. We as surely misunderstand them, and +God alone knows what the future holds for us." + +This was unusual talk for Penhallow. He thought much, but talked little, +and his wife's resolute attitude of opinions held from youth was the one +trouble of an unusually happy life. + +"We can only hope for the best," said Rivers. "Time is a great +peacemaker." + +"Or not," returned his host as Rivers rose. "Just a word, Mark, before +you go. I am desirous that you should not misunderstand me in regard to +my politics. I see that slavery is to be more and more in question. My +own creed is, 'let it alone, obey the laws, return the runaways,--oh! +whether you like it or not,--but no more slave territory.' And for me, my +friend, the States are one country and above all else, above slave +questions, is that of an unbroken union. I shall vote for Fremont. I +cannot go to party meetings and speak for him because, Mark, I am in +doubt about the man, and because--oh! you know." + +Yes, he knew more or less, but knowing did not quite approve. The Squire +of Grey Pine rarely spoke at length, but now he longed, as he gave some +further clue to his reticence, to make public a political creed which was +not yet so fortified by the logic of events as to be fully capable of +defence. + +"The humorous side of it," he said, "is that my very good wife has been +doing some pretty ardent electioneering while I am sitting still, because +to throw my weight into the local contest would oblige me to speak out +and declare my whole political religion of which I am not quite secure +enough to talk freely." + +The young rector looked at his older friend, who was uneasy between his +uncertain sense of duty and his desire not to go among people at the +mills and in the town and struggle with his wife for votes. + +"I may, Mark, I may do no more than let it be known how I shall vote. +That is all. It will be of use. I could wish to do more. I think that +here and at the mills the feeling is rather strong for Buchanan, but why +I cannot see." + +Mrs. Ann had been really active, and her constant kindness at the mills +and in the little town gave to her wishes a certain influential force +among these isolated groups of people who in their remoteness had not +been disturbed by the aggressive policy of the South. + +"Of course, Mark, my change of opinion will excite remark. Whoever wins, +I shall be uneasy about the future. Must you go? Good-night." + +He went to the hall door with the rector, and then back to his pipe, +dismissing the subject for the time. On his return, he found John in the +library looking at the sword hanging over the mantelpiece. "Well, Jack," +he said, "a penny for your thoughts." + +"Oh; I was thinking what the sword had seen." + +"I hope it will see no more, but it may--it may. Now I want to say a word +to you. You had a fight with Tom McGregor and got the worst of it." + +"I did." + +"I do not ask why. You seem to have shown some pluck." + +"I don't know, uncle. I was angry, and I just slapped his face. He +deserved it." + +"Very well, but never slap. I suppose that is the French schoolboy way of +fighting. Hit hard--get in the first blow." + +"Yes, sir. I hadn't a chance." + +"You must take my old cadet boxing-gloves from under the sword. I have +spoken to Sam, the groom. I saw him last year in a bout with the +butcher's boy. After he has knocked you about for a month, you will be +better able to take care of the Penhallow nose." + +"I shall like that." + +"You won't, but it will help to fill out your chest." Then he laughed, +"Did you ever get that cane?" + +"No, sir. Billy found it. Leila gave him twenty-five cents for it, and +now she won't give it to me." + +"Well, well, is that so? The ways of women are strange." + +"I don't see why she keeps it, uncle." + +"Nor I. Now go to bed, it is late. She is a bit of a tease, John. Mark +Rivers says she is now just one half of the riddle called woman." + +John understood well enough that he was some day expected by his uncle to +have it out with Tom. He got two other bits of advice on this matter. The +rector detained him after school, a few days later. "How goes the +swimming, John?" he asked. + +The Squire early in the summer had taken this matter in hand, and as Ann +Penhallow said, with the West Point methods of kill or cure. John replied +to the rector that he was now given leave to swim with the Westways boys. +The pool was an old river-channel, now closed above, and making a quiet +deep pool such as in England is called a "backwater" and in Canada +a "bogan." The only access was through the Penhallow grounds, but this +was never denied. + +"Does Tom McGregor swim there?" asked Rivers. + +"Yes, and the other boys. It is great fun now; it was not at first." + +"About Tom, John. I hope you have made friends with him." + +Said John, with something of his former grown-up manner, "It appears to +me that we never were friends. I regret, sir, that it seems to you +desirable." + +"But, John, it is. For two Christian lads like you to keep up a +quarrel--" + +"He's a heathen, sir. I told him yesterday that he ought to apologize to +Leila." + +"And what did he say?" + +"He said, he guessed I wanted another licking. That's the kind of +Christian he is." + +"I must speak to him." + +"Oh, please not to do that! He will think I am afraid." Here were the +Squire and Rivers on two sides of this question. + +"Are you afraid, John? You were once frank with me about it." + +"I do not think, Mr. Rivers, you ought to ask me that." He drew up his +figure as he spoke. + +The rector would have liked to have whistled--a rare habit with him when +alone and not in one of his moods of depression. He said, "I beg your +pardon, John," and felt that he had not only done no good, but had made a +mistake. + +John said, "I am greatly obliged, sir." When half-way home he went back +and met Rivers at his gate. + +"Well," said the rector, "left anything?" + +"No, sir," said the boy, his young figure stiffening, his head up. +"I wasn't honest, sir." And again with his old half-lost formal way, +"I--I--you might have thought--I wasn't--quite honourable. I mean--I'll +never be able to forgive that blackguard until I can--can get even with +him. You see, sir?" + +"Yes, I see," said Rivers, who did not see, or know for a moment what +to say. "Well, think it over, John. He is more a rough cub than a +blackguard. Think it over." + +"Yes, sir," and John walked away. + +The rector looked after the boy thinking--he's the Squire all over, with +more imagination, a gentleman to the core. But how wonderfully changed, +and in only eight months. + +John was now, this July, allowed to ride with Leila when his uncle was +otherwise occupied. He had been mounted on a safe old horse and was not +spared advice from Leila, who enjoyed a little the position of mistress +of equestrianism. She was slyly conscious of her comrade's mildly +resentful state of mind. + +"Don't pull on him so hard, John. The great thing is to get intimate with +a horse's mouth. He's pretty rough, but if you wouldn't keep so stiff, +you wouldn't feel it." + +John began to be a little impatient. "Let us talk of something else than +horses. I got a good dose of advice yesterday from Uncle Jim. I am afraid +that you will be sent to school in the fall. I hate schools. You'll have +no riding and snowballing, and I shall miss you. You see, I was never +friends with a girl before." + +"Uncle Jim would never let me go." + +"But Aunt Ann?" he queried. "I heard her tell Mr. Rivers that you must +go. She said that you were too old, or would be, for snowballing and +rough games and needed the society of young ladies." + +"Young ladies!" said Leila scornfully. "We had two from Baltimore year +before last. I happened to hit one of them in the eye with a snowball, +and she howled worse than Billy when he plays bear." + +"Oh, you'll like it after a while," he said, with anticipative wisdom, +"but I shall be left to play with Tom. I want you to miss me. It is too +horrid." + +"I shall miss you; indeed, I shall. I suppose I am only a girl, but I +won't forget what you did when that boy was rude. I used to think once +you were like a girl and just afraid. I never yet thanked you," and she +leaned over and laid a hand for a moment on his. "I believe you wouldn't +be afraid now to do what I dared you to do." + +He laughed. There had been many such dares. "Which dare was it, Leila?" + +"Oh, to go at night--at night to the Indian graves. I tried it once and +got half way--" + +"And was scalped all the way back, I suppose." + +"I was, John. Try it yourself." + +"I did, a month after I came." + +"Oh! and you never told me." + +"No, why should I?" + +It had not had for him the quality of bodily peril. It was somehow far +less alarming. He had started with fear, but was of no mind to confess. +They rode on in silence, until at last she said. "I hope you won't fight +that boy again." + +"Oh," he said, "I didn't mind it so very much." + +She was hinting that he would again be beaten. "But I minded, John. I +hated it." + +He would say no more. He had now had, as concerned Tom, three advisers. +He kept his own counsel, with the not unusual reticence of a boy. He did +not wish to be pitied on account of what he did not consider defeat, and +wanted no one to discuss it. He was better pleased when a week later the +English groom talked to him after the boxing-lesson. "That fellow, Tom, +told me about your slapping him. He said that he didn't want to lick you +if you hadn't hit him." + +"It's not a thing I want to talk about, Sam. I had to hit him and I +didn't know how; that's all. Put on the gloves again." + +"There, that'll do, sir. You're light on your pins, and he's sort of +slow. If you ever have to fight him, just remember that and keep cool and +keep moving." + +The young boxing-tutor was silently of opinion that John Penhallow would +not be satisfied until he had faced Tom again. John made believe, as we +say, that he had no such desire. He had, however, long been caressed and +flattered into the belief that he was important, and was, in his uncle's +army phrase, to be obeyed and respected accordingly by inferiors. His +whole life now for many months had, however, contributed experiences +contradictory to his tacitly accepted boy-views. Sometimes in youth the +mental development and conceptions of what seem desirable in life appear +to make abrupt advances without apparent bodily changes. More wholesomely +and more rarely at the plastic age characteristics strengthen and mind +and body both gather virile capacity. When John Penhallow met his cousin +on his first arrival, he was in enterprise, vigour, general good sense +and normal relation to life, really far younger than Leila. In knowledge, +mind and imagination, he was far in advance. In these months he had +passed her in the race of life. He felt it, but in many ways was also +dimly aware that Leila was less expressively free in word and action, +sometimes to his surprise liking to be alone at the age when rare moods +of mild melancholy trouble the time of rapid female florescence. There +was still between them acceptance of equality, with on his part a certain +growth of respectful consideration, on hers a gentle perception of his +gain in manliness and of deference to his experience of a world of which +she knew as yet nothing, but with some occasional resentment when the +dominating man in the boy came to the surface. When his aunt praised his +manners, Leila said, "He isn't always so very gentle." When his uncle +laughed at his awkward horsemanship, she defended him, reminding her +uncle, to his amusement, of her own early mishaps. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +John's intimacy with the Squire prospered. Leila had been a gay comrade, +but not as yet so interested as to tempt him to discussion of the +confusing politics of the day. "She has not as yet a seeking mind," said +the rector, who in the confessional of the evening pipe saw more and more +plainly that this was a divided house. The Squire could not talk politics +with Ann, his wife. She held a changeless belief in regard to slavery, a +conviction of its value to owner and owned too positive to be tempted +into discussing it with people who knew so little of it and did not +agree with her. James Penhallow, like thousands in that day of grim +self-questioning, had been forced to reconsider opinions long held, and +was reaching conclusions which he learned by degrees made argument with +the simplicity of his wife's political creed more and more undesirable. +Leila was too young to be interested. The rector was intensely +anti-slavery and saw but one side of the ominous questions which were +bewildering the largest minds. The increasing interest in his nephew was, +therefore, a source of real relief to the uncle. Meanwhile, the financial +difficulties of the period demanded constant thought of the affairs of +the mills and took him away at times to Philadelphia or Pittsburgh. Thus +the summer ran on to an end. Buchanan and Breckenridge had been nominated +and the Republicans had accepted Fremont and Dayton. + +Birthdays were always pleasantly remembered at Grey Pine, and on +September 20th, when John, aged sixteen, came down to breakfast, as he +took his seat Ann came behind him and said as she kissed him, "You are +sixteen to-day; here is my present." + +The boy flushed with pleasure as he received a pair of silver spurs. "Oh! +thank you, Aunt Ann," he cried as he rose. + +"And here is mine," said Leila, and laughing asked with both hands behind +her back, "Which hand, John?" + +"Oh! both--both." + +"No." + +"Then the one nearest the heart." Some quick reflection passed through +Ann Penhallow's mind of this being like an older man's humour. + +Leila gave him a riding-whip. He had a moment's return of the grown-up +courtesies he had been taught, and bowed as he thanked her, saying, "Now, +I suppose, I am your knight, Aunt Ann." + +"And mine," said Leila. + +"I do not divide with any one," said Mrs. Ann. "Where is your present, +James?" + +He had kept his secret. "Come and see," he cried. He led them to the +porch. "That is mine, John." A thorough-bred horse stood at the door, +saddled and bridled. Ann thought the gift extravagant, but held her +tongue. + +"Oh, Uncle Jim," said John. His heart was too full for the words he +wanted to say. "For me--for me." He knew what the gift meant. + +"You must name him," said Leila. "I rode him once, John. He has no name. +Uncle Jim said he should have no name until he had an owner. Now I know." + +John stood patting the horse's neck. "Wasn't his mother a Virginia mare, +James?" said Ann. + +"Yes." + +"Oh, then call him Dixy." + +For a moment the Squire was of a mind to object, but said gaily, "By all +means, Ann, call him Dixy if you like, and now breakfast, please." Here +they heard Dixy's pedigree at length. + +"Above all, Jack, remember that Dixy is of gentle birth; make friends +with him. He may misbehave; never, sir, lose your temper with him. Be +wary of use of whip or spur." + +There was more of it, until Mrs. Ann said, "Your coffee will be cold. It +is one of your uncle's horse-sermons." + +John laughed. How delightful it all was! "May I ride today with you, +uncle?" + +"Yes, I want to introduce you to--Dixy--yes--" + +"And may I ride with you?" asked Leila. + +"No, my dear," said the aunt, "I want you at home. There is the raspberry +jam and currant jelly and tomato figs." + +"Gracious, Leila, we shall not have a ride for a week." + +"Oh, not that bad, John," said Mrs. Ann, "only two days and--and Sunday. +After that you may have her, and I shall be glad to be rid of her. She +eats as much as she preserves." + +"Oh! Aunt Ann." + +A few days went by, and as it rained in the afternoon there was no +riding, but there was the swimming-pool, and for rain John now cared very +little. On his way he met a half dozen village lads. They swam, and +hatched (it was John's device) a bit of mischief involving Billy, who was +fond of watching their sports when he was tired of doing chores about the +stable. John heard of it later. The likelihood of unpleasant results from +their mischief was discussed as they walked homeward. There were in all +five boys from the village, with whom by this time John had formed +democratic intimacies and moderate likings which would have shocked his +mother. He had had no quarrels since long ago he had resented Tom +McGregor's rudeness to Leila and had suffered the humiliation of defeat +in his brief battle with the bigger boy. The easy victor, Tom, had half +forgotten or ignored it, as boys do. Now as they considered an unpleasant +situation, Joe Grace, the son of the Baptist preacher, broke the silence. +He announced what was the general conclusion, halting for emphasis as he +spoke. + +"I say, fellows, there will be an awful row." + +"That's so," said William, the butcher's son. + +"Anyhow," remarked Ashton, whose father was a foreman at the mills, "it +was great fun; didn't think Billy could run like that." + +It will be observed that the young gentleman of ten months ago had become +comfortably democratic in his associations and had shed much of his +too-fine manners as the herding instincts of the boy made the society of +comrades desirable when Leila's company was not attainable. + +"Oh!" he said, "Billy can run, but I had none of the fun." Then he asked +anxiously, "Did Billy get as far as the house?" + +"You bet," said Baynton, the son of the carpenter, "I saw him, heard him +shout to the Squire. Guess it's all over town by this time." + +"Anyhow it was you, John, set it up," said a timid little boy, the child +of the blacksmith. + +"That's so," said Grace, "guess you'll catch it hot." + +John considered the last spokesman with scorn as Tom, his former foe, +said, "Shut up, Joe Grace, you were quick enough to go into it--and me +too." + +"Thanks," said John, reluctantly acknowledging the confession of +partnership in the mischief, "I am glad one of you has a little--well, +honour." + +They went on their way in silence and left him alone. Nothing was said of +the matter at the dinner-table, where to John's relief Mr. Rivers was a +guest. John observed, however, that Mrs. Ann had less of her usual +gaiety, and he was not much surprised when his uncle leaving the table +said, "Come into the library, John." The Captain lighted his pipe and sat +down. + +"Now, sir," he said, "Billy is a poor witness. I desire to hear what +happened." + +The stiffened hardness of the speaker in a measure affected the boy. He +stood for a moment silent. The Captain, impatient, exclaimed, "Now, I +want the simple truth and nothing else." + +The boy felt himself flush. "I do not lie, sir. I always tell the truth." + +"Of course--of course," returned Penhallow. "This thing has annoyed me. +Sit down and tell me all about it." + +Rather more at his ease John said, "I went to swim with some of the +village boys, sir. We played tag in the water--" + +The Squire had at once a divergent interest, "Tag--tag--swimming? Who +invented that game? Good idea--how do you play it?" + +John a little relieved continued, "You see, uncle, you can dive to escape +or come up under a fellow to tag him. It's just splendid!" he concluded +with enthusiasm. + +Then the Captain remembered that this was a domestic court-martial, +and self-reminded said, "The tag has nothing to do with the matter in +question; go on." + +"We got tired and sat on the bank. Billy was wandering about. He never +can keep still. I proposed that I should hide in the bushes and the boys +should tell Billy I was drowned." + +"Indeed!" + +"We went into the water; I hid in the bushes and the boys called out I +was drowned. When Billy heard it, he gathered up all my clothes and my +shoes, and before I could get out he just yelled, 'John's drowned, I must +take his clothes home to his poor aunt.' Then he ran. The last I heard +was, 'He's drowned, he's drowned!'" + +"And then?" + +"Well, the other fellows put on something and went after him; they caught +him in the cornfield and took away my clothes. Then Billy ran to the +house. That is all I know." + +The Squire was suppressing his mirth. "Aren't you ashamed?" + +"No, sir, but I am sorry." + +"I don't like practical jokes. Billy kept on lamenting your fate. He +might have told Leila or your aunt. Luckily I received his news, and no +one else. You will go to Westways and say there is to be no swimming for +a week in my pool." + +"Yes, sir." + +"You are not to ride Dixy or any other horse for ten days." This was +terrible. "Now, be off with you, and tell Mr. Rivers to come in." + +"Yes, sir." + +When Rivers sat down, the Squire suppressing his laughter related the +story. "The boy's coming on, Mark. He's Penhallow all over." + +"But, Squire, by the boy's looks I infer you did not tell him that." + +"Oh, hardly. I hate practical jokes, and I have stopped his riding for +ten days." + +"I suppose you are right," and they fell to talking politics and of the +confusion of parties with three candidates in the field. + +Mrs. Ann who suspected what had been the result of this court-martial +was disposed towards pity, but John retired to a corner and a book and +slipped away to bed early. Penalties he had suffered at school, but this +was a terrible experience, and now he was to let the other boys know that +the swimming-pool was closed for a week. At breakfast he made believe to +be contented in mind, and asked in his best manner if his uncle had any +errands for him in Westways or at the mills. When the Captain said no and +remarked further that if he wished to walk, he would find the wood-roads +cooler than the highway John expressed himself grateful for his advice +with such a complete return of his formal manner as came near to +unmasking the inner amusement which the Squire was getting from the +evident annoyance he was giving Mrs. Ann, who thought that he was +needlessly irritating a boy who to her mind was hurt and sore. + +"Come, Leila," she said rising. "We may meet you in the village, John; +and do get your hair cut, and see Mr. Spooner and tell him--no, I will +write it." + +John was pleased to feel that he had other reasons for visiting Westways +than his uncle's order. He went down the avenue whistling, and in no +hurry. + +Leila had some dim comprehension of John's state of mind. Of Billy and of +the Squire's court-martial she had heard from Mrs. Ann, and although that +lady said little, the girl very well knew that her aunt thought her +husband had been too severe. She stood on the porch, vaguely troubled for +this comrade, and watched him as he passed from view, taking a short cut +through the trees. The girl checked something like a sob as she went +into the house. + +It was the opinion of the county that Mrs. Penhallow was a right good +woman and masterful; but of Leila the judgment of the village was that +she was just sweet through and through. The rector said she radiated the +good-nature of perfect health. What more there was time would show. +Westways knew well these two young people, and Leila was simply Leila to +nearly every one. "Quite time," reflected Mrs. Ann, "that she was Miss +Leila." As she went with her through the town there were pleasant +greetings, until at last they came to the butcher's. Mr. Pole, large +after the way of his craft, appeared in a white apron. "Well, now, how +you do grow, Leila." + +"Not enough yet," said Leila. + +"Fine day, Mrs. Penhallow." He was a little uneasy, divining her errand. + +"Now, Pole, before I make a permanent change to the butcher at the mills, +I wish to say that it is because a pound of beef weighs less at Grey Pine +than in your shop." + +At this time John was added to the hearers, being in search of William +Pole with the Squire's order about the swimming. He waited until his aunt +should be through. He was a little amused, which on the whole was, just +then, good for him. + +"Now ma'am, after all these years you won't drop me like that." + +"Short weights are reason enough." + +Leila listened, sorry for Pole, who reddened and replied, "Fact is, +ma'am, I don't always do the weighing myself, and the boys they are real +careless. What with Hannah's asthma keeping me awake and a lot of fools +loafing around and talking politics, I do wonder I ever get things right. +It's Fremont and it's Buchanan--a man can't tell what to do." + +Mrs. Penhallow was not usually to be turned aside, and meant now to deal +out even justice. But if the butcher knew it or not, she was offered what +she liked and at home could not have. "I hope, Pole, you are not going to +vote for Fremont." + +"Well, ma'am, it ain't easy to decide. I've always followed the Squire." +Ann Penhallow knew, alas! what this would mean. + +"I've been thinking I'll stand to vote for Buchanan. Was you wanting a +saddle of lamb to-day? I have one here, and a finer I never saw." + +"Well, Pole, keep your politics and your weights in order. Send me the +lamb." + +The butcher smiled as Mrs. Ann turned away. Whether the lady of Grey Pine +was conscious of having bought a vote or not, it was pretty clear to her +nephew that Peter Pole's weights would not be further questioned as long +as his politics were Democratic. + +When his aunt had gone, John called Bill Pole out of the shop and said, +"There's to be no swimming for a week, for any of us. Where are the other +fellows?" + +"Guessed we would catch it. They're playing ball back of the church. I'll +go along with you." + +He was pleased to see how the others would take their deprivation of a +swim in the September heat. They came on the other culprit's, who called +to John to come and play. He was not so minded, and was in haste to get +through with a disagreeable errand. As he hesitated, Pole eager to +distribute the unpleasant news cried out, "The Squire says that we can't +swim in the pool for a week--none of us. How do you fellows like that?" + +"It's mighty mean of him." + +"What's that?" said John. "He was right and you know it. I don't like it +any better than you do--but--" + +Bill Baynton, the youngest boy, broke in, "Who told the Squire what +fellows was in it?" + +"It wasn't Billy," said another lad; "he just kept on yelling you was +dead." + +"Look here," said Tom McGregor turning to John, "did you tell the Squire +we fellows set it up?" + +John was insulted. He knew well the playground code of honour, but +remembered in time his boxing-master's advice, the more mad you are the +cooler you keep yourself. He replied in his old formal way, "The question +is one you have no right to ask; it is an insult." + +To the boys the failure to say "no" meant evasion. "Then, of course, you +told," returned the older lad. "If I wasn't afraid you'd run home and +complain, I'd spank you." + +It had been impossible for John to be angry with his uncle, although the +punishment and the shame of carrying the news to the other boys he felt +to be a too severe penalty. But here was cause for letting loose +righteous anger. He had meant to wait, having been wisely counselled by +his boxing-master to be in no haste to challenge his enemy, until further +practice had made success possible; but now his rising wrath overcame his +prudence, "Well, try it," he said. "You beat me once. If you think I'll +tell if I am licked, I assure you, you are safe. I took the whole blame +about Billy and I was asked no names." + +Tom hesitated and said, "I never heard that." + +"I will accept an apology," said John in his most dignified way. The boys +laughed. John flushed a little, and as Tom remained silent added, "If you +won't, then lick me if you can." + +As he spoke, he slipped off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. The long +lessons in self-defence had given him some confidence and, what was as +useful, had developed chest and arms. + +"Hit him, Tom," said the small boy. In a moment the fight was on, the +non-combatants delighted. + +To Tom's surprise his wild blows somehow failed to get home. It was +characteristic of John then as in later days that he became cool as he +realized his danger, while Tom quite lost his head as the success of the +defence disappointed his attack. To hit hard, to rush in and throw his +enemy, was all he had of the tactics of offence. The younger lad, +untouched, light on his feet, was continually shifting his ground; then +at last he struck right and left. He had not weight enough to knock down +his foe, but as Tom staggered, John leaped aside and felt the joy of +battle as he got in a blow under the ear and Tom fell. + +"Get on him--hit him," cried the boys. "By George, if he ain't licked!" + +John stood still. Tom rose, and as he made a furious rush at the victor, +a loud voice called out, "Halloa! quit that." + +Both boys stood still as Mark Rivers climbed over the fence and stood +between them. John was not sorry for the interruption. He was well aware +that in the rough and tumble of a close he had not weight enough to +encounter what would have lost him the fight he had so far won. He stood +still panting, smiling, and happy. + +"Hadn't you boys better shake hands?" said the rector. Tom, furious, was +collecting blood from his nose on his handkerchief. Neither boy spoke. +"Well, John," said Rivers waiting. + +"I'll shake hands, sir, when Tom apologizes." + +The rector smiled. Apologies were hardly understood as endings to village +fights. "He won't do it," said John with a glance at the swollen face; +"another time I'll make him." + +"Will you!" exclaimed Tom. + +The rector felt that on the whole it might have been better had they +fought it out. Now the peacemaking business was clearly not blessed. "You +are a nice pair of young Christians," he said. "At all events, you shall +not fight any more to-day. Come, John." + +The boy put on his jacket and went away with Rivers, who asked presently +what was this about. "Mr. Rivers, soon after I came that fellow was rough +to Leila; I hit him, and he beat me like--like a dog." + +"And you let all these suns go down upon your wrath?" + +"There wasn't any wrath, sir. He wouldn't apologize to Leila; he wouldn't +do it." + +"Oh! indeed." + +"Then he said something to-day about Uncle Jim." + +"Anything else?" + +"Yes, he made it pretty clear that he thought me a liar." + +"Well, but you knew you were not." + +"Yes, sir, but he didn't appear to know." + +"Do you think you convinced him?" + +"No, sir, but I feel better." + +"Ah! is that so? Morally better, John?" and he laughed as he bade him +good-bye. + +The lad who left him was tired, but entirely satisfied with John +Penhallow. He went to the stable and had a technical talk with the +English groom, who deeply regretted not to have seen the fight. + +There being no riding or swimming to fill the time, he took a net, some +tackle and a bucket, and went down to the river and netted a +"hellbender." He put him in a bucket of water and carried him to the +stable, where he was visited by Leila and Rivers, and later departed this +life, much lamented. In the afternoon, being in a happy mood, John easily +persuaded Leila to abandon her ride, and walk with him. + +When they sat down beside the Indian graves, to his surprise she suddenly +shifted the talk and said, "John, who would you vote for? I asked Aunt +Ann, and she said, 'Buchanan, of course'; and when I asked Uncle Jim, he +said, 'Fremont'; but I want to understand. I saw in the paper that it was +wicked to keep slaves, but my cousins in Maryland have slaves; it can't +be wicked." + +"Would you like to be bought and sold?" he said. + +"But, I am not black, John." + +"I believe old Josiah was a slave." + +"Every one knows that. Why did he run away, John?" + +"Because he wanted to be free, I suppose, and not have to work without +pay." + +"And don't they pay slaves?" asked Leila. + +"No, they don't." John felt unable to make clear to her why the two +people they respected and loved never discussed what the village talked +about so freely. These intelligent children were in the toils of a +question which was disturbing the consciences and the interests of a +continent. The simpler side was clear to both of them. The idea of +selling the industrious old barber was as yet enough to settle their +politics. + +"Aunt Ann must have good reasons," said John. "Mr. Rivers says she is the +most just woman he ever knew." It puzzled him. "I suppose we are too +young to understand." + +"Aunt Ann will never talk about slaves. I asked her last week." + +"But Uncle Jim will talk, and he likes to be asked when we are alone. I +don't believe in slavery." + +"It seems so queer, John, to own a man." + +John grinned, "Or a girl, Leila." + +"Well, no one owns me, I tell you; they'd have a hard time." + +She shook what Rivers called her free-flowing cascade of hair in the +pride of conscious freedom. The talk ran on. At last she said, "I'll tell +you a queer thing. I heard Mr. Rivers say to uncle--I heard him say, we +were all slaves. He said that no one owns himself. I think that's silly," +said the young philosopher, "don't you, John?" + +"I don't know," returned John; "I think it's a big puzzle. Let's go." + +No word reached the Squire of the battle behind the church until four +days later, when Rivers came in after dinner and found Penhallow in his +library deep in thought. + +"Worried, Squire?" he asked. + +"Yes, affairs are in a bad way and will be until the election is over. It +always disturbs commerce. The town will go Democratic, I suppose." + +"Yes, as I told you, unless you take a hand and are in earnest and +outspoken." + +"I could be, but it has not yet the force of imperative duty, and it +would hurt Ann more than I feel willing to do. Talk of something else. +She would cease her mild canvass if she thought it annoyed me." + +"I see--sir. I think I ought to tell you that John has had another battle +with Tom McGregor." + +"Indeed?" The Squire sat up, all attention. "He does not show any marks +of it." + +"No, but Tom does." + +"Indeed! What happened?" + +"Well, I believe, Tom thought John told you what boys were in that joke +on Billy. I fancy something was said about you--something personal, which +John resented." + +"That is of no moment. What else? I ought to be clear about it." + +"Well, Squire, Tom was badly mauled and John was tired when I arrived as +peacemaker. I stopped the battle, but he was not at all disposed to talk +about it. I am sure of one thing--he has had a grudge against Tom--since +he was rude to Leila." + +The Squire rose and walked about the room. "H'm! very strange that--what +a mere child he was when he got licked--boys don't remember injuries that +way." Then seeming to become conscious of Rivers' presence, he stopped +beside him and added, "What with my education and Leila's, he has grown +amazingly. He was as timid as a foal." + +"He is not now, Squire, and John has been as useful mentally to Leila. +She is learning to think." + +"Sorry for it, Mark, women ought not to think. Now if my good Ann +wouldn't think, I should be the happier." + +"My dear Squire," said Rivers, setting an affectionate hand on his arm, +"my dear Mrs. Penhallow doesn't think, except about the every-day things +of life. Her politics and religion are sacred beliefs not to be rudely +jostled by the disturbance of thinking. If there is illness, debt or +trouble, at the mills or in Westways, she becomes seraphic and +intelligent enough." + +"Yes, Rivers, and if I put before her, as I sometimes do, a perplexing +business matter, I am surprised at her competence. Of course, she is as +able as you or I to reason, but on one subject she does not reason or +believe that it admits of discussion; and by Heaven! my friend, I am +sometimes ashamed to keep out of this business. So far as this State is +concerned, it is hopeless. You know, dear friend, what you have been to +us, and that to no other man on earth could I speak as I have done to +you; but Mark, if things get worse--and they will--what then? John +asked me what we should do if the Southern States did really secede. +Things seem to stick in his mind like burrs--he was at it again next +day." + +Rivers smiled. "Like me, I suppose." + +"Yes, Mark. He is persistent about everything--lessons, sports, oh! +everything; an uncomfortably curious lad, too. These Southern opinions +about reclaiming a man's slaves bother the boy. He reads my papers, and +how can I stop him? I don't want to. There! we are at it again." + +"Yes, there is no escape from these questions." + +"And he has even got Leila excited and she wants to know--I told her to +ask Ann Penhallow--I have not heard of the result. Well, you are going. +Good-night." + +The Squire sat still in the not very agreeable company of his thoughts. +Leila was to go to school this September, Buchanan's election in November +was sure, and John--He had come to love the lad, and perhaps he had been +too severe. Then he thought of the boy's fight and smiled. The rector and +he had disagreed. Was it better for boys to abuse one another or to +settle things by a fight? The rector had urged that his argument for the +ordeal of battle would apply with equal force to the duel of men. He had +said, "No, boys do not kill; and after all even the duel has its values." +Then the rector said he was past praying for and had better read the +Decalogue. + +When next day Mark Rivers was being shaved by the skilled hand of Josiah, +he heard the voice of his friend and fishing-companion, the Rev. Isaac +Grace, "What about the trout-brook this afternoon?" + +"Of course," said Mark, moveless under the razor. "Call for me at five." + +"Seen yesterday's _Press_?" + +"No. I can't talk, Grace." + +"This town's all for Buchanan and Breckenridge. How will the Squire +vote?" + +"Ask him. Take care, Josiah." + +"If the Squire isn't taking any active part, Mrs. Penhallow is. She is +taking a good deal of interest in the roof of my chapel and--and--other +things." + +The rector did not like it. "I can't talk, Grace." + +"But I can."--"Well," thought the rector, "for an intelligent man you are +slow at taking hints." The good-natured rotund preacher went on, amazing +his helpless friend, "I wonder if the Squire would like her canvassing--" + +"Ask him." + +"Guess not. She's a good woman, but not just after the fashion of St. +Paul's women." + +"She hasn't done no talking to me," said Josiah, chuckling. "There, sir, +I'm through." + +Then the released rector said, "If you talk politics again to me for the +next two months, Grace, I will never tie for you another trout-fly. Your +turn," and he left the chair to Grace, who sat down saying with the +persistency of the good-humoured and tactless, "If I want a roof to my +chapel, I've got to keep out of talking Republican polities, that's +clear--" + +"And several other things," returned Mark sharply. + +"Such as," said Grace, but the rector had gone and Josiah was lathering +the big red face. + +"Got to make believe sometimes, sir," said Josiah. "She's an uncommon +kind lady, and the pumpkins she gives me are fine. A fellow's got time to +think between this and November. Pumpkins and leaky roofs do make a man +kind of thoughtful." He grinned approval of his own wisdom. "Now don't +talk, sir. Might chance to cut you." + +This sly unmasking of motives, his own and those of others, was +disagreeable to the good little man who was eager to get his chapel +roofed and no more willing than Mrs. Penhallow to admit that how he would +vote had anything to do with the much needed repairs. His people were +poor and the leaks were becoming worse and worse. He kept his peace, and +the barber smiling plied the razor. + +Now the Squire paused at the open door, where he met his nephew. "Come to +get those scalp-locks trimmed, John? They are perilously long. If you +were to get into a fight and a fellow got hold of them, you would have a +bad time." Then as his uncle went away laughing, John knew that the +Squire must have heard of his battle from Mark Rivers. He did not like +it. Why he did not know or ask himself, being as yet too immature for +such self-analysis. + +Mr. Grace got up clean-shaven, adjusted a soiled paper-collar, and said, +"Good-morning, John. I am sorry to hear that a Christian lad like you +should be fighting. I am sure that neither Mr. Rivers nor your aunt would +approve of it. My son told me about it, and I think it my duty--" + +John broke in, "Then your son is a tell-tale, Mr. Grace, and allow me to +say that this is none of his business. When I am insulted, I resent it." +To be chaffed by his own uncle when under sentence of a court-martial had +not been agreeable, but this admonition was unendurable. He entered the +shop. + +"Well, I never," exclaimed the preacher, as John went by him. + +The barber was laughing. "Set down, Mr. John." + +"I suppose the whole of Westways knows it, Mr. Josiah?" + +"They do, sir. Wish I'd seen it." + +"Damn!" exclaimed John, swearing for the first time in his life. "Cut my +hair short, please, and don't talk." + +"No, sir. You ain't even got a scratch." + +"Oh, do shut up," said John. There was a long silence while the curly +locks fell. + +"You gave it to the Baptist man hot. I don't like him. He calls me Joe. +It isn't respectable. My name's Josiah." + +"Haven't you any other name?" said John, having recovered his +good-humour. + +"Yes, sir, but I keeps that to myself." + +"But why?" urged John. + +Josiah hesitated. "Well, Mr. John, I ran away, and--so it was best to get +a new name." + +"Indeed! Of course, every one knows you must have run away--but no one +cares." + +"Might say I was run away with--can't always hold a horse," he laughed +aloud in a leisurely way. "When he took me over the State-line, I didn't +go back." + +"I see," said John laughing, as he rose and paid the barber. The cracked +mirror satisfied him that he was well shorn. + +"You looks a heap older now you're shorn. Makes old fellows look +younger--ever notice that?" + +"No." + +Then Josiah, of a sudden wisely cautious, said, "You won't tell Mrs. +Penhallow, nor no one, about me, what I said?" + +"Of course not; but why my aunt, Mr. Josiah? She, like my uncle, must +know you ran away." + +When John first arrived the black barber's appearance so impressed the +lad that he spoke to him as Mr. Josiah, and seeing later how much this +pleased him continued in his quite courteous way to address him now and +then as Mr. Josiah. The barber liked it. He hesitated a moment before +answering. + +"You needn't talk about it if you don't want to," said John. + +"Guess whole truth's better than half truth--nothin' makes folk curious +like knowin' half. When I first came here, I guessed I'd best change my +name, so I said I was Josiah. Fact is, Mr. John, I didn't know Mrs. +Penhallow came from Maryland till I had been here quite a while and got +to like the folks and the Captain." + +John's experience was enlarging. He could hardly have realized the +strange comfort the black felt in his confession. What it all summed up +for Josiah in the way of possible peril of loss of liberty John presently +had made plain to him. He was increasingly urgent in his demand for +answers to the many questions life was bringing. The papers he read had +been sharp schoolmasters, and of slave life he knew nothing except from +his aunt's pleasant memories of plantation life when a girl on a great +Maryland manor. That she could betray to servitude the years of +grey-haired freedom seemed to John incredible of the angel of kindly +helpfulness. He stood still in thought, troubled by his boy-share of +puzzle over a too mighty problem. + +Josiah, a little uneasy, said, "What was you thinkin', Mr. John?" + +The young fellow replied smiling, "Do you think Aunt Ann would hurt +anybody? Do you think she would send word to some one--to take you back? +Anyhow she can't know who was your master." + +The old black nodded slowly, "Mr. John, she born mistress and I born +slave; she can't help it--and they was good people too--all the people +that owned me. They liked me too. I didn't have to work except holdin' +horses and trainin' colts--and housework. They was always kind to me." + +"But why did you run away?" + +"Well, Mr. John, it was sort of sudden. You see ever since I could +remember there was some one to say, Caesar you do this, or you go there. +One day when I was breakin' a colt, Mr. Woodburn says to me--I was +leanin' against a stump--how will that colt turn out? I said, I don't +know, but I did. It wasn't any good. My mind was took up watchin' a hawk +goin' here and there over head like he was enjoyin' hisself. Then--then +it come over me--that he'd got no boss but God. It got a grip on me +like--" The lad listened intently. + +"You wanted to be free like the hawk." + +"I don't quite know--never thought of it before--might have seen lots of +hawks. I ain't never told any one." + +"Are you glad to be free?" + +"Ah, kind of half glad, sir. I ain't altogether broke in to it. You see +I'm old for change." + +As he ended, James Penhallow reappeared. "Got through, John? You look +years older. Your aunt will miss those curly locks." He went into the +shop as John walked away, leaving Josiah who would have liked to add a +word more of caution and who nevertheless felt somehow a sense of relief +in having made a confession the motive force of which he would have found +it impossible to explain. + +John asked himself no such question as he wandered deep in boy-thought +along the broken line of the village houses. Josiah's confidence troubled +and yet flattered him. His imagination was captured by the suggested idea +of the wild freedom of the hawk. He resolved to be careful, and felt more +and more that he had been trusted with a secret involving danger. + +While John wandered away, the barber cut the Squire's hair, and to his +surprise Josiah did not as usual pour out his supply of village gossip. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +It was now four days since John's sentence had been pronounced, and not +to be allowed to swim in the heat of a hot September added to the +severity of the penalty. The heat as usual made tempers hot and +circumstances variously disturbed the household of Grey Pine. Politics +vexed and business troubled the master. Of the one he could not talk to +his wife--of the other he would not at present, hoping for better +business conditions, and feeling that politics and business were now +too nearly related to keep them apart. Ann, his wife, thought him +depressed--a rare mood for him. Perhaps it was the unusual moist heat. He +said, "Yes, yes, dear, one does feel it." She did not guess that the +obvious unhappiness of the lad who had won the soldier's heart was being +felt by Penhallow without his seeing how he could end it and yet not +lessen the value of a just verdict. + +Of all those concerned Leila was the one most troubled. On this hot +afternoon she saw John disappear into the forest. When Mrs. Ann came out +on the porch where she had for a minute left the girl, she saw her +sewing-bag on a chair and caught sight of the flowing hair and agile +young figure as she set a hand on the low stone wall of the garden and +was over and lost among the trees. "Leila, Leila," cried Mrs. Ann, "I +told you to finish--" It was useless. "Everything goes wrong to-day," +she murmured. "Well, school will civilize that young barbarian, and she +must have longer skirts." This was a sore subject and Leila had been +vainly rebellious. + +Meanwhile the flying girl overtook John, who had things to think about +and wished to be alone. "Well," he said, with some impatience, "what is +it?" + +"Oh, I just wanted a walk, and don't be cross, John." + +He looked at her, and perhaps for the first time had the male perception +of the beauty of the disordered hair, the pleading look of the blue eyes, +and the brilliant colour of the eager flushed face. It was the hair--the +wonderful hair. She threw it back as she stood. No one could long be +cross to Leila. Even her resolute aunt was sometimes defeated by her +unconquerable sweetness. + +"I am so sorry for you, John," she said. + +"Well, I am not, Leila, if you mean that Uncle Jim was hard on me." + +"Yes, he was, and I mean to tell him--I do." + +"Please not." She said nothing in the way of reply, but only, "Let us go +and see the spring." + +"Well, come along." + +They wandered far into the untouched forest. "Ah! here it is," she cried. +A spring of water ran out from among the anchoring roots of a huge black +spruce. He stood gazing down at it. + +"Oh, Leila, isn't it wonderful?" + +"Were you never here before, John?" + +"No, never. It seems as if it was born out of the tree. No wonder this +spruce grew so tall and strong. How cold it must keep the old fellow's +toes." + +"What queer ideas you have, John." She had not yet the gift of fancy, +long denied to some in the emergent years of approaching womanhood. "I am +tired, John," she said, as she dropped with hands clasped behind her head +and hidden in the glorious abundance of darkening red hair, which lay +around her on the brown pine-needles like the disordered aureole of some +careless-minded saint. + +John said, "It is this terrible heat. I never before heard you complain +of being tired." + +"Oh, it's just nice tired." She lay still, comfortable, with open eyes +staring up at the intense blue of the September sky seen through the +wide-east limbs of pine and spruce. The little rill, scarce a finger +thickness of water, crawled out lazily between the roots and trickled +away. The girl was in empty-minded enjoyment of the luxury of complete +relaxation of every muscle of her strong young body. The spring was +noiseless, no leaf was astir in all the forest around them. The girl lay +still, a part of the vast quietness. + +John Penhallow stood a moment, and then said, "Good gracious! Leila, your +eyes are blue." It was true. When big eyes are wide open staring up at +the comrade blue of the deep blue sky, they win a certain beauty of added +colour like little quiet lakelets under the azure sky when no wind +disturbs their power of reflecting capture. + +"Oh, John, and didn't you know my eyes were blue?" She spoke with languid +interest in the fact he announced. + +"But," he said, looking down at her as he stood, "they're so--so +very blue." + +"Oh, all the Greys have blue eyes." + +He laughed gentle laughter and dropped on the pine-needles of the forest +floor. The spring lay between them. He felt, as she did not, the charm of +the stillness. He wanted to find words in which to put his desire for +expression. She broke into his mood of imaginative seekings. + +"How cold it is," she said, gathering the water in the cup of her hand, +and then with both hands did better and got a refreshing drink. + +"That makes a better cup," he said. "Let us follow the water to the +river." + +"It never gets there. It runs into Lonesome Man's swamp, and that's the +end of him." + +"Who, Lonesome Man or the spring? And who was Lonesome Man?" + +"Nobody knows. What does it matter?" + +He watched her toy with the new-born rill, a mere thread of water, build +a Lilliputian dam, and muddle the clear outflow as it broke, and then +build again. He had the thought that she had suddenly become younger, +more like a child, and he himself older. + +"Why don't you talk, John?" she said. + +"I can't. I am wondering about that Lonesome Man and what the trees are +thinking. Don't you feel how still it is? It's disrespectful to gabble +before your betters." He felt it and said it without affectation, but as +usual his mood of wandering thought failed to interest Leila. + +"I hate it when it's quiet! I like to hear the wind howl in the pines--" + +He expressed his annoyance. "You never want to talk anything but horses +and swimming. Wait till you come back next spring with long skirts--such +a nice well-behaved Miss Grey." He was, in familiar phrase, out of sorts, +with a bit of will to annoy a disappointing companion. His mild effort +had no success. + +"Oh, John, it's awful! You ought to be sorry for me. The more you grow up +the more your skirts grow down. Bother their manners! Who cares! Let's go +home. It feels just as if it was Sunday." + +"It is, in the woods. Well, come along." He walked on in the silence, she +thinking of that alarming prospect of school, and he of the escaped +slave's secret and, what struck the boy most--the hawk. Never before had +he been told anything which was to be sacredly guarded from others. It +gave him now a pleasant feeling of having been trusted. Suppose Leila had +been told such a thing, how would she feel, and Aunt Ann? He was like a +man who has too large a deposit in a doubtful bank. He was vaguely uneasy +lest he might tell or in some way betray his sense of possessing a +person's confidence. + +As they came near the house, Leila said, "Catch me, I'll run you home." + +"Tag," he cried. + +As they came to the side porch, Ann Penhallow said, "Finish that +handkerchief--now, at once. It is time you were taught other than tom-boy +ways." + +John went by into the house. After dinner the Squire had his usual game +of whist, always to the dissatisfaction of Leila, whose thoughts wandered +like birds on the wing, from twig to twig. John usually played far +better, but just now worse than his cousin, and forgot or revoked, to his +uncle's disgust. A man of rather settled habits, now as usual Penhallow +went to his library for the company of the pipe, which Ann disliked, and +the _Tribune_, which she regarded as the organ of Satanic politics. +Seeing both John and her aunt absorbed in their books, Leila passed +quickly back of them, opened the library door, and said softly, "May I +come in, Uncle Jim?" + +During the last few days he had missed, and he well knew why, John's +visits and intelligent questions. Leila was welcome. "Why, of course, +pussy cat. Come in. Shut the door; your aunt dislikes the pipe smoke. Sit +down." For some reason she desired to stand. "Don't stand," he said, "sit +down on my knee." She obeyed. "There," he said, "that's comfy. How heavy +you are. Good gracious, child! what am I to do without you?" + +"Isn't it awful, Uncle Jim." + +"It is--it is. What do you want, my dear? Anything wrong with the +horses?" + +"No, sir. It's--John--" + +"Oh! it's John. Well, what is it?" + +"It isn't John--it's John and the horses--I mean John and Dixy. Patrick +rides Dixy for exercise every day." + +"Well, what's the matter? First it's John, then Dixy, then John and Dixy, +and then John and Dixy and Pat." + +The girl saw through the amusement he had in teasing her and said with +gravity, "I wish you would be serious, Uncle Jim. I want five minutes of +uninterrupted attention." + +The Squire exploded, "Good gracious! that is Ann Grey all over. You must +have heard her say it." + +"I did, and you listen, too. Sometimes you don't, Uncle Jim. I guess you +weren't well broke when you were young." + +"Great Scott! you minx! Some day a girl I know will have to stand at +attention. Go ahead." + +"Pat's ruining Dixy's mouth. You ought to see him sawing at the curb. You +always rode him on the snaffle." + +"That boy Pat needs a good licking, Leila." + +"But Dixy don't. The fact is, Uncle Jim, you're neglecting the stables +for politics." + +"Is that your own wisdom, Miss Grey? What with the weight of wisdom and +years, you're getting heavy. Try a chair." + +"No, I'm quite comfy. It was Josiah who told me. He often comes up to +look over the colts, of a Sunday--" + +"Nice work for Sunday, Miss Grey." + +She made no direct reply. "He told me that horse ought to be ridden +by--by John or you, and no one else. He says the way to ruin a horse is +to have a lot of people ride him like Pat--they're just spoiling Dixy--" + +"What! in four days? Nonsense." + +"But," said the counsel in the case, "it's to be ten. It isn't about +John, it's Dixy's mouth, uncle." + +"Oh, you darling little liar!" Here she kissed him and was silent. "It +won't do," he said. "There's no logic in a kiss, Miss Grey. First comes +Ann Grey and says, too much army discipline; and then you tell me what +that gossiping old darkey says, and then you try the final argument--a +kiss. Can't do it. There will be an end of all discipline. I hate +practical jokes. There!" + +If he thought to finish the matter thus, he much undervalued the +ingenuity and persistency of the young Portia who was now conducting the +case. + +"Suppose you take a chair, Miss Grey. It is rather warm to provide +permanent human seats for stout young women--" + +"I'm not stout," said Leila with emphasis, accepting the hint by dropping +with coiled legs upon a cushion at his feet. "I'm not stout. I weigh one +hundred and thirty and a half pounds. And oh! isn't it hot. I haven't had +a swim for--oh, at least five days counting Sunday." The pool was kept +free until noon for Leila and her aunt. + +"Why didn't you swim?" he asked lightly, being too intellectually busy +clearing his pipe to see where the leading counsel was conducting him. + +"Why, Uncle Jim, I wouldn't swim if John wasn't allowed too; I just +couldn't. I'm going to bed--but, please, don't let Pat ride Dixy." + +"I can attend to my stables, Miss Grey. John won't die of heat for want +of a swim. You don't seem to concern yourself with those equally +overbaked young scamps in Westways." + +"Uncle Jim, you're just real mean to-night. Josiah told me yesterday that +my cousin beat Tom McGregor because he said it was mean of you to stop +the swimming. John said it was just, and Tom said he was a liar, and--oh, +my! John licked him--wish I'd seen it." + +This was news quite to his liking. He made no reply, lost in wonder over +the ways of the mind male and female. + +"You ought to be ashamed, you a girl, to want to see a fight. It's time +you went to school. Isn't the rector on the porch? I thought I heard +him." + +Now, of late Leila had got to that stage of the game of +thought-interchange when the young proudly use newly acquired +word-counters. "I think, Uncle Jim, you're--you're irreverent." + +The Squire shut the door on all outward show of mirth, and said gravely, +"Isn't it pronounced irrelevant, my dear Miss Malaprop?" + +"Yes--yes," said Leila. "That's a word John uses. It's just short for +'flying the track'!" + +"Any other stable slang, Leila?" + +He was by habit averse to changing his decisions, and outside of Ann +Penhallow's range of authority the Squire's discipline was undisputed and +his decrees obeyed. He had been pleased and gaily amused for this half +hour, but was of a mind to leave unchanged the penalties he had +inflicted. + +"Are you through, with this nonsense, Leila?" he said as he rose. "Is +this an ingenious little game set up between you and John?" To his utter +amazement she began to cry. + +"By George!" he said, "don't cry," which is what a kind man always says +when presented with the riddle of tears. + +She drew a brown fist across her wet cheeks and said indignantly, "My +cousin is a gentleman." + +She turned to go by him. "No, dear, wait a moment." He held her arm. + +"Please, let me go. When John first came, you said he was a prig--and +if he would just do some boy-mischief and kick up his heels like a +two-year-old with some fun in him--you said he was a sort of +girl-boy--" There were for punctuation sobs and silences. + +"And where did you get all this about a prig?" he broke in, amazed. + +"Oh, I heard you tell Aunt Ann. And now," said Portia, "the first time he +does a real nice jolly piece of mischief you come down on him like--like +a thousand of bricks." Her slang was reserved for the Squire, as he well +knew. + +The blue eyes shining with tears looked up from under the glorious +disorder of the mass of hair. It was too much for the man. + +"How darned logical you are!" He acknowledged some consciousness of +having been inconsistent. He had said one thing and done another. "You +are worse than your aunt." Then Leila knew that Ann Penhallow had talked +to the Squire. "Well," he said, "what's your opinion, Miss Grey?" + +"I think you're distanced." + +"What--what! Wait a little. You may tell that young man to ride when he +pleases and to swim, and to tell those scamps it's too hot to deprive +them of the use of the pool. There, now get out!" + +"But--Uncle Jim--I--can't. Oh, I really can't. You've got to do it +yourself." This he much disliked to do. + +"I hear your aunt calling. Mr. Rivers is going." + +She kissed him. "Now, don't wait, Uncle Jim, and don't scold John. He's +been no use for these four days. Goodnight," and she left him. + +"Well, well," he said, "I suppose I've got to do it." + +He found Ann alone. + +"About John! I can't stand up against you two. He is to be let off about +the riding and swimming. I think you may find it pleasant to tell him, my +dear." + +She said gravely, "It will come with more propriety from you; but I do +think you are right." Then he knew that he had to do it himself. + +"Very well, dear," he said. "How that girl is developing. It is time she +had other company than John, but Lord! how I shall miss her--" + +"And I, James." + +He went out for the walk he generally took before bed-time. She lingered, +putting things in order on her work-table, wondering what Leila could +have said to thus influence a man the village described as "set in his +ways." She was curious to know, but not of a mind to question Leila. +Before going to bed, she went to her own sitting-room on the left of the +hall. It was sacred to domestic and church business. It held a few books +and was secured by long custom from men's tobacco smoke. She sat down and +wrote to her cousin, George Grey. + +"DEAR GEORGE: If politics do not keep you, we shall look for you this +month. There are colts to criticize and talk over, Leila is eager to see +her unknown cousin before she goes to school near Baltimore this +September. + +"I believe this town will go for Buchanan, but I am not sure. James and +I, as you know, never talk politics. I am distressed to believe as I do +that he will vote for Fremont; that 'the great, the appalling issue,' as +Mr. Buchanan says, 'is union or disunion' does not seem to affect him. I +read Forney's paper, and James reads that wild abolition _Tribune_. It is +very dreadful, and I am without any one I can talk to. My much loved +rector is an extreme antislavery man. + +"Yours always, +ANN PENHALLOW. + +"I am not at all sure of you. Be certain to let us know when to expect +you. You know you are--well, I leave your social conscience to say what. + +"Yours sincerely, +ANN PENHALLOW." + +At breakfast Ann Penhallow sat down to the coffee-urn distributing +cheerful good-mornings. The Squire murmured absently over his napkin, +"May the Lord make us thankful for this and all the blessings of life." +He occasionally varied his grace, and sometimes to Ann's amazement. Why +should he ask to be made thankful, she reflected. These occasional slips +and variations on the simple phrase of gratitude she had come to +recognize as signs of preoccupation, and now glanced at her husband, +anxious always when he was concerned. Then, as he turned to John, she +understood that between his trained belief in the usefulness of +inexorable discipline and an almost womanly tenderness of affection the +heart had somehow won. She knew him well and at times read with ease the +signs of distress and annoyance or resolute decision. Usually he was gay +and merry at breakfast, chaffing the children and eating with the +appetite of a man who was using and renewing his tissues in a wholesome +way. Now he was silent, absent, and ate little. He was the victim of a +combination of annoyances. Had he been wise to commit himself to a +reversal of his sentence? Other and more important matters troubled him, +but as usual where bothers come in battalions it is the lesser +skirmishers who are felt for the moment. + +"I see in the hall, Ann," he said, "a letter for George Grey--I will mail +it. When does he come?" + +"I do not know." + +"John," he said, "you will oblige me by riding to the mill and asking Dr. +McGregor to come to Westways and see old Josiah. Of course, he will +charge it to me." The Squire was a little ashamed of this indirect +confession of retreat. + +John looked up, hesitated a moment, and said, "What horse, sir?" + +"Dixy, of course." + +"Another cup, James," said Mrs. Ann tranquilly amused. + +John rose, went around the table to his uncle, and said in his finest +manner, "I am greatly obliged, sir." + +"Oh, nonsense! He's rather fresh, take care." + +Then Leila said, "It's very hot, Uncle Jim." + +"You small fiend," said Penhallow. "Hot! On your way, John, tell those +rascals at Westways they may use the pond." The faint smile on Ann +Penhallow's face somehow set the whole business in an agreeably humorous +light. The Squire broke into the relief of laughter and rose saying, "Get +out of this, all of you, if you want to keep your scalps." + +John went to the stable not quite pleased. He had felt that his +punishment for a boy-frolic and the unexpected results of Billy's alarm +had been pretty large. His aunt had not said so to him, but had made it +clear to her husband that the penalty was quite disproportioned to the +size of the offence; a remark which had made him the more resolute not to +disturb the course of justice; and now this chit of a girl had made him +seem like an irresolute fool, and he would have to explain to Rivers, who +would laugh. As he went out of the hall-door, he felt a pretty rough +little paw in his hand and heard a whisper. "You're just the dearest +thing ever was." + +Concerning John Penhallow, it is to be said that he did not understand +why he was let off so easily. He had a suspicion that Leila was +somehow concerned, and also the feeling that he would rather have +suffered to the end. However, it would be rather good fun to announce +this swimming-permit to the boys. + +Seeing from his shop door John riding down the avenue, Josiah came +limping across the road. He leaned on the gate facing the boy and looking +over the horse and rider with the pleasure of one who, as the Squire +liked to say, knew when horse-flesh and man-flesh were suitably matched. + +"Girth's a bit slack, Master John. Always look it over, sir, before you +mount." + +"Thanks, Josiah. Open the gate, please. How lame you are. I am to send +the doctor to look after you and Peter Lamb." + +The big black man opened the gate and adjusted the girth. "That's right +now. I've got the worst rheumatics I ever did have. Peter Lamb's sick +too. That's apple-whisky. The Squire's mighty patient with that man, +because his mother nursed the Squire when he was a baby. They're near of +an age, but you wouldn't think it to look at Peter and the Captain; +whisky does hurry up Old Time a lot." And so John got the town gossip. +"I ain't no faith in doctorin' rheumatics; wouldn't have him now if I +hadn't lost my old buck-eye. My rabbit-foot's turned grey this week. +That's a sign of trouble." + +John laughed and rode from the gate on which Leila had invited him to +indulge in the luxury of swinging. It seemed years ago since she had sung +to his astonishment the lyric of the gate. She appeared to him now not +much older. And how completely he felt at home. He rode along the old +pike through Westways, nodding to Mrs. Lamb, the mother of the scamp whom +the Squire was every now and then saving from the consequences of the +combination of a revengeful nature and bad whisky. Then Billy hailed John +with malicious simplicity. + +"Halloa!--John--can't swim--can't swim--ho, ho!" + +The butcher's small boy was loading meat on a cart. John stayed to say a +word to him, pleased to have the chance, as the boy grinned at Billy's +mocking malice. "Halloa! Pole," he called. "My uncle says we fellows may +swim. Tell the other fellows." + +"Gosh! but that's good--John. I'll tell 'em." + +John rode on and fell to thinking of Leila, with some humiliating +suspicion in regard to her share in the Squire's change of mind; or was +it Aunt Ann's influence? And why did he himself not altogether like it? +Why should his aunt and Leila interfere? He wished they had let the +matter alone. What had a girl to do with it? He was again conscious that +he felt of a sudden older than Leila, and did not fully realize that in +the race of life he had gone swiftly past her during these few months, +and that in the next year she in turn would sweep past him in the +developmental changes of life. Now she seemed to him more timid, more +childlike than usual; but long thinkings are not of the psychic habits of +normal youth, and Dixy recovered his attention. + +He satisfied the well-bred horse, who of late had been losing his temper +in the society of a rough groom, ignorant of the necessity for good +manners with horses. Neither strange noises nor machines disturbed Dixy +as John rode through the busy iron-mills to the door of a small brick +house, so well known that no sign announced it as the home of the only +medical man available at the mills or in Westways. John tied Dixy to the +hitching-post, gnawed by the doctor's horse during long hours of waiting +on an unpunctual man. + +The doors were open, and as John entered he was aware of an odour of +drugs and saw Dr. McGregor sound asleep in an armchair, a red silk +handkerchief over his bald head, and a swarm of disappointed flies +hovering above him. In the back room the clink and rattle of a pestle and +mortar ceased as Tom appeared. + +John, in high good-humour, said, "Good afternoon, Tom. My uncle has let +up on the swimming. He asked me to let you fellows know." + +"It's about time," said Tom crossly. "After all it was your fault and we +had to pay for it." + +"Now, Tom, you made me pretty angry when you talked to me the other day, +and if you want to get me into another row, I won't object; but I was not +asked for any names, and I did not put the blame on any one. Can't you +believe a fellow?" + +"No, I can't. If that parson hadn't come, I'd have licked you." + +"Perhaps," said John. + +"Isn't any perhaps about it. You look out, that's all." + +John laughed. He was just now what the Squire described as horse-happy +and indisposed to quarrel. "Suppose you wake up the old gentleman. He +_can_ snore." + +Tom shook the doctor's shoulder, "Wake up, Dad. Here's John Penhallow." + +The Doctor sat up and pulled off his handkerchief. The flies fell upon +his bald pate. "Darn the flies," he said. "What is it, John?" + +"My uncle wants you to come to Westways to-morrow and doctor old Josiah's +rheumatism." + +"I'll come." + +"He wants you to look after Peter Lamb. He's been drinking again." + +"What! that whisky-rotted scamp. It's pure waste of time. How the same +milk came to feed the Squire and that beast the Lord knows. He has no +more morals than a tom-cat. I'll come, but it's waste of good doctoring." +Here he turned his rising temper on Tom. "You and my boy have been having +a fight. You licked him and saved me the trouble. I heard from Mr. +Rivers what Tom said." + +"It was no one's business but Tom's and mine," returned John much amused +to know that the peaceful rector must have watched the fight and +overheard what caused it. Tom scowled, and the peacemaking old doctor got +up, adding, "Be more gentle with Tom next time." + +Tom knew better than to reply and went back to pill-making furious and +humiliated. + +"Good-bye, John," said the Doctor. "I'll see the Squire after I have +doctored that whisky sponge." Then John rode home on Dixy. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +Before the period of which I write, the county and town had unfailingly +voted the Democratic ticket. But for half a decade the unrest of the +cities reflected in the journals had been disturbing the minds of country +communities in the Middle States. In the rural districts of Pennsylvania +there had been very little actively hostile sentiment about slavery, but +the never ending disputes over Kansas had at last begun to weaken party +ties, and more and more to direct opinion on to the originating cause of +trouble. + +The small voting population of Westways had begun to suspect of late that +James Penhallow's unwillingness to discuss politics meant some change in +his fidelity to the party of which Buchanan was the candidate. What Mrs. +Ann felt she had rather freely allowed to be known. The little groups +which were apt to gather about the grocer's barrels at evening discussed +the grave question of the day with an interest no previous presidential +canvass had caused, and this side eddy of quiet village life was now +agreeably disturbed by the great currents of national politics. Westways +began to take itself seriously, as little towns will at times, and to ask +how this man or that would vote at the coming election in November. The +old farmers who from his youth still called the Squire "James" were +Democrats. Swallow, the only lawyer the town possessed, was silent, which +was felt as remarkable in a man who usually talked much more than +occasion demanded and wore a habit-mask of good-fellowship, which had +served to deceive many a blunt old farmer, but not James Penhallow. + +At Grey Pine there was a sense of tension. Penhallow was a man slow in +thinking out conclusions, but in times demanding action swiftly decisive. +He had at last settled in his mind that he must leave his party and +follow a leader he had known in the army and never entirely trusted. +Whether he should take an active share in the politics of the county +troubled him, as he had told Rivers. He must, of course, tell his wife +how he had resolved to vote. To speak here and there at meetings, to +throw himself into the contest, was quite another matter. His wife would +feel deeply grieved. Between the two influential feelings the resolution +of forces, as he put it to himself with a sad smile, decided him to hold +his tongue so far as the outer world was concerned, to vote for the +principles unfortunately represented by Fremont, but to have one frank +talk with Ann Penhallow. There was no need to do this as yet, and he +smiled again at the thought that Mrs. Ann was, as he pretty well knew, +playing the game of politics at Westways. He might stop her. He could ask +her to hold her hand, but to let her continue on her way and to openly +make war against her, that he could not do. It did not matter much as the +State in any case would go for Buchanan. He hesitated, and had better +have been plain with her. She knew that he had been long in doubt, but +did not as yet suspect how complete was his desertion of opinions she +held to as she did to her religious creed. He found relief in his +decision, and too in freedom of talk with Rivers, who looked upon slavery +as simply wicked and had no charity for the section so little responsible +for an inherited curse they were now driven by opponent criticism to +consider a blessing for all concerned. + +John too was asking questions and beginning now and then to wonder more +and more that what Westways discussed should never be mentioned at Grey +Pine. He rode Dixy early in the mornings with Leila at his side, fished +or swam in the afternoons, and so the days ran on. On September 30th, Ann +was to take Leila to the school in Maryland. Three days before this +terrible exile was to begin, as they turned in at the gate of the +stable-yard, Leila said, "I have only three days. I want to go and see +the Indian graves and the spring, and all the dear places I feel as if I +shall never see again." + +"What nonsense, Leila. What do you mean?" + +"Oh, Aunt Ann says I will be so changed in a year, I won't know myself." + +"You mean, you won't see things then as they are seen now." + +"Yes, that's what I wanted to say, but you always know how to find the +right words." + +"Perhaps," he said. "Things never look just the same tomorrow, but they +may look--well, nicer--or--I can't always find the right word. Suppose we +walk to the graves after lunch and have a good talk." It was so agreed. + +They were never quite free from the chance of being sent on errands, and +as Aunt Ann showed signs they well knew, they slipped away quietly and +were gone before the ever-busy lady had ready a basket of contributions +to the comfort of a sick woman in the village. They crossed the garden +and were lost to view in the woods before Leila spoke. "We just did it. +Billy will have to go." They laughed merrily at their escape. + +"Just think, John, how long it is since you came. It seems years. Oh, you +_were_ a queer boy! I just hated you." + +"I do suppose, Leila, I must have looked odd with that funny cap and the +cane--" + +"And the way you looked when I told you about swinging on the gate. I +hadn't done that for--oh, two years. What did you think of me?" + +"I thought you were very rude, and then--oh, Leila! when you came up out +of the drift--" He hesitated. + +"Oh, go on; I don't mind--not now." + +"I thought you beautiful with all that splendid hair on the snow." + +"Oh, John! How silly!" Whether or not she was unusually good to look at +had hardly ever before occurred to her. She flushed slightly, pleased and +wondering, with a new seed of gentle vanity planted in her simple nature, +a child on the threshold of the womanly inheritance of maidenhood. + +Then he said gravely, "It is wonderful to me how we have changed. I shall +miss you. To think you are the only girl I ever played with, and now when +you come back at Christmas--" + +"I am not to come back then, John. I am to stay with my uncles in +Baltimore and not come home until next June." + +"You will be a young lady in long skirts and your hair tucked up. It's +dreadful." + +"Can't be helped, John. You will look after Lucy, and write to me." + +"And you will write to me, Leila?" + +"If I may. Aunt says they are very strict. But I shall write to Aunt Ann, +of course." + +"That won't be the same." + +"No." + +They walked on in silence for a little while, the girl gazing idly at +the tall trees, the lad feeling strangely aware, freshly aware, as +they moved, of the great blue eyes and of the sun-shafts falling on +the abundant hair she swept back from time to time with a careless +hand. Presently she stood still, and sat down without a word on the +moss-cushioned trunk of a great spruce, fallen perhaps a century ago. +She was passing through momentary moods of depression or of pleasure as +she thought of change and travel, or nourishing little jealous desires +that her serious-minded cousin should miss her. + +The cousin turned back. "You might have invited me to sit down, Miss +Grey." He laughed, and then as he fell on the brown pine-needles at her +feet and looked up, he saw that her usual quick response to his challenge +of mirth was wanting. + +"What are you thinking about?" he asked. + +"Oh, about Aunt Ann and Uncle Jim, and--and--Lucy, and who will ride +her--" + +"You can trust Uncle Jim about Lucy." + +"I suppose so," said the girl rather dolefully and too near to the tears +she had been sternly taught to suppress. + +"Isn't it queer," he said, "how people think about the same things? I was +just going to speak of Aunt Ann and Uncle Jim. Uncle Jim often talks to +me and to Mr. Rivers about the election, but if I say a word or ask a +question at table, Aunt Ann says, 'we don't talk politics.'" + +"But once, John, I heard Mr. Rivers say that slavery was a curse and +wicked. Uncle Jim, he said Aunt Ann's people held slaves, and he didn't +want to talk about it. I couldn't hear the rest. I told you once about +this." + +"How you hear things, Leila. Prince Fine Ear was a trifle to you." + +"Who was Prince Fine Ear?" she asked. + +"Oh, he was the fairy prince who could hear the grass grow and the roses +talk. It's a pretty French fairy tale." + +"What a gabble there must be in the garden, John." + +"It doesn't need Prince Fine Ear to hear. Don't these big pines talk to +you sometimes, and the wind in the pines--the winds--?" + +"No, they don't, but Lucy does." + +Something like a feeling of disappointment faintly disturbed the play of +his fancies. "Let us go to the graves." + +"Yes, all right, come." + +They got no further than the cabin and again sat down near by, Leila +carelessly gathering the early golden-rod in her lap as they sat leaning +against the cabin logs. + +"This is our last walk," she said, arranging the golden plumes. "There is +a white golden-rod; find me another, John." + +He went away to the back of the cabin and returning threw in her lap a +half dozen. "Old Josiah says the blacks in the South think it is good +luck to find the first white golden-rod. Then, he says, you must have a +luck-wish. What shall it be? Come--quick now." + +"Oh, I--don't know. Yes, I wish to have Lucy at that terrible +boarding-school." + +John laughed. "Oh, Leila, is that the best you can do?" + +"Yes, wish a wish for me, if mine doesn't suit." + +Then he said, "I wish the school had small-pox and you had to stay at +Grey Pine." + +"I didn't think you'd care as much as that. Aren't these flowers +beautiful? Wish me a real wish." + +"Then, I wish that when we grow up you would marry me." + +"Well, John, you are a silly." She took on an air of authoritative +reprimand. "Why, John, you are only a boy, but you ought to know better +than to talk such nonsense." + +"And you," he said, "are just a little girl." + +"Oh, I'm not so very little," returned Miss Grey. + +"When I'm older, I shall ask you again; and if you say no, I'll ask +again--and--until--" + +"What nonsense, John. Let's go home." + +He rose flushed and troubled, and said, "Are you vexed, Leila?" + +"No, of course not; but it was foolish of you." + +He made no reply, in fact hardly heard her. He was for the moment older +in some ways than his years. What had strangely moved him disturbed Leila +not at all. She talked on lightly, laughing at times, and was answered +briefly; for although he had no desire to speak, the unfailing courteous +ways of his foreign education forced him to disregard his desire to say. +"Oh, do let me alone; you don't understand." He hardly understood himself +or the impulsive stir of emotion--a signal of coming manhood. Annoyed by +his unwillingness to talk, she too fell to silence, and they walked +homeward. + +During the time left to them there was much to do in the way of visits to +the older village people and some of the farmer families who had been +here on the soil nearly as long as the Penhallows. There were no other +neighbours near enough for country intercourse, and the life at Grey Pine +offered few attractions to friends or relatives from the cities unless +they liked to tramp with the Squire in search of game. The life was, +therefore, lonely and would for some women have been unendurable; but as +the Baptist preacher said to Rivers, "Duties are enough to satisfy Mrs. +Penhallow, and I do guess she enjoys her own goodness like the angels +must do." + +Mark Rivers answered, "That is pretty nearly true, but I wish she would +not invent duties which don't belong to women." + +"About the election, you mean?" + +"Yes. It troubles me, and I am sure it troubles the Squire. What about +yourself, Grace?" and a singularly sad smile went with the query and a +side glance at his friend's face. He had been uneasy about him since +Grace had bent a little in the House of Rimmon. + +"Oh, Rivers, the roof has got to leak. I have kept away from Mrs. +Penhallow. I can't accept her help and then preach against her party, +and--I mean to do it. I've wrestled with this little sin and--I don't say +I wasn't tempted--I was. Now I am clear. We Baptists can stand what water +leaks down on us from Heaven." + +"You mean to preach politics, Grace?" + +"Yes, that's what I mean to do. Oh! here comes Mrs. Penhallow." + +They had met in front of Josiah's shop. As Mrs. Penhallow approached, Mr. +Grace discovering a suddenly remembered engagement hurried away, and +Rivers went with her along the rough sidewalk of Westways. + +"I go away to-morrow with Leila," she said, "and Mr. Penhallow goes to +Pittsburgh. We shall leave John to you for at least a week. He will give +you no trouble. He has quite lost his foreign boyish ways, and don't you +think he is like my husband?" + +"He is in some ways very like the Squire." + +"Yes, in some things--I so rarely leave home that this journey to +Baltimore with Leila seems to me like foreign travel." + +"Does Leila like it?" + +"No, but it is time she was thrown among girls. She is less than she was +a mere wild boy. It is strange, Mark, that ever since John came she has +been less of a hoyden--and more of a simple girl." + +"It is," he said, "a fine young nature in a strong body. She has the +promise of beauty--whatever that may be worth." + +"Worth! It is worth a great deal," said Mrs. Ann. "It helps. The moral +value of beauty! Ah, Mark Rivers, I should like to discuss that with you. +She is at the ugly duck age. Now I must go home. I want you to look after +some things while I am away, and Mr. Penhallow is troubled about his pet +scamp, Lamb." + +She went on with her details of what he was to do, until he said +laughing, "Please to put it on paper." + +"I will. Not to leave John quite alone, I have arranged for you to dine +with him, and I suppose he will go to you in the mornings for his lessons +as usual." + +"Oh, yes, of course. I enjoy these fellows, but the able ones are John +and Tom McGregor. Tom is in the rough as yet, but he will come out all +right. I shall lose him in a year. He is over seventeen and is to study +medicine. But what about Lamb?" + +"I am wicked enough to wish he were really ill. It is only the usual +drunken bout, but he is a sort of Frankenstein to the Squire because of +that absurd foster-brother feeling. He is still in bed, I presume." + +"As you ask it," said Rivers, "I will see him, but if he belongs to any +flock, he is a black sheep of Grace's fold. Anything else, Mrs. +Penhallow?" he asked smiling--"but don't trust my memory." + +"If I think of anything more, I shall make a note of it and, of course, +you will see us at the station--the ten o'clock train--and give me a list +of the books you wanted. I may find them in Philadelphia." + +"Thank you." + +"Oh," she said, turning back, "I forgot. My cousin, George Grey, is +coming, but he is so uncertain that he may come as he advises me in ten +days, or as is quite possible to-morrow, or not at all." + +"Very good. If he comes, we will try to make Grey Pine agreeable." + +"That is really all, Mark, I think," and the little lady went away, with +a pleasant word for the long familiar people as she went by. + +In the afternoon Leila saw the Squire ride to the mills with John, and +went herself to the stable for a last mournful interview with Lucy. It +was as well that her aunt with unconscious good sense kept her busy until +dinner-time. The girl was near to accepting the relieving bribe of +unrestrained tears, being sad and at the age of those internal conflicts +which at the time of incomplete formation of character are apt to trouble +the more sensitive sex. A good hard gallop would have cured her +anticipative homesickness, for it must be a very black care indeed that +keeps its seat behind the rider. + +The next morning the rector and John were at the station of Westways +Crossroads when the Grey Pine carriage drove up. Mrs. Ann and Leila were +a half hour too early, as was Mrs. Penhallow's habit. Billy was on the +cart with the baggage, grinning as usual and full of self-importance. + +"Well, Billy," said Leila, talking to every one to conceal her +child-grief at this parting with the joyous activities of her energetic +young life. "Well, Billy, it's good-bye for a year." + +"Won't have no more fun, Miss Leila--and nobody to snowball Billy, this +winter." + +"No, not this winter." + +"Found another ground-hog yesterday. I'll let her alone till you come +back." + +John laughed. "Miss Leila will have long skirts and--hoops, Billy. +There will be no more coasting and no more snowballing or digging up +ground-hogs." + +"Hoops--what for?" said Billy. John laughed. + +"Please don't, John," she said, "it's too dreadful. Oh! I hear the +whistle." + +"Mark," said Mrs. Ann, "if George Grey comes--James, did you leave the +wine-closet key?" + +"Yes, my dear." + +He turned to Leila, and kissing her said, "A year is soon over. Be a good +girl, my child. It is about as bad for me as for you. God bless you. +There, get on, Ann. Yes, the trunks are all right. Good-bye." + +He stood a moment with John looking after the vanishing train. Then, he +said, "No need to stay here with me, Mark," and the rector understanding +him left him waiting for the westbound train and walked home across the +fields with John Penhallow. + +John was long silent, but at last said, "It will be pretty lonesome +without Leila." + +"Nice word, lonesome, John. Old English, I believe--has had its +adventures like some other words. Lonely doesn't express as well the idea +of being alone and sorrowful. We must do our best for your uncle and +aunt. Your turn to leave us will come, and then Leila will be lonesome." + +"I don't think she will care as much." + +Rivers glanced at the strong young face. "Why do you say that?" + +"I don't know, Mr. Rivers. I--she is more of a child than I am." + +"That hardly answers my question. But I must leave you. I am going +to see that scamp misnamed Lamb. See you at dinner. Don't cultivate +lonesomeness, John. No one is ever really alone." + +Leaving his pupil to consider what John thought rather too much of an +enigma, the young clergyman took to the dusty highway which led to +Westways. John watched the tall figure awkwardly climbing a snake fence, +and keeping in mind for explanation the clergyman's last remark he went +away through the woods. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +Penhallow had gravely told John that in his absence he must look after +the stables and the farm, so that now he had for the first time in his +life responsibilities. The horses and the stables were to be looked over +every day. Of course, too, he must ride to the Squire's farm, which was +two miles away, and which was considered a model of all that a farm +should be. The crop yield to the acre was most satisfactory, but when +some one of the old Quaker farmers, whose apple-orchards the Squire had +plundered when young, walked over it and asked, "Well, James, how much +did thee clear this last year?" the owner would honestly confess that +Mrs. Ann's kitchen-garden paid better; but then she gave away what the +house did not use. + +Very many years before slavery had become by tacit consent avoided as a +subject for discussion, Mrs. Ann critical of what his farm cost, being +herself country-bred, had said that if it were worked with Maryland +blacks it would pay and pay well. + +"You mean, dear, that if I owned the labour, it would pay." + +"Yes," she returned gaily, "and with me for your farmeress." + +"You are, you are!" he laughed, "and you have cultivated me. I am well +broken to your satisfaction, I trust; but to me, Ann, the unpaid labour +of the slave seems impossible." + +"Oh, James, it is not only possible, but right for us who know what for +all concerned is best." + +"Well, well," he laughed, "the vegetable garden seems to be run at a +profit without them--ah! Ann, how about that?" + +The talk was, as they both knew, more serious than it would have seemed +to any one who might have chanced to be present. The tact born of perfect +love has the certainty of instinct, and to be sensitive even to +tenderness in regard to the prejudices or the fixed opinions of another +does much to insure happiness both in friendship and in love. Here with +these two people was a radical difference of belief concerning what was +to be more and more a hard subject as the differences of sentiment North +and South became sharply defined. Westways and the mills understood her, +and what were her political beliefs, but not the laughingly guarded +silence of the much loved and usually outspoken Squire, who now and then +relieved his mind by talking political history to John or Rivers. + +The stables and farm were seriously inspected and opinions expressed +concerning colts and horses to the amusement of the grooms. He presided +in Penhallow's place at table with some sense of newly acquired +importance, and on the fourth day of his uncle's absence, at Mark +Rivers's request, asked Mr. Grace to join them. The good Baptist was +the more pleased to come in the absence of Mrs. Penhallow, who liking +neither his creed nor his manners, respected the goodness of a life of +self-denial, which, as his friend Rivers knew, really left him with +hardly enough to keep his preaching soul alive. + +"Grace is late, as usual," said Rivers to John. "He has, I believe, no +acquaintance with minutes and no more conception of time than the angels. +Ah! I see him. His table-manners really distress your aunt; but manners +are--well, we will leave that to another time. Good evening, Grace." + +"Glad to see you, sir," said John. + +On a word from Rivers, the guest offered thanks, which somewhat amazed +John by its elaborate repetitions. + +The stout little preacher, carefully tucking his napkin between his paper +shirt-collar and his neck, addressed himself to material illustration of +his thankfulness, while the rector observed with a pitiful interest the +obvious animal satisfaction of the man. John with more amusement saw the +silver fork used for a time and at last abandoned for use of the knife. +Unconsciously happier for an unusually good dinner, Grace accepted a +tumbler of the Penhallow cider, remarking, "I never take spirits, Rivers, +but I suppose cider to be a quite innocent beverage." + +Rivers smiled. "It will do you no harm." + +"It occurs to me, Rivers," said Grace, "that although wine is mentioned +in the Bible, cider is not. There is no warning against its use." + +It also occurred to Rivers that there was none against applejack. "Quite +right," he said. "You make me think of that scamp, Lamb. McGregor tells +me that he is very ill." + +"A pity he wouldn't die," remarked the young host, who had indiscreetly +taken two full tumblers of old hard cider before Rivers had noticed his +unaccustomed use of this rather potent drink. + +"You should not desire the death of any man, John," said Grace, "least of +all the death of a sinner like Lamb." + +"Really," said John with the dignity of just a trifle too much cider, "my +phrase did not admit of your construction." + +"No," laughed Rivers, seeing it well to intervene, "and yet to say it is +a pity may be a kindly wish and leaves it open to charitable +interpretation." + +"He is quite unprepared to die," insisted Grace, with the clerical +intonation which Rivers disliked. + +"How do you know that?" asked Rivers. + +"I know," said John confidently. "He told me he was a born thief and +loved to lie. He was pretty drunk at the time." + +"That is too nearly true to be pleasant," remarked Rivers, "'_in vino +veritas_.' The man is a very strange nature. I think he never forgives a +benefit. I sometimes think he has no sense of the difference between +right and wrong--an unmoral nature, beyond your preaching or mine, Grace, +even if he ever gave us a chance." + +"I think he is a cruel beast," said John. "I saw him once--" + +Rivers interrupted him saying, as he rose, "Suppose we smoke." + +With unconscious imitation of the courteous Squire he represented, John +said, "We will smoke in the library if you have had enough wine." + +Rivers said, "Certainly, Squire," not altogether amused as John, a little +embarrassed, said quickly, "I should have said cider." + +"Of course, we have had no wine, quite a natural mistake," remarked +Grace, which the representative squire felt to be a very disagreeable +comment. + +"You will find cigars and pipes on the table," said the rector, "and I +will join you in a moment." So saying he detained John by a hand on his +arm and led him aside as they crossed the hall. + +"You are feeling that old hard cider, my boy. You had better go to bed. I +should have warned you." + +"Yes, sir--I--did not--I mean--I--" + +"_C'est une diablesse_--a little devil. There are others, and worse ones, +John. Good-night." + +On the stairs the young fellow felt a deepening sense of humiliation +and surprise as he became aware of the value of the banister-rail. + +Rivers went into the library blaming his want of care, and a little sorry +for the lad's evident distress. "What, not smoking, Grace?" + +"No, I have given it up." + +"But, why?" + +"Well, I can't smoke cheap strong tobacco, and I can't afford better +stuff." + +"Then, be at ease, my friend. The Squire has sent me a large supply. I am +to divide with you," which was as near to a fib as the young clergyman +ever got in his blameless life. + +"I shall thank him," returned Grace simply, "and return to my pipe, but I +do sometimes think it is too weak an indulgence of a slavish habit." + +"Hardly worth while to thank Penhallow; he will have forgotten all about +it." + +"But I shall not." + +They smoked and talked politics, and the village and their work, until at +last, after one of the pipe-filling pauses, Grace said, "I ought not to +have taken that cider, but it singularly refreshed me. You did not +partake." + +"No, it disagrees with me." + +"I feel it, Brother Rivers. I feel it slightly, and--I--a man who +preaches temperance, total abstinence--" + +"My dear Grace, that is not temperance. There may be intemperance in +the way a man puts his opinions before others--a man may hurt his own +cause--" + +Grace returned quickly, "You were in our church Wednesday night--I saw +you. You think I was intemperate?" + +"Frankly, yes. You were abusive. You are too well self-governed to +understand the working-man's temptations. You preached from the heart as +you felt, without the charity of the head." + +"Perhaps--perhaps," he returned humbly; and then with a quite gentle +retort, "Don't you sometimes preach too much from the head, Brother +Rivers?" + +"Yes, that may be the case. I am conscious sometimes that I lack your +power of direct appeal--your personal application of the truth. I ought +to preach the first half of the sermon--the appeal to the reason, the +head part--and ask you to conclude with the heart share--the personal +application of my cold logic." + +"Let us try it," said Grace rising and much amused; "cold, Rivers! your +cold logic! There is nothing cold in all your nature. Let us go home; we +have had a good talk." + +As they walked down the avenue Grace said, "What are you doing about +Lamb? Is it really wise to talk to him?" + +"Just now," said the rector, "he has acquired a temporary conscience in +the shape of a congested stomach. I talked to him a little. He is +penitent, or says he is, and as his mother is sometimes absent, I have +set Billy to care for him; some one must. I have found that to keep Billy +on a job you must give him a daily allowance of chewing tobacco; that +answers." + +"Bad company, Brother Rivers." + +"Oh, there is no guile in Billy." + +They parted at the Grey Pine gate. Rivers had innocently prepared remote +mischief, which by no possible human foresight could he have anticipated. +When, walking in the quiet of a lonely wood, a man sets his foot on a +dead branch, the far end stirs another, and the motion so transmitted +agitates a half dozen feet away the leaves of a group of ferns. The man +stops and suspects some little woodland citizen as the cause of the +unexplained movement; thus it is in the affairs of life. We do some +innocent thing and are puzzled to explain how it brings about remote +mischief. + +Meanwhile an unendurable craving for drink beset the man Lamb, who was +the prey of slowly lessening delusions. Guardian Billy chewed his daily +supply of tobacco and sat at the window in the hot second-storey room +feeding Lamb with brief phrases concerning what he saw on the street. + +"Oh! there go Squire's horses for exercise; Joe's on Lucy." + +"Damn Lucy! Do you go to mother's room--" + +"What for?" + +"Oh, she keeps her money in it, and Mrs. Penhallow paid her in advance +the day she left." + +"Can't do it," said Billy, who had strict orders not to leave Lamb alone. + +"Oh, just look in the top drawer. She keeps a bit of money rolled up in +one of her stockings. That will get me a little whisky and you lots of +tobacco." + +"Can't do it," said Billy. "Want me to steal? Won't do it." + +"Then I'll get even with you some day." + +Billy laughed. "Why I could lick you--like Mr. John licked the doctor's +son. Gosh! there goes Pole's wagon." + +Lamb fell to thought of how to get that whisky. The ingenuity of the man +who craves alcohol or morphia is sometimes surprising even to the most +experienced doctor. The immorality of the means of attainment is never +considered. If, as with Lamb, a lie or worse be needed, there is a +certain satisfaction in having outwitted nurse and doctor. + +On the day after the two clergymen had heard John's final opinion of +Lamb, the bed-fast man received his daily visit from his spiritual +physician, and the clergyman met at the house door the doctor of the +body. "I suppose," said McGregor, "that you and I as concerns this +infernal rascal are under orders from Penhallow and his wife. I at least +have the satisfaction of being paid--" + +"Oh, I am paid, Doctor," the clergyman smiled. + +"Of course, any one and every one who serves that very efficient and +positive saint, Mrs. Penhallow, is paid. She's too terrifyingly good. It +must be--well, inconvenient at times. Now she wants this animal looked +after because of Mrs. Lamb; and the squire has some sort of absurd belief +that because the same breasts that nursed him nursed our patient, he must +befriend the fellow--and he does. Truth is, Rivers, that man's father was +a sodden drunkard but, I am told, not otherwise bad. It's a pretty sure +doom for the child. This man's body has damned his soul, and now the soul +is paying it back in kind." + +"The damnation will be settled elsewhere," said Rivers gravely. "You are +pleading for him when you say he had a father who drank." + +"Well, yes, yes. That is true, but I do confoundedly mistrust him. He +never remembers a kindness and never forgets the smallest injury. But +when Mrs. Penhallow puts a hand on your arm and you look at her, you just +go and do what she wants done. Oh, me too! Let's get out of this +unreasonable sun and see this fellow." + +Billy was chasing blue-bottle flies on the window panes, and the patient +in bed was lying still, flushed, with red eyes. He was slowly recovering +from an attack of delirium tremens and reassembling his scattered wits. + +"Well," said McGregor, "better, I see. Bugs gone?" + +"Yes, sir; but if I had a little, just a nip of whisky to taper off on, +I'd be all right." + +"Not a drop, Peter." + +"I'll die if I don't get it." + +"Then die sober." + +Peter made no reply. McGregor felt his pulse, made his usual careful +examination, and said at last, "Now keep quiet, and in a few days you'll +be well." + +"For God's sake, give me whisky--a little. I'm so weak I can't stand up." + +"No," said McGregor, "it will pass. Now I must go. A word with you, Mr. +Rivers." When outside of the room he said, "We must trust Billy, I +suppose?" + +"Yes, there is no one else." + +"That man is giving his whole mind to thinking how he can get whisky. He +will lie, cheat, steal, do anything to get it." + +"How can he? Neither Billy nor his old mother will help him. He will get +well, Doctor, I suppose?" + +"Yes, I told him he would. More's the pity. He is a permanent nuisance, +up to any wickedness, a hopelessly ruined wild beast." + +"Perhaps," said Rivers; "perhaps. Who can be sure of that?" He despaired +of no one. + +The sadly experienced doctor shook his head. "He will live to do much +mischief. The good die young; you may be sure the wicked do not. In some +ways the man's case has its droll side. Queer case! in some ways +interesting." + +"How is it interesting?" said Rivers. + +"Oh, what he saw--his delusions when he was at his worst." + +"What did he see?" + +"Oh, bugs--snakes--the common symptoms, and at last the 'Wilmot Proviso.' +Imagine it. He knew no more of that than of the physiology of the man in +the moon. He described it as a 'plucked chicken.'" + +"I suppose that was a wild contribution from the endless political talk +of the town." + +"Well, a 'plucked chicken' was not so bad. He saw also 'Bleeding Kansas.' +A 'stuck pig' that was; and more--more, but I must go." + +Rivers went back to the room. "Here is your tobacco, Billy, and wait +downstairs; don't go away." + +The big man turned over in bed as the clergyman entered. "Mr. Rivers. I'm +bad. I might have died. Won't you pray for me?" + +Rivers hesitated, and then fell on his knees at the bedside, his face in +his hands. Peter lay still smiling, grimly attentive. As Rivers rose to +his feet, Lamb said, "Couldn't I have just a little whisky? Doctors don't +always know. I've been in this scrape before, and just a little liquor +does help and it don't do any harm. I can't think, I'm so harried inside. +I can't even pray, and I want to pray. Now, you will, sir, won't you?" + +This mingling of low cunning, of childlike appeal and of hypocrisy, +obviously suggested anything but the Christian charity of reply; what +should he say? Putting aside angry comment, he fell back upon his one +constant resource, What would Christ have said to this sinful man? He +stood so long silent by the bed, which creaked as Lamb sat up, that the +man's agony of morbid thirst caught from his silence a little hope, and +he said, "Now you will, I know." + +Rivers made no direct answer. Was it hopeless? He tried to read the +face--the too thin straight nose, white between dusky red cheeks, the +projecting lower lip, and the lip above it long, the eyes small, red, and +eagerly attentive. This was not the time for reason. He said, "I should +be your worst enemy, Peter. Every one has been good to you; over and over +the Squire has saved you from jail. Mrs. Penhallow asked me to help you. +Try to bear what your sin has brought on you, oh! do try. Pray God for +help to bear it patiently." + +"I'm in hell. What's the use of praying in hell? Get me whisky and I'll +pray." + +Rivers felt himself to be at the end of his resources, and that the +enfeebled mind was incapable of response to any appeal to head or heart. +"I will come again," he said. "Good-bye." + +"Oh, damn everybody," muttered Peter. + +Rivers went out and sent Billy up to take charge. Lamb was still sitting +up in bed when Billy returned. The simple fellow poured out in brief +sentences small bits of what he had seen at the street door. + +"Oh, shut up," said Peter. "The doctor says I'll feel better if I'm +shaved--ain't been shaved these three weeks. Doctor wants you to go and +get Josiah to come and fix me up to-night. You tell him it's the doctor's +orders. Don't you be gone long. I'm kind of lonely." + +"All right," said Billy, in the cheerful way which made him a favourite +despite his disinclination for steady work. + +"Now, don't be gone long. I need a good shave, Billy." + +"Guess you do--way you look you wouldn't fetch five cents at one of them +rummage-sales. Ain't had but one in four years." + +"Oh, get out, Billy." Once rid of his guard he tried in vain to stand up +and fell back cursing. + +The order from the doctor was to be obeyed. "Guess he's too shaky to +shave himself," said Josiah. "I'll come about half-past eight." + +As Josiah walked to the far end of the village, he thought in his simple +way of his last three years. After much wandering and fear of being +traced, he had been used at the stables by Penhallow. That he had been a +slave was suspected, but that troubled no one in Westways. He had long +felt at ease and safe. He lived alone, a man of some forty years, cooked +for himself, and had in the county bank a small amount of carefully saved +earnings. He had his likes and dislikes, but he had the prudently guarded +tongue of servitude. Long before John Penhallow had understood better the +tall black man's position and won the confidence of a friendly hour, he +saw with his well-bred courtesy how pleased was the man to be called Mr. +Josiah. It sounded queer, as Pole remarked, to call a runaway darkey +Mister, but this in no way disturbed John. The friendly feeling for the +black grew as they fished together in the summer afternoons, or trapped +muskrats, or dug up hellbenders. The barber had one half-concealed +dislike. The man he was now to shave he both feared and hated. "Couldn't +tell you why, Master John. It's like the way Crocker's wife's 'feared of +cats. They ain't never hurt her none." + +"Well," he said, "here I am," and in unusual silence set about his work +by dim candlelight. The patient was as silent. When Josiah had finished, +he said no word of his fee, knowing it to be a hopeless debt. + +"Guess you do look the better for a shave," he remarked, as he was about +to leave. "I'll send up Billy." The uneasy guardian had seized on the +chance to get a little relief. + +"No, don't go," said Lamb. "I'm in a hell of thirst. I want you to get me +some whisky. I'll pay you when I get work." + +Josiah was prudent and had no will to oblige the drunkard nor any belief +in future repayment. "Couldn't do that--doctor wouldn't like it." + +"What, you won't do it?" + +"No, I can't do it." + +"If you don't, I'll tell what I know about you." + +"What do you know?" The long lost terror returned--but what could he +know? + +"Oh, you ran away--I know all about it. You help me now and I'll keep +quiet--you'd better." + +A fierce desire rose in the mind of Josiah to kill the rascal, and then, +by long habit prudent, he said, "I'll have to think about it." But what +could this man know? + +"Best to think damn quick, or you'll have your old master down on you. I +give you till to-morrow morning early. Do you hear? It's just a nip of +whisky I want." + +"Yes, I hear--got to think about it." He went out into the night, a soul +in fear. No one knew his former master's name. Then his very good +intelligence resumed control. No one really knew--only John--and he very +little. He put it aside, confident in the young fellow's discretion. Of +course, the town suspected that he was a fugitive slave, but nobody cared +or seemed to care. And yet, at times in his altogether prosperous happy +years of freedom, when he read of the fugitive-slave act, and he read +much, he had disturbing hours. He stood still a moment and crossed the +road. The Episcopal church, which he punctually attended, was on +Penhallow's land, and near by was the rectory where Mark lived with an +old woman cook and some help from Mrs. Lamb. The night was warm, the +windows were open, and the clergyman was seen writing. Josiah at the +window spoke. + +"Excuse me, sir, could I talk to you? I am in a heap of trouble." + +"In trouble, Josiah? Come in, the front door is open." + +As he entered the rector's study, Rivers said, "Sit down." + +Something in the look of the man made him think of hunted animals. "No +one else is in the house. What is it?" The black poured out his story. + +"So then," said Rivers, "he lied to you about the doctor and threatened +you with a lie. Why, Josiah, if he had known who was your master, he +would have told you, and whether or not you ran away from slavery is none +of his business. Mr. Penhallow believes you did, others suspect it, but +no one cares. You are liked and you have the respect of the town. There +would be trouble if any man tried to claim you." + +"I'd like to tell you all about it, sir." + +"No--no--on no account. Tell no one. Now go home. I will settle with that +drunken liar." + +"Thank you. May God bless--and thank you." + +The clergyman sat in thought a while, and the more he considered the +matter which he had made light of to the scared black, the less he liked +it. He dismissed it for a time as a lie told to secure whisky, but the +fear Josiah showed was something pitiful in this strong black giant. He +knew Lamb well enough to feel sure that Josiah would now have in him an +enemy who was sure in some way to get what he called "even" with the +barber, and was a man known and spoken of in Westways as "real spiteful." + +When next day Rivers entered the room where Lamb lay abed, he saw at once +that he was better. He meant to make plain to a revengeful man that +Josiah had friends and that the attempt to blackmail him would be +dangerous. Lamb was sitting up in bed apparently relieved, and was +reading a newspaper. The moment he spoke Rivers knew that he was a far +more intelligent person than the man of yesterday. + +Lamb said, "Billy, set a chair for Mr. Rivers. The heat's awful for +October." Billy obeyed and stepped out glad to escape. + +Rivers said, "No, I won't sit down. I have something to say to you, and I +advise you to listen. You lied to Billy about the doctor yesterday, and +you tried to frighten Josiah into getting you whisky--you lied to him." + +Josiah had not returned, and now it was plain that he had told the +clergyman of the threat. Lamb was quick to understand the situation, and +the cleverness of his defence interested and for a moment half deceived +the rector. + +"Who says I lied? Maybe I did. I don't remember. It's just like a +dream--I don't feel nowise accountable. If--I--abused Josiah, I'm sorry. +He did shave me. Let me think--what was it scared Josiah?" He had the +slight frown of a man pursuing a lost memory. + +"It is hardly worth while, Peter, to go into the matter if you don't +recall what you said." He realized that the defence was perfect. Its too +ready arguments added to his disbelief in its truth. + +Lamb was now enjoying the game. "Was Josiah really here, sir? But, of +course, he was, for he shaved me. I do remember that. Won't you sit down, +sir?" + +"No, I must go. I am pleased to find you so much better." + +"Thank you, sir. I don't want whisky now. I'll be fit for work in a week +or so. I wonder what I did say to Josiah?" + +This was a little too much for Rivers's patience. "Whatever you said had +better never be said again or you will find yourself in very serious +trouble with Mr. Penhallow." + +"Why, Mr. Rivers, I know I drink, and then I'm not responsible, but how +could I say to that poor old darkey what I don't mind I said yesterday?" + +"Well, you may chance to remember," said Rivers; "at least I have done my +duty in warning you." + +"I'd like, sir," returned Lamb, leaning forward with his head bent and +uplift of lids over watchful eyes--"Oh, I want you to know how much I +thank you, sir, for all your kind--" + +"You may credit the Squire for that. Good-bye," and he went out. + +Neither man had been in the least deceived, but the honours of the game +were with the big man in the bed, which creaked under his weight as he +fell back grinning in pleased self-approval. "Damn that black cuss," he +muttered, "and the preacher too. I'll make them sorry." + +At the outer doorstep Mark Rivers stood still and wiped the sweat from +his forehead. There must be minutes in the life of the most spiritually +minded clergyman when to bow a little in the Rimmon House of the gods of +profane language would be a relief. He may have had the thought, for he +smiled self-amused and remembered his friend Grace. Then he took himself +to task, reflecting that he should have been more gently kind, and was +there not some better mode of approaching this man? Was he not a spirit +in prison, as St. Peter said? What right had he with his beliefs to +despair of any human soul? Then he dismissed the matter and went home to +his uncompleted sermon. He would have to tell the Squire; yes, that would +be advisable. + +The days at Grey Pine ran on in the routine of lessons, riding, and +the pleasure for John of representing his uncle in the oversight of the +young thoroughbred colts and the stables. Brief talks with Rivers of +books and politics filled the after-dinner hour, and when he left John +fell with eagerness on the newspapers of the day. His uncle's mail he +forwarded to Pittsburgh, and heard from him that he would not return +until mid-October. His aunt would be at home about the 8th, and Leila +was now at her school. The boy felt the unaccustomed loneliness, and most +of all the absence of Leila. One letter for his aunt lay on the hall +table. It came too late to be sent on its way, nor had she asked to have +letters forwarded. + +Two days before her return was to be expected, when John came down +dressed for dinner, he found Mr. Rivers standing with his back to a fire, +which the evening coolness of October in the hills made desirable. The +rector was smiling. + +"Mr. George Grey came just after you went upstairs. It seems that he +wrote to your aunt the letter on the table in the hall. As no one met him +at Westways Crossing, he was caught in a shower and pretty well soaked +before he got some one to bring him to Grey Pine. I think he feels rather +neglected." + +"Has he never been here before?" asked John, curious in regard to the +guest who he thought, from hearing his aunt speak of him, must be a +person of importance. + +"No, not for a long while. He is only a second cousin of Mrs. Penhallow; +but as all Greys are for her--well, _the_ Greys--we must do our best to +make it pleasant for him until your aunt and uncle return." + +"Of course," said John, with some faint feeling that it was needless to +remind him, his uncle's representative, of his duties as the host. Rivers +said, smiling, "It may not be easy to amuse Mr. Grey. I did not tell you +that your aunt wrote me, she will not be here until the afternoon train +on the 9th. Ah! here is Mr. Grey." + +John was aware of a neatly built, slight man in middle life, clad in a +suit of dark grey. He came down the stairs in a leisurely way. "Not much +of a Grey!" thought Rivers, as he observed the clean-shaven face, which +was sallow, or what the English once described as olivaster, the eyes +small and dark, the hair black and so long as to darkly frame the +thin-featured, clean-shaven refinement of a pleasant and now smiling +face. + +John went across the hall to receive him, saying, "I am John Penhallow, +sir. I am sorry we did not know you were to be here to-day." + +"It is all right--all right. Rather chilly ride. Less moisture outside +and more inside would have been agreeable; in fact, would be at present, +if I may take the liberty." + +Seeing that the host did not understand him, Rivers said promptly, "I +think, John, Mr. Grey is pleasantly reminding us that we should offer him +some of your uncle's rye." + +"Of course," said John, who had not had the dimmest idea what the +Maryland gentleman meant. + +Mr. Grey took the whisky slowly, remarking that he knew the brand, +"Peach-flavoured, sir. Very good, does credit to Penhallow's taste. As +Mr. Clay once remarked, the mellowing years, sir, have refined it." + +"Dinner is ready," said John. + +There was no necessity to entertain Mr. Grey. He talked at length, what +James Penhallow later described as "grown-up prattle." Horses, the crops, +and at length the proper methods of fining wine--a word of encouragement +from Rivers set him off again. Meanwhile the dinner grew cold on his +plate. At last, abruptly conscious of the lingering meal, Mr. Grey said, +"This comes, sir, of being in too interesting society." + +Was this mere quaint humour, thought Rivers; but when Grey added, "I +should have said, sir, too interested company," he began to wonder at the +self-absorption of what was evidently a provincial gentleman. At last, +with "Your very good health!" he took freely of the captain's Madeira. + +Rivers, who sipped a single glass slowly, was about to rise when to his +amusement, using his uncle's phrase, John said, "My uncle thinks that +Madeira and tobacco do not go well together; you may like to smoke in the +library." + +Grey remarked, "Quite right, as Henry Clay once said, 'There is nothing +as melancholy as the old age of a dinner; who, sir, shall pronounce its +epitaph?' That, sir, I call eloquence. No more wine, thank you." As he +spoke, he drew a large Cabana from his waistcoat pocket and lighted it +from one of the candles on the table. + +Rivers remarked, "We will find it warmer in the library." + +When the two men settled down to pipe or cigar at the library fire, John, +who had felt the role of host rather difficult, was eager to get a look +at the _Tribune_ which lay invitingly on the table, and presently caught +the eye of Mr. Grey. + +"I see you have the _Tribune_" he said. "A mischief-making +paper--devilish. I presume Penhallow takes it to see what the other +side has to say. Very wise, sir, that." + +Rivers, unwilling to announce his friend's political opinions, said, +smiling, "I must leave Mr. Penhallow to account for that wicked journal." + +Grey sat up with something like the alert look of a suddenly awakened +terrier on his thin face. "I presume the captain (he spoke of him usually +as the captain) must be able to control a good many votes in the village +and at the iron-works." + +"I rather fancy," said Rivers, "that he has taken no active part in the +coming election." + +"Unnecessary, perhaps. It is, I suppose, like my own county. We haven't a +dozen free-soil voters. 'Bleeding Kansas' is a dead issue with us. It is +bled to death, politically dead, sir, and buried." + +"Not here," said John imprudently. "Uncle James says Buchanan will carry +the State by a small majority, but he may not carry this county." + +"Then he should see to it," said Grey. "Elect Fremont, my boy, and the +Union will go to pieces. Does the North suppose we will endure a +sectional President? No, sir, it would mean secession--the death-knell of +the Union. Sir, we may be driven to more practical arguments by the +scurrilous speeches of the abolitionists. It is an attack on property, on +the ownership of the inferior race by the supremely superior. That is +the vital question." + +He spoke with excitement and gesticulated as if at a political meeting. +Mark Rivers, annoyed, felt a strong inclination to box John's ears. He +took advantage of the pause to say, "Would you like a little more rye, +Mr. Grey?" + +"Why, yes, sir. I confess to being a trifle dry. But to resume our +discussion--" + +"Pardon me. John, ask for the whisky." + +To John this was interesting and astonishing. He had never heard talk as +wild. The annoyance on Rivers's face was such as to be easily read by the +least observant. Elsewhere Mr. Rivers would have had a ready answer, but +as Grey sat still a little while enjoying his own eloquence, the fire and +the whisky, Rivers's slight negative hint informed John that he was to +hold his tongue. + +As the clergyman turned to speak to Grey, the latter said, "I wish to add +a word more, sir. You will find that the men at the South cling to State +rights; if these do not preserve for me and others my property and the +right, sir, to take my body-servant to Boston or Kansas, sure that he +will be as secure as my--my--shirt-studs, State rights are of no +practical use." + +"You make it very plain," said Rivers, feeling at last that he must +defend his own opinions. "I have myself a few words to say--but, is that +all?" + +"Not quite--not quite. I am of the belief that the wants of the Southern +States should be considered, and the demand for their only possible +labour considered. I would re-open the slave-trade. I may shock you, +reverend sir, but that is my opinion." + +"And, as I observe," said Rivers, "that also of some governors of +States." He disliked being addressed as "reverend," and knew how +Penhallow would smile when captained. + +There was a brief silence, what Rivers used to call the punctuation value +of the pipe. The Maryland gentleman was honestly clear in the statement +of his political creed, and Rivers felt some need to be amiable and +watchful of his own words in what he was longing to say. John listened, +amazed. He had had his lesson in our history from two competent masters +and was now intensely interested as he listened to the ultimate creed of +the owner of men. + +Grey had at last given up the cigar he had lighted over and over and let +go out as often. He set down his empty glass, and said with perfect +courtesy, "I may have been excessive in statement. I beg pardon for +having spoken of, or rather hinted at, the need for a resort to arms. +That is never a pleasant hint among gentlemen. I should like to hear how +this awful problem presents itself to you, a clergyman of, sir, I am glad +to know, my own church." + +"Yes, that is always pleasant to hear," said Rivers. "There at least we +are on common ground. I dislike these discussions, Mr. Grey, but I cannot +leave you without a reply, although in this house (and he meant the hint +to have its future usefulness) politics are rarely discussed." + +"Indeed!" exclaimed Grey. "At home we talk little else. I do believe the +watermelons and the pumpkins talk politics." + +Rivers smiled. "I shall reply to you, of course. It will not be a full +answer. I want to say that this present trouble is not a quarrel born +within the memory of any living man. The colonial life began with +colonial differences and aversions due to religion--Puritan, Quaker +and Church of England, intercolonial tariffs and what not. For the +planter-class we were mere traders; they for us were men too lightly +presumed to live an idle life of gambling, sport and hard drinking--a +life foreign to ours. The colonies were to one another like foreign +countries. In the Revolution you may read clearly the effect of these +opinions, when Washington expressed the wish that his officers would +forget that they came from Connecticut or Virginia, and remember only +they were Americans." + +Grey said, "We did our share, sir." + +"Yes, but all Washington's important generals were Northern men; but that +is not to the point. Washington put down the whisky-tax revolt with small +regard for State rights. The Constitution unhappily left those State +rights in a condition to keep up old differences. That is clear, I +regret to say. Then came the tariff and a new seed of dissension. +Slavery and its growing claims added later mischief, but it was not the +only cause of our troubles, nor is it to-day with us, although it is with +you, the largest. We have tried compromises. They are of the history of +our own time, familiar to all of us. Well, Mr. Grey, the question is +shall we submit to the threat of division, a broken land and its +consequences?--one moment and I have done. I am filled with gloom when I +look forward. When nations differ, treaties or time, or what not, may +settle disputes; too often war. But, Mr. Grey, never are radical, civil +or religious differences settled without the sword, if I have read +history aright. You see," and he smiled, "I could not let pass your hint +without a word." + +"If it comes to that--to war," said Grey, "we would win. In that belief +lies the certainty I dread." + +"Ah! sir, in that Southern belief lies the certainty I too dread. You +think we live merely lives of commerce. You do not realise that there is +with us a profound sentiment of affection for the Union. No people +worth anything ever lived without the very human desire of national +self-preservation. It has the force of a man's personal desire for +self-preservation. Pardon me, I suppose that I have the habit of the +sermon." + +Grey replied, "You are very interesting, but I am tired. A little more +rye, John. I must adjourn this discussion--we will talk again." + +"Not if I can help it," laughed Rivers. "I ought to say that I shall vote +the Republican ticket." + +"I regret it--I deeply regret it. Oh! thanks, John." He drank the whisky +and went upstairs to bed. + +Rivers sat down. "This man is what I call a stateriot. I am or try to be +that larger thing, a patriot. I did not say all, it was useless. Your +uncle cares little--oh, too little--about slavery, and generally the +North cares as little; but the antislavery men are active and say, as did +Washington, that the Union of the States was or will be insecure until +slavery comes to an end. It may be so, John; it is the constant seed of +discord. I would say, let them go in peace, but that would be only to +postpone war to a future day. I rarely talk about this matter. What made +you start him? You ought to have held your tongue." + +The young fellow smiled. "Yes, sir, I suppose so." + +"However, we won't have it again if I can help it." + +"It was very interesting." + +"Quite too interesting, but will he try it on the Squire and your aunt? +Now I am going home. I hate these talks. Don't sit up and read the +_Tribune_." + +"No, sir, and I will take Mr. Grey to ride to-morrow." + +"Do, and send him home too tired to talk politics." + +"I think if I put him on uncle's big John it will answer." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +While the two maids from Westways waited on the family at breakfast, the +guest was pleased to express himself favourably in regard to the coffee +and the corn bread. John being left alone in care of the guest after the +meal proposed a visit to the stables. Mr. Grey preferred for a time the +fire, and later would like to walk to the village. Somewhat relieved, +John found for him the Baltimore paper, which Mrs. Penhallow read daily. +Mr. Grey would not smoke, but before John went away remarked, "I +perceive, my boy, no spittoon." He was chewing tobacco vigorously and +using the fireplace for his frequent expectoration. John, a little +embarrassed, thought of his Aunt Ann. The habit of chewing was strange to +the boy's home experience. Certainly, Billy chewed, and others in the +town, nor was it at that time uncommon at the North. He confided his +difficulty to the groom, his boxing-master, who having in his room the +needed utensil placed it beside the hall-fire, to Mr. Grey's +satisfaction--a square tray of wood filled with sawdust. + +"Not ornamental, but useful, John, in fact essential," said Mr. Grey, as +John excused himself with the statement that he had to go to school. When +he returned through the woods, about noon, to his relief he saw far down +the avenue Mr. Grey and the gold-headed, tasselled cane he carried. + +A little later Mr. Grey in the sun of a cool day early in October was +walking along the village street in keen search of news of politics. He +talked first to Pole, the butcher, who hearing that he was a cousin of +Mrs. Penhallow assured him that the town would go solid for Buchanan. +Then he met Billy, who was going a-fishing, having refused a wood-cutting +job the rector offered. + +"A nice fishing-rod that," said Grey. + +Billy who was bird-witted and short of memory replied, "Mrs. Penhallow +she gave me a dollar to pay pole-tax if I vote for--I guess it was +Buchanan. I bought a nice fishing-pole." + +Grey was much amused and agreeably instructed in regard to Mrs. Ann's +sentiments, as he realized the simple fellow's mental condition. "A +fishing-pole-tax--well--well--" and would tell John of his joke. "Any +barber in this town?" he asked. + +"Yes, there's Josiah," and Billy was no longer to be detained. + +Mr. Grey mailed a letter, but the post-mistress would not talk politics +and was busy. At last, wandering eastward, he came upon the only +unoccupied person in Westways. Peter Lamb, slowly recovering strength, +was seated on his mother's doorstep. His search for money had been +defeated by the widow's caution, and the whisky craving was being felt +anew. + +"Good morning," said Grey. "You seem to be the only man here with nothing +to do." + +"Yes, sir. I've been sick, and am not quite fit to work. Sickness is hard +on a working man, sir." + +Grey, a kindly person, put his hand in his pocket, "Quite right, it is +hard. How are the people here going to vote? I hope the good old ticket." + +"Oh! Buchanan and Breckenridge, sir, except one or two and the darkey +barber. He's a runaway--I guess. Been here these three or four years. +Squire likes him because he's clever about breaking colts." + +"Indeed!" + +"He's a lazy nigger, sir; ought to be sent back where he belongs." + +"What is his name? I suppose he can shave me." + +"Calls himself Josiah," said Peter. "Mighty poor barber--cut my face last +time he shaved me. You see, he's lost two fingers--makes him awkwarder." + +"What! what!" said Grey, of a sudden reflecting, "two fingers--" + +"Know him?" said Lamb quickly. + +"I--no--Do you suppose I know every runaway nigger?" + +"Oh, of course not. Might I ask your name, sir?" + +"I am a cousin of Mrs. Penhallow. My name is Grey." Peter became cautious +and silent. "Here is a little help, my man, until you get work. Stick to +the good old Party." He left two dollars in Lamb's eager hands. + +Surprised at this unusual bounty, Peter said, "Thank you, sir. God bless +you. It'll be a great help." It meant for the hapless drinker whisky, and +he was quick to note the way in which Grey became interested in the man +who had lost fingers. + +Grey lingered. "I must risk your barber's awkwardness," he said. + +"Oh, he can shave pretty well when he's sober. He's our only darkey, sir. +You can't miss him. I might show you his shop." This Grey declined. + +"I suppose, sir," said Peter, curious, "all darkies look so much alike +that it is hard to tell them apart." + +"Oh, not for us--not for us." + +Then Peter was still more sure that the gentleman with the gold-headed +cane was from the South. As Grey lingered thoughtful, Lamb was +maliciously inspired by the size of Grey's donation and the prospect it +offered. He studied the face of the Southern gentleman and ventured to +say, "Excuse me, sir, but if you want to get that man back--" + +"I want him! Good gracious! I did not own him. My inquiries were, I might +say, casual, purely casual." + +Lamb, thanks to the Penhallows, had had some education at the school for +the mill children, but what was meant by "purely casual" he did not know. +If it implied lack of interest, that was not the case, or why the +questions and this gift, large for Westways. But if the gentleman did not +own Josiah's years of lost labour, some one else did, and who was it? + +As Grey turned away, he said, "I may see you again. I am with my cousin +at Grey Pine. By the bye, how will the county vote?" + +Peter assured him that the Democratic Party would carry the county. "I am +glad," said Grey, "that the people, the real backbone of the country, +desire to do justice to the South." He felt himself on the way to another +exposition of constitutional rights, but realising that it was unwise +checked the outflow of eloquence. He could not, however, refrain from +adding, "Your people then are a law-abiding community." + +"Yes, sir," said the lover of law, "we are just that, and good sound +Democrats." + +Grey, curious and mildly interested, determined to be reassured in regard +to this black barber's former status. He walked slowly by Josiah's shop +followed at a distance by Peter. The barber was shaving Mr. Pole, and +intent on his task. Grey caught sight of the black's face. One look was +enough--it was familiar--unmistakable. In place of going in to be shaved +he turned away and quickened his steps. Peter grinned and went home. "The +darn nigger horse-thief," murmured Grey. "I'll write to Woodburn." Then +he concluded that first it would be well without committing himself to +know more surely how far this Democratic community would go in support of +the fugitive-slave law. He applauded his cautiousness. + +A moment later Pole, well shaven, overtook him. Grey stopped him, chatted +as they went on, and at last asked if there was in Westways a good +Democratic lawyer. Pole was confident that Mr. Swallow would be all that +he could desire, and pointed out his house. + +Meanwhile Peter Lamb began to suspect that there was mischief brewing for +the man who had brought down on him the anger of Mark Rivers, and like +enough worse things as soon as Penhallow came home. + +As Pole turned into his shop-door, Mr. Grey went westward in deep +thought. He was sure of the barber's identity. If Josiah had been his own +property, he would with no hesitation have taken the steps needful to +reclaim the fugitive, but it was Mr. Woodburn who had lost Josiah's years +of service and it was desirable not hastily to commit his friend. He knew +with what trouble the fugitive-slave law had been obeyed or not obeyed at +the North. He was not aware that men who cared little about slavery were +indignant at a law which set aside every safeguard with which the growth +of civilization had surrounded the trial of even the worst criminal. As +he considered the situation, he walked more and more slowly until he +paused in front of Swallow's house. Every one had assured him that since +General Jackson's time the town and county had changelessly voted the +good old Democratic ticket. Here at least the rights of property would be +respected, and there would be no lawless city mobs to make the +restoration of a slave difficult. The brick house and ill-kept garden +before which he paused looked unattractive. Beside the house a one-storey +wooden office bore the name "Henry W. Swallow, Attorney-at-law." There +was neither bell nor knocker. Mr. Grey rapped on the office door with his +cane, and after waiting a moment without hearing any one, he entered a +front room and looked about him. + +Swallow was a personage whose like was found too often in the small +Pennsylvania villages. The only child of a close-fisted, saving farmer, +he found himself on his father's death more than sufficiently well-off to +go to college and later to study law. He was careful and penurious, but +failing of success in Philadelphia returned to Westways when about thirty +years old, bought a piece of land in the town, built a house, married a +pretty, commonplace young woman, and began to look for business. There +was little to be had. The Squire drew his own leases and sold lands to +farmers unaided. Then Swallow began to take interest in politics and to +lend money to the small farmers, taking mortgages at carefully guarded, +usurious interest. Merciless foreclosures resulted, and as by degrees his +operations enlarged, he grew richer and became feared and important in a +county community where money was scarce. Some of his victims went in +despair to the much loved Squire for help, and got, over and over, +relief, which disappointed Swallow who disliked him as he did no other +man in the county. The Squire returned his enmity with contemptuous +bitterness and entire distrust of the man and all his ways. + +Mr. Grey saw in the further room the back of a thin figure in a white +jacket seated at a desk. The man thus occupied on hearing his entrance +said, without looking back, "Sit down, and in a moment I'll attend to +you." + +Grey replied, "In a moment you won't see me;" and, his voice rising, "I +am accustomed to be treated with civility." + +Swallow rose at once, and seeing a well-dressed stranger said, "Excuse +me, I was drawing a mortgage for a farmer I expected. Take a seat. I am +at your service." + +Somewhat mollified, Grey sat down. As he took his seat he was not at all +sure of what he was really willing to say or do. He was not an indecisive +person at home, but here in a Northern State, on what might be hostile +ground, he was in doubt concerning that which he felt he honourably owed +as a duty to his neighbour. The word had for him limiting definitions, +as indeed it has for most of us. Resolving to be cautious, he said with +deliberate emphasis, "I should like what I have to say to be considered, +sir, as George Washington used to remark, as 'under the rose'--a strictly +professional confidence." + +"Of course," said Swallow. + +"My name is George Grey. I am at Grey Pine on a visit to my cousin, Mrs. +Penhallow." + +"A most admirable lady," said the lawyer; "absent just now, I hear." He +too determined on caution. + +"I have been wandering about your quiet little town this morning and made +some odd acquaintances. One Billy, he called himself, most amusing--most +amusing. It seems that my cousin gave him money to pay his poll-tax. The +poor simple fellow bought a fishing-pole and line. He was, I fancy, to +vote for Buchanan. My cousin, I infer, must be like all our people a +sound Democrat." + +"I have heard as much," returned Swallow. "I am doing what I can for the +party, but the people here are sadly misled and our own party is slowly +losing ground." + +"Indeed! I talked a little with a poor fellow named Lamb, out-of-work and +sick. He assured me that the town was solid for Buchanan, and also the +county." + +Swallow laughed heartily. "What! Peter Lamb. He is our prize drunkard, +sir, and would have been in jail long ago but for Penhallow. They are +foster-brothers." + +"Indeed!" Mr. Grey felt that his knowledge of character had been sadly +at fault and that he had been wise in not having said more to the man +out-of-work. + +"Do you think, Mr. Swallow, that if a master reclaimed a slave in this +county that there would be any trouble in carrying out the law?" + +"No, sir," said Swallow. "The county authorities are all Democrats and +would obey the law. Suppose, sir, that you were frankly to put before me +the whole case, relying on my secrecy. Where is the man?" + +"Let me then tell you my story. As a sound Democrat it will at least have +your sympathy." + +"Certainly, I am all attention." + +"About the tenth of June over four years ago I rode with my friend +Woodburn into our county-town. At the bank we left our horses with his +groom Caesar, an excellent servant, much trusted; used to ride quarter +races for my father when a boy. When we came out, Woodburn's horse was +hitched to a post and mine was gone, and that infernal nigger on him. He +was traced to the border, but my mare had no match in the county." + +"So he stole the horse; that makes it an easy case." + +"No, sir. To be precise, he left the horse at a tavern in this State, +with my name and address. Some Quakers helped him on his way." + +"And he is in this county?" asked Swallow. + +"Yes, sir. His name here is Josiah--seems to be known by that name +alone." + +"Josiah!" gasped Swallow. "A special favourite of Penhallow. A case to be +gravely considered--most gravely. The Squire--" + +"But surely he will obey the law." + +"Yes--probably--but who can say? He was at one time a Democrat, but now +is, I hear, likely to vote for Fremont." + +"That seems incredible." + +"And yet true. I should like, sir, to think the matter over for a day or +two. Did the man see you--I mean, recognize you?" + +"No, but as I went by his shop, I at once recognized him; and he has lost +two fingers. Oh! I know the fellow. I can swear to him, and it is easy to +bring his master Woodburn here." + +"I see. Well, let me think it over for a day or two." + +"Very good," returned Grey, "and pray consider yourself as in my debt for +your services." + +"All right, Mr. Grey." + +With this Mr. Grey went away a thoughtful man. He attracted some +attention as he moved along the fronts of the houses. Strangers were +rare. Being careful not to go near Josiah's little shop, he crossed the +road and climbing the fence went through the wood, reflecting that until +this matter was settled he would feel that his movements must be +unpleasantly governed by the need to avoid Josiah. He felt this to be +humiliating. Other considerations presented themselves in turn. This +ungrateful black had run away with his, George Grey's, horse--a personal +wrong. His duty to Woodburn was plain. Then, if this black fellow was as +Swallow said, a favourite of Captain Penhallow, to plan his capture while +himself a guest in Penhallow's house was rather an awkward business. +However, he felt that he must inform his friend Woodburn, after which he +would turn him over to Swallow and not appear in the business at all. It +did not, however, present itself to the Maryland gentleman as a nice +situation. If his cousin Ann were, as he easily learned, a strong +Democrat, it might be well to sound her on the general situation. She had +lived half her life among slaves and those who owned them. She would know +how far Penhallow was to be considered as a law-abiding citizen, or +whether he might be offended, for after all, as George Grey knew, his own +share in the matter would be certain to become known. "A damned +unpleasant affair," he said aloud as he walked up the avenue, "but we as +Southern gentlemen have got to stand by one another. I must let Woodburn +know, and decide for himself." + +Neither was the lawyer Swallow altogether easy about the matter on which +he had desired time for thought. It would be the first case in the county +under the fugitive-slave act. If the man were reclaimed, he, Swallow, +would be heard of all through the State; but would that help him before +the people in a canvass for the House? He could not answer, for the old +political parties were going to pieces and new ones were forming. +Moreover, Josiah was much liked and much respected. Then, too, there was +the fee. He walked about the room singularly disturbed. Some prenatal +fate had decreed that he should be old-aged at forty. He had begun to be +aware that his legs were aging faster than his mind. Except the pleasure +of accumulating money, which brought no enjoyment, he had thus far no +games in life which interested him; but now the shifting politics of the +time had tempted him, and possibly this case might be used to his +advantage. The black eyebrows under fast whitening hair grew together in +a frown, while below slowly gathered the long smile of satisfaction. "How +Penhallow will hate it." This thought was for him what the stolen mare +was for George Grey. He must look up the law. + +Meanwhile George Grey, under the necessity of avoiding the village for a +time, was rather bored. He had criticized the stables and the horses, and +had been told that the Squire relied with good reason on the judgment of +Josiah in regard to the promise of good qualities in colts. Then, used to +easy roadsters, he had been put on the Squire's rough trotter and led by +the tireless lad had come back weary from long rides across rough country +fields and over fences. The clergyman would talk no more politics, John +pleaded lessons, and it was on the whole dull, so that Mr. Grey was +pleased to hear of the early return of his cousin. A letter to John +desired him to meet his aunt on the 8th, and accordingly he drove to the +station at Westways Crossing, picking up Billy on the way. Mrs. Ann got +out of the car followed by the conductor and brakeman carrying boxes and +bundles, which Billy, greatly excited, stowed away under the seats of the +Jersey wagon. Mrs. Penhallow distributed smiles and thanks to the men who +made haste to assist, being one of the women who have no need to ask help +from any man in sight. + +"Now, Billy," she said, "be careful with those horses. When you attend, +you drive very well." + +She settled herself on the back seat with John, delighted to be again +where her tireless sense of duty kept her busy--quite too busy at times, +thought some of the village dames. "Your Uncle James will soon be at +home. Is his pet scamp any better?" + +John did not know, but Josiah's rheumatism was quite well. + +"Sister-in-law has a baby. Six trout I ketched; they're at the house for +you--weighs seven pounds," said Billy without turning round. + +"Trout or baby?" said Ann, laughing. + +"Baby, ma'am." + +"Thanks, but don't talk any more." + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"How is Leila?" asked John. "Does she like it at school?" + +"No, not at all; but she will." + +"I don't, Aunt Ann." + +"I suppose not." + +"Am I to be allowed to write to her?" + +"I think not. There is some rule that letters, but--" and she laughed +merrily. The rector, who worshipped her, said once that her laugh was +like the spring song of birds. "But sometimes I may be naughty enough to +let you slip a few lines into my letters." + +"That is more than I hoped for. I am--I was so glad to get you back, Aunt +Ann, that I forgot to tell you, Mr. George Grey has come." + +"How delightful! He has been promising a visit for years. How pleased +James will be! I wonder how the old bachelor ever made up his mind. I +hope you made it pleasant, John." + +"I tried to, aunt." Whether James Penhallow would like it was for John +doubtful, but he said nothing further. + +"The cities are wild about politics, and there is no end of trouble in +Philadelphia over the case of a fugitive slave. I was glad to get away to +Grey Pine." + +John had never heard her mention this tender subject and was not +surprised when she added quickly, "But I never talk politics, John, and +you are too young to know anything about them." This was by no means +true, as she well knew. "How are my chickens?" She asked endless +questions of small moment. + +"Got a new fishing-rod," said Billy, but to John's amusement did not +pursue the story concerning which George Grey had gleefully enlightened +him. + +"Well, at last, Cousin George," she cried, as the cousin gave her his +hand on the porch. "Glad to see you--most glad. Come in when you have +finished your cigar." + +She followed John into the hall. "Ah! the dear home." Then her eyes fell +on the much used spittoon by the fireside. "Good gracious, John, a--a +spittoon!" + +"Yes, aunt. Mr. Grey chews." + +"Indeed!" She looked at the box and went upstairs. For years to come and +in the most incongruous surroundings John Penhallow now and then laughed +as he saw again the look with which Mrs. Ann regarded the article so +essential to Mr. Grey's comfort. She disliked all forms of tobacco use, +and the law of the pipe had long ago been settled at Grey Pine as Mrs. +Penhallow decreed, because that was always what James Penhallow decided +to think desirable. + +"But this! this!" murmured the little lady, as she came down the +staircase ready for dinner. She rang for the maid. "Take that thing away +and wash it well, and put in fresh sawdust twice a day." + +"I hope John has been a good host," she said, as Grey entered the hall. + +"Couldn't be better, and I have had some delightful rides. I found the +mills interesting--in fact, most instructive." He spoke in short +childlike sentences unless excited by politics. + +Mrs. Ann noted without surprise the free use of whisky, and later the +appreciative frequency of resort to Penhallow's Madeira. A glass of wine +at lunch and after dinner were her husband's sole indulgence. The larger +potations of her cousin in no way affected him. He talked as usual to +Mark Rivers and John about horses, crops and the weather, while Mrs. Ann +listened to the flow of disconnected trifles in some wonder as to how +James Penhallow would endure it. Grey for the time kept off the danger +line of politics, having had of late such variously contributed knowledge +as made him careful. + +When to Mrs. Ann's relief dinner was over, the rector said his sermon for +to-morrow must excuse him and went home. John decided that his role of +host was over and retired to his algebra and to questions more easy to +solve than of how to entertain Mr. George Grey. It was not difficult, as +Mrs. Penhallow saw, to make Grey feel at home; all he required was +whisky, cigars, and some mild appearance of interest in his talk. She had +long anticipated his visit with pleasure, thinking that James Penhallow +would be pleased and the better for some rational male society. Rivers +had now deserted her, and she really would not sit with her kinsman's +cigar a whole evening in the library. She said, "The night is warm for +October, come out onto the porch, George." + +"With all the pleasure in the world," said Grey, as he followed her. + +By habit and training hospitable and now resigned to her fate, Mrs. Ann +said, "Light your cigar, George; I do not mind it out-of-doors." + +"I am greatly indebted--I was given to understand that it was +disagreeable to you--like--politics--ah! Cousin Ann." + +"We are not much given to talking politics," she said rather sharply. + +"Not talk politics!" exclaimed Grey. "What else is there to talk about +nowadays? But why not, Cousin Ann?" + +"Well, merely because while I am Southern--and a Democrat, James has seen +fit to abandon our party and become a Republican." + +"Incomprehensible!" said Grey. "Ours is the party of gentlemen--of old +traditions. I cannot understand it." + +"Nor I," said she, "but now at least," and she laughed--"there will be +one Republican gentleman. However, George, as we are both much in +earnest, we keep politics out of the house." + +"It must be rather awkward, Ann." + +"What must be rather awkward?" + +Did he really mean to discuss, to criticize her relations to James +Penhallow? The darkness was for a time the grateful screen. + +Grey, a courteous man, felt the reproof in her question, and replied, "I +beg pardon, my dear Ann, I have heard of the captain's unfortunate change +of opinion. I shall hope, however, to be able to convince him that to +elect Fremont will be to break up the Union. I think I could put it so +clearly that--" + +Ann laughed low laughter as vastly amused she laid a hand on her cousin's +arm. "You don't know James Penhallow. He has been from his youth a +Democrat. There never was any question about how he would vote. But now, +since 1850--" and she paused, "in fact, I do not care to discuss with you +what I will not with James." Her great love, her birth, training, +education and respect for the character of her husband, made this +discussion hateful. Her eyes filled, and, much troubled, she was glad of +the mask of night. + +"But answer me one question, Ann. Why did he change?" + +"He was becoming dissatisfied and losing faith in his own party, but it +was at last my own dear South and its friends at the North who drove him +out." Again she paused. + +"What do you mean, Ann?" asked Grey, still persistent. + +"It began long ago, George. He said to me one day, 'That fool Fillmore +has signed the Fugitive-Slave Act; it is hardly possible to obey it.' +Then I said, 'Would you not, James?' I can never forget it. He said, +'Yes, I obey the law, Ann, but this should be labelled 'an act to +exasperate the North.' I am done with the Democrat and all his ways. Obey +the law! Yes, I was a soldier.' Then he said, 'Ann, we must never talk +politics again.' We never do." + +"And yet, Ann," said Grey, "that act was needed." + +"Perhaps," she returned, and then followed a long silence, as with +thought of James Penhallow she sat smiling in the darkness and watched +the rare wandering lanterns of the belated fireflies. + +The man at her side was troubled into unnatural silence. He had hoped to +find an ally in his cousin's husband, and now what should he do? He had +concluded that as an honest man he had done his duty when he had written +to Woodburn; but now as a man of honour what should he say to James +Penhallow? To conceal from his host what he had done was the obvious +business-like course. This troubled a man who was usually able to see his +way straight on all matters of social conduct and was sensitive on points +of honour. While Ann sat still and wondered that her guest was so long +silent, he was finding altogether unpleasant his conclusion that he must +be frank with Penhallow. He felt sure, however, that Ann would naturally +be on his side. He introduced the matter lightly with, "I chanced to see +in the village a black man who is said to be a vagabond scamp. He is +called Josiah--a runaway slave, I fancy." + +Ann sat up in her chair. "Who said he was a scamp?" + +"Oh, a man named Lamb." Then he suddenly remembered Mr. Swallow's +characterization, and added, "not a very trustworthy witness, I presume." + +Ann laughed. "Peter Lamb! He is a drunken, loafing fellow, who to his +good fortune chances to have been James's foster-brother. As concerns +Josiah, he turned up here some years ago, got work in the stables, and +was set up by James as the village barber. No one knew whence he came. I +did, of course, suspect him to be a runaway. He is honest and +industrious. Last year I was ill when James was absent. We have only +maids in the house, and when I was recovering Josiah carried me up and +downstairs until James returned. A year after he came, Leila had an +accident. Josiah stopped her horse and got badly hurt--" Then with quick +insight, she added, "What interest have you in our barber, George? Is +it possible you know Josiah?" + +Escape from truthful reply was impossible. "Yes, I do. He is the property +of my friend and neighbour Woodburn. I knew him at once--the man had lost +three fingers--he did not see me." + +"Well!" she said coldly, "what next, George Grey?" + +"I must inform his master. As a Southern woman you, of course, see that +no other course is possible. It is unpleasant, but your sense of right +must make you agree with me." + +She returned, speaking slowly, "I do wish you would not do it, George." +Then she said quickly, "Have you taken any steps in this matter?" + +He was fairly cornered. "Yes, I wrote to Woodburn. He will be here in a +couple of days. I am sure he will lose no time--and will take legal +measures at once to reclaim his property." + +"I suppose it is all right," she said despairingly, "but I am more than +sorry--what James will say I do not know. I hope he will not be called on +to act--under the law he may." + +"When does he return?" said Grey. "I shall, of course, be frank with +him." + +"That will be advisable. He may be absent for a week longer, or so he +writes. I leave you to your cigar. I am tired, and to-morrow is Sunday. +Shall you go to church?" + +"Certainly, Ann. Good-night." + +At the door she turned back with a new and relieving thought. "Suppose +I--or we--buy this man's freedom." + +"If I owned him that would not be required after what you have told me, +but Woodburn is an obstinate, rather stern man, and will refuse, I fear, +to sell--" + +"What will he do with Josiah if he is returned to him as the Act orders?" + +"Oh! once a runaway--and the man is no good?--he would probably sell him +to be sent South." + +She rose and for a moment stood still in the darkness, and then crying, +"The pity of it, my God, the pity of it!" went away without the usual +courtesy of good-night. + +George Grey, when left to his own company, somewhat amazed, began to wish +he had never had a hand in this business. Ann Penhallow went up to her +room, although it was as yet early, leaving John in the library and Grey +with a neglected cigar on the porch. In the bedroom over his shop the man +most concerned sat industriously reading the _Tribune_. + +Ann sat down to think. The practical application of a creed to conduct is +not always easy. All her young life had been among kindly considered +slaves. Mr. Woodburn had a right to his property. The law provided for +the return of slaves if they ran away. She suddenly realized that this +man's future fate was in her power, and she both liked and respected him, +and he had been hurt in their service. Oh! why was not James at home? +Could she sit still and let things go their way while the mechanism of +the law worked. Between head and heart there was much argument. Her +imagination pictured Josiah's future. Had he deserved a fate so sad? +She fell on her knees and prayed for help. At last she rose and went down +to the library. John laid down his book and stood up. The young face +greeted her pleasantly, as she said, "Sit down, John, I want to talk to +you. Can you keep a secret?" + +"Why--yes--Aunt Ann. What is it?" + +"I mean, John, keep it so that no one will guess you have a secret." + +"I think I can," he replied, much surprised and very curious. + +"You are young, John, but in your uncle's absence there is no one else to +whom I can turn for help. Now, listen. Has Mr. Grey gone to bed?" + +"Yes, aunt." + +She leaned toward him, speaking low, almost in a whisper, "I do not want +to explain, I only want to tell you something. Josiah is a runaway slave, +John." + +"Yes, aunt, he told me all about it." + +"Did he, indeed!" + +"Yes, we are great friends--I like him--and he trusted me. What's +the matter now?" He was quick to understand that Josiah was in some +danger. Naturally enough he remembered the man's talk and his one +fear--recapture. + +"George Grey has recognised Josiah as a runaway slave of a Mr. +Woodburn--" She was most unwilling to say plainly, "Go and warn him." + +He started up. "And they mean to take him back?" + +She was silent. The indecisions of the habitually decisive are hard to +deal with. The lad was puzzled by her failure to say more. + +"It is dreadful, Aunt Ann. I think I ought to go and tell +Josiah--now--to-night." + +She made no comment except to say, "Arrest is not possible on Sunday--and +he is safe until Monday or Tuesday." + +John Penhallow looked at her for a moment surprised that she did not say +go, or else forbid him to go; it was unlike her. He had no desire to wait +for Sunday and was filled with anxiety. "I think I must go now--now," he +said. + +"Then I shall go to bed," she said, and kissing him went away slowly step +by step up the stairs. + +Staircases are apt to suggest reflections, and there are various ways of +rendering the French phrase "_esprit de l'escalier_." Aware that want of +moral courage had made her uncertain what to do, or like the Indian, +having two hearts, Ann had been unable to accept bravely the counsel of +either. The loyal decisiveness of a lad of only sixteen years had settled +the matter and relieved her of any need to personally warn Josiah. Some +other influences aided to make her feel satisfied that there should be a +warning. She was resentful because George Grey had put her in a position +where she had been embarrassed by intense sectional sense of duty and by +kindly personal regard for a man who not being criminal was to be +deprived of all the safeguards against injustice provided by the common +law. There were other and minor causes which helped to content her with +what she well knew she had done to disappoint Mr. Woodburn of his prey. +George Grey was really a bore of capacity to wreck the social patience of +the most courteous. The rector fled from him, John always had lessons and +how would James endure his vacuous talk. It all helped her to be +comfortably angry, and there too was that horrible spittoon. + +The young fellow who went with needless haste out of the house and down +the avenue about eleven o'clock had no indecisions. Josiah trusted him, +and he felt the compliment this implied. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +On the far side of the highroad Westways slumbered. Only in the rector's +small house were lights burning. The town was in absolute darkness. +Westways went to bed early. A pleased sense of the responsibility of his +errand went with John as he came near to where Josiah's humble two-storey +house stood back from the street line, marked by the well-known striped +pole of the barber, of which Josiah was professionally proud. John paused +in front of the door. He knew that he must awaken no one but Josiah. +After a moment's thought he went along the side of the house to the small +garden behind it where Josiah grew the melons no one else could grow, and +which he delighted to take to Miss Leila or Mrs. Penhallow. In the novel +the heroes threw pebbles at the window to call up fair damsels. John +grinned; he might break a pane, but the noise--He was needlessly +cautious. Josiah had built a trellis against the back of the house for +grapevines which had not prospered. John began to climb up it with care +and easily got within reach of the second-storey window. He tapped +sharply on the glass, but getting no reply hesitated a moment. He could +hear from within the sonorous assurance of deep slumber. Somehow he must +waken him. He lifted the sash and called over and over in a low voice, +"Josiah!" The snoring ceased, but not the sleep. The lad was resolute and +still fearful of making a noise. He climbed with care into the dark room +upsetting a little table. Instantly Josiah bounded out of bed and caught +him in his strong grip, as John gasped, "Josiah!" + +"My God!" cried the black in alarm, "anything wrong at the house?" + +"No, sit down--I've got to tell you something. Your old master, Woodburn, +is coming to catch you--he will be here soon--I know he won't be here for +a day or two--" + +"Is that so, Master John? It's awful--I've got to run. I always knowed +sometime I'd have to run." He sat down on the bed; he was appalled. "God +help me!--where can I go? I've got two hundred dollars and seventy-five +cents saved up in the county bank, and I've not got fifty cents in the +house. I can't get the money out--I'd be afraid to go there Monday. Oh, +Lord!" + +He began to dress in wild haste. John tried in vain to assure him that he +would be safe on Sunday and Monday, or even later, but was in fact not +sure, and the man was wailing like a child in distress, thinking over his +easy, upright life and his little treasure, which seemed to him lost. He +asked no questions; all other emotion was lost in one over-mastering +terror. + +John said at last, "If I write a cheque for you, can you sign your name +to it?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Then I will write a cheque for all of it and I'll get it out for you." + +A candle was lighted and the cheque written. "Now write your name here, +Josiah--so--that's right." He obeyed like a child, and John who had often +collected cheques for his aunt of late, knew well enough how to word it +to be paid to bearer. He put it in his pocket. + +"But how will I ever get it?" said Josiah, "and where must I go? I'll get +away Monday afternoon." + +John was troubled, and then said, "I'll tell you. Go to the old cabin in +the wood. That will be safe. I will bring you your money Monday +afternoon." + +The black reflected in silence and then said, "That will do--no man will +take me alive, I know--my God, I know! Who set them on me? Who told? It +was that drunken rascal, Peter. He told me he'd tell if I didn't get him +whisky. How did he know--Oh, Lord! He set 'em on me--I'd like to kill +him." + +John was alarmed at the fierceness of the threat. "Oh! but you +won't--promise me. I've helped you, Josiah." + +"I promise, Master John. I'm a Christian man, thank the Lord. I'd like +to, but I won't--I won't." + +"Now, that's right," said John much relieved. "You'll go to the cabin +Monday--for sure." + +"Yes--who told you to tell me?" + +John, prudently cautious, refused to answer. "Now, let me out, I must go. +I can't tell you how sorry I will be--" and he was tempted to add his +aunt, but was wise in time. He had done his errand well, and was pleased +with the success of his adventure and the flavour of peril in what he had +done. He let himself into Grey Pine and went noiselessly upstairs. Then +a window was closed and a waiting, anxious woman went to bed and lay long +awake thinking. + +John understood the unusual affection of his aunt's greeting when before +breakfast she kissed him and started George Grey on his easy +conversational trot. She had compromised with her political conscience +and, notwithstanding, was strangely satisfied and a trifle ashamed that +she had not been more distinctly courageous. + +At church they had as usual a good congregation of the village folk and +men from the mills, for Rivers was eminently a man's preacher and was +much liked. John observed, however, that Josiah, who took care of the +church, was not in his usual seat near the door. He was at home terribly +alarmed and making ready for his departure on Monday. The rector missing +him called after church, but his knock was not answered. + +When Mr. Grey in the afternoon declared he would take a walk and mail +some letters, Mrs. Ann called John into the library. "Well," she said, +"did you see Josiah?" + +"Yes, aunt." It was characteristic of John Penhallow even thus early in +life that he was modest and direct in statement. He said nothing of his +mode of reaching Josiah. "I told him of his risk. He will hide in--" + +"Do not tell me where," said Ann quickly; "I do not want to know." + +He wondered why she desired to hear no more. He went on--"He has money in +the county bank--two hundred dollars." + +"He must have been saving--poor fellow!" + +"I wrote a cheque for him, to bearer. I am to draw it tomorrow and take +it to him in the afternoon. Then he will be able to get away." + +Here indeed was something for Ann to think about. When Josiah was missed +and legal measures taken, a pursuit organized, John having drawn his +money might be questioned. This would never do--never. Oddly enough she +had the thought, "Who will now shave James?" She smiled and said, "I must +keep you out of the case--give me the cheque. Oh, I see it is drawn to +bearer. I wonder if his owner could claim it. He may--he might--if it is +left there." + +"That would be mean," said John. + +"Yes," she said thoughtfully. "Yes--I could give him the money. Let me +think about it. Of course, I could draw on my account and leave Josiah's +alone. But he has a right to his own money. I will keep the cheque, John. +I will draw out his money and give it to you. Good gracious, boy! you are +like James Penhallow." + +"That's praise for a fellow!" said John. + +Ann had the courage of her race and meant at last to see this thing +through at all costs. The man had made his money and should have it. She +was now resolute to take her share in the perilous matter she had +started; and after all she was the wife of James Penhallow of Grey Pine; +who would dare to question her? As to George Grey, she dismissed him with +a low laugh and wondered when that long-desired guest would elect to +leave Grey Pine. + +At ten on Monday Billy, for choice, drove her over to the bank at the +mills. The young cashier was asked about his sick sister, and then rather +surprised as he took the cheque inquired, "How will you have it, ma'am? +Josiah must be getting an investment." + +"One hundred in fifties and the rest--oh, fifty in fives, the rest in +ones." + +She drove away, and in an hour gave the notes to John in an envelope, +asking no questions. He set off in the afternoon to give Josiah his +money. + +Meanwhile on this Monday morning a strange scene in this drama was being +acted in Josiah's little shop. He was at the door watchful and thinking +of his past and too doubtful future, when he saw Peter Lamb pause near +by. The man, fresh from the terrors of delirium tremens, had used the +gift of Grey with some prudence and was in the happy condition of slight +alcoholic excitement and good-humour. + +"Halloa!" cried Peter. "How are you? I'm going to the mills to see my +girl--want you to shave me--got over my joke; funny, wasn't it?" + +A sudden ferocious desire awoke in the good-natured barber--some +long-past inheritance of African lust for the blood of an enemy. + +"Don't like to kiss with a rough beard," said Peter. "I'll pay--got +money--now." + +"Come in," said Josiah. "Set down. I'll shut the door--it's a cold +morning." + +He spread the lather over the red face. "Head back a bit--that's right +comfortable now, isn't it?" + +"All right--go ahead." + +Josiah took his razor. "Now, then," he said, as he set a big strong +hand on the man's forehead, "if you move, I'll cut your throat--keep +quiet--don't you move. You told I was a slave--you ruined my life--I +never did you no harm--I'd kill you just as easy as that--" and he +drew the blunt cold back of the razor across the hairy neck. + +"My God!--I--" The man shuddered. + +"Keep still--or you are a dead man." + +"Oh, Lord!" groaned Lamb. + +"I would kill you, but I don't want to be hanged. God will take care +of you--He is sure. Some day you will do some wickedness worse than +this--you just look at me." + +There was for Peter fearful fascination in the black face of the man who +stood looking down at him, the jaw moving, the white teeth showing, the +eyes red, the face twitching with half-suppressed passion. + +"Answer me now--and by God, if you lie, I will kill you. You set some one +on me? Quick now!" + +"I did." + +"Who was it? No lies, now!" + +"Mr. George Grey." Then Josiah fully realized his danger. + +"Why did you?" + +"You wouldn't help me to get whisky." + +"Well, was that all?" + +"You went and got the preacher to set Mr. Penhallow on me. He gave me the +devil." + +"My God, was that all? You've ruined me for a drink of whisky--you've got +your revenge. I'm lost--lost. Your day will come--I'll be there. Now go +and repent if you can--you've been near to death. Go!" he cried. + +He seized the terrified man with one strong hand, lifted him from the +chair, cast open the door and hurled him out into the street. A little +crowd gathered around Lamb as he rose on one elbow, dazed. + +"Drunk!" said Pole, the butcher. "Drunk again!" + +Josiah shut and locked the door. Then he tied up his bundle of clothes, +filled a basket with food, and went out into his garden. He cast a look +back at the neatly kept home he had recently made fresh with paint. He +paused to pick a chilled rosebud and set it in his button-hole--a fashion +copied from his adored captain. He glanced tearfully at the glass-framed +covers of the yellowing melon vines. He had made money out of his melons, +and next year would have been able to send a good many to Pittsburgh. As +he turned to leave the little garden in which he took such pride, he +heard an old rooster's challenge in his chicken-yard, which had been +another means of money-making. He went back and opened the door, leaving +the fowl their liberty. When in the lane behind his house, he walked +along in the rear of the houses, and making sure that he was unobserved, +crossed the road and entered the thick Penhallow forest. He walked +rapidly for half an hour, and leaving the wood road found his way to the +cabin the first Penhallow built. It was about half after one o'clock when +the fugitive lay down on the earth of the cabin with his hands clasped +behind his head. He stared upward, wondering where he could go to be +safe. He would have to spend some of the carefully saved money. That +seemed to him of all things the most cruel. He was not trained to +consecutive thinking; memories old or new flitted through his mind. Now +and then he said to himself that perhaps he had had no right to run +away--and perhaps this was punishment. He had fled from the comforts of +an easy life, where he had been fed, clothed and trusted. Not for a +moment would he have gone back--but why had he run away? What message +that soaring hawk had sent to him from his swift circling sweep overhead +he was not able to put in words even if he had so desired. "That wicked +hawk done it!" he said aloud. + +At last, hearing steps outside, he bounded to his feet, a hand on the +knife in his belt. He stood still waiting, ready as a crouching tiger, +resolute, a man at bay with an unsated appetite for freedom. The door +opened and John entered. + +"You sort of scared me, Master John." + +"You are safe here, Josiah, and here is your money." + +He took it without a word, except, "I reckon, Master John, you know I'm +thankful. Was there any one missing me?" + +"No, no one." + +"I'll get away to-night. I'll go down through Lonesome Man's Swamp and +take my old bateau and run down the river. You might look after my +muskrat traps. I was meaning to make a purse for the little missy. Now do +you just go away, and may the Lord bless you. I guess we won't ever meet +no more. You'll be mighty careful, Master John?" + +"But you'll write, Josiah." + +"I wouldn't dare to write--I'd be takin' risks. Think I'm safe here? Oh, +Lord!" + +"No one knows where you are--you'll go to-night?" + +"Yes, after dark." He seemed more at ease as he said, "It was Peter Lamb +set Mr. Grey on me. He must have seen me after that. I told you it was +Peter." + +"Yes,"--and then with the hopefulness of youth--"but you will come back, +I am sure." + +"No, sir--never no more--and the captain and Miss Leila--it's +awful--where can I go?" + +John could not help him further. "God bless you, Master John." They +parted at length at the door of the cabin which had seen no other parting +as sad. + +The black lay down again. Now and then he swept his sleeve across tearful +eyes. Then he stowed his money under his shirt in a linen bag hung to his +neck, keeping out a few dollars, and at last fell sound asleep exhausted +by emotion, + +Josiah's customers were few in number. Westways was too poor to be able +to afford a barber more than once a week, and then it was always in +mid-morning when work ceased for an hour. Sometimes the Squire on his way +to the mills came to town early, but as a rule Josiah went to Grey Pine +and shaved him while they talked about colts and their training. As he +was rarely needed in the afternoon, Josiah often closed his shop about +two o'clock and went a-fishing or set traps on the river bank. His +absence on this Monday afternoon gave rise, therefore, to no surprise, +but when his little shop remained closed on Tuesday, his neighbours began +to wonder. Peter Lamb wandering by rather more drunken than on Monday, +stood a while looking at the shut door, then went on his devious way, +thinking of the fierce eyes and the curse. Next came Swallow for his +daily shave. He knocked at the door and tried to enter. It was locked. He +heard no answer to his louder knock. He at once suspected that his prey +had escaped him, and that the large fee he had counted on was to say the +least doubtful. But who could have warned the black? Had Mr. Grey been +imprudent? Lamb had been the person who had led Grey, as Swallow knew +from that gentleman, to suspect Josiah as a runaway; but now as he saw +Peter reeling up the street, he was aware that he was in no state to be +questioned. He went away disappointed and found that no one he met knew +whither Josiah had gone. + +At Grey Pine Mrs. Ann, uneasily conscious of her share in the matter, +asked John if he had given the money to Josiah. He said yes, and that the +man was safe and by this time far away. Meanwhile, the little town buzzed +with unwonted excitement and politics gave place about the grocer's door +at evening to animated discussion, which was even more interesting when +on Wednesday there was still no news and the town lamented the need to go +unshaven. + +On Thursday morning Billy was sent with a led horse to meet Penhallow at +Westways Crossing. Penhallow had written that he must go on to a meeting +of the directors of the bank at the mills and would not be at home until +dinner-time. The afternoon train brought Mr. Woodburn, who as advised by +Grey went at once to Swallow's house, where Mrs. Swallow gave him a note +from her husband asking that if he came he would await the lawyer's +return. + +"Well, Billy, glad to see you," said Penhallow, as he settled himself in +the saddle. "All well at Grey Pine?" + +"Yes, sir." + +The Squire was in high good-humour on having made two good contracts for +iron rails. "How are politics, Billy?" + +"Don't know, sir." + +"Anything new at Westways?" + +"Yes, sir," replied Billy with emphasis. + +"Well, what is it?" + +"Josiah's run away." + +"Run away! Why?" + +"Don't know--he's gone." + +Penhallow was troubled, but asked no other questions, as he was late. He +might learn more at home. He rode through the town and on to the mills. +There he transacted some business and went thence to the bank. The board +of well-to-do farmers was already in session, and Swallow--a member--was +talking. + +"What is that?" said Penhallow as he entered, hearing Josiah mentioned. + +Some one said, "He has been missing since Monday." "He drew out all his +money that morning," said Swallow, "all of it." + +"Indeed," said Penhallow. "Did _he_ draw it--I mean in person?" + +"No," said the lawyer, who was well pleased to make mischief and hated +Penhallow. + +Penhallow was uneasily curious. "Who drew it?" he asked. "Josiah could +hardly have known how to draw a cheque; I had once to help him write +one." + +"It was a cheque to bearer, I hear," said Swallow smiling. "Mrs. +Penhallow drew the money. No doubt Josiah got it before he left." + +Penhallow said, "You are insolent." + +"You asked a question," returned Swallow, "and I answered it." + +"And with a comment I permit no man to make. You said, 'no doubt he got +it.' I want an apology at once." He went around the table to where +Swallow sat. + +The lawyer rose, saying, "Every one will know to-day that Josiah was a +runaway slave. His master will be here this evening. Whoever warned him +is liable under the Fugitive-Slave Act--Mrs. Penhallow drew the money +and--" + +"One word more, sir, of my wife, and I will thrash you. It is clear +that you know all about the matter and connect my wife with this man's +escape--you have insulted her." + +"Oh, Mr. Penhallow," said the old farmer who presided, "I beg of you--" + +"Keep quiet," said the Squire, "this is my business." + +"I did not mean to insult Mrs. Penhallow," said Swallow; "I +apologize--I--" + +"You miserable dog," said Penhallow, "you are both a coward and a lying, +usurious plunderer of hard-working men. You may be thankful that I am a +good-tempered man--but take care." + +"I shall ask this board to remember what has been said of me," said +Swallow. "The law--" + +"Law! The law of the cowhide is what you will get if I hear again that +you have used my wife's name. Good-day, gentlemen." + +He went our furious and rode homeward at speed. Before the Squire reached +Grey Pine he had recovered his temper and his habitual capacity to meet +the difficulties of life with judicial calmness. He had long been sure +that Josiah had been a slave and had run away. But after these years, +that he should have been discovered in this remote little town seemed to +him singular. The man was useful to him in several ways and had won his +entire respect and liking, so that he felt personal annoyance because +of this valuable servant having been scared away. That Ann had been in +any way concerned in aiding his escape perplexed him, as he remembered +how entire was her belief in the creed of the masters of slaves who with +their Northern allies had so long been the controlling legislative power +of the country. + +"I am glad to be at home, my dear Ann," he said, as they met on the +porch. "Ah! Grey, so you are come at last. It is not too late to say how +very welcome you are; and John, I believe you have grown an inch since I +left." + +They went in, chatting and merry. The Squire cast an amused look at the +big spittoon and then at his wife, and went upstairs to dress for dinner. +At the meal no one for a variety of good reasons mentioned Josiah. The +tall soldier with the readiness of helpless courtesy fell into the talk +of politics which Grey desired. "Yes, Buchanan will carry the State, +Grey, but by no large majority." + +"And the general election?" asked the cousin. + +"Yes, that is my fear. He will be elected." + +Ann, who dreaded these discussions, had just now a reproachful political +conscience. She glanced at her husband expecting him to defend his +beliefs. He was silent, however, while Grey exclaimed, "Fear, sir--fear? +You surely cannot mean to say--to imply that the election of a black +Republican would be desirable." He laid down his fork and was about to +become untimely eloquent--Rivers smiled--watching the Squire and his +wife, as Penhallow said: + +"Pardon me, Grey, but I cannot have my best mutton neglected." + +"Oh, yes--yes--but a word--a word. Elect Fremont--and we secede. Elect +Buchanan--and the Union is safe. There, sir, you have it in a nutshell." + +"Ah, my dear Grey," said Penhallow, "this is rather of the nature of a +threat--never a very digestible thing--for me, at least--and I am not +very convincible. We will discuss it over our wine or a cigar." He turned +to his wife, "Any news of Leila, Ann?" + +"Yes, I had a letter to-day," she returned, somewhat relieved. "She seems +to be better satisfied." + +Grey accepted the interrupting hint and fell to critical talk of the +Squire's horses. After the wine Penhallow carried off his guest to the +library, and avoiding politics with difficulty was unutterably bored by +the little gentleman's reminiscent nothings about himself, his crops, +tobacco, wines, his habits of life, what agreed with him and what did +not. At last, with some final whisky, Mr. Grey went to bed. + +Ann, who was waiting anxiously, eager to get through with the talk she +dreaded, went at once into the library. Penhallow rising threw his cigar +into the fire. She laughed, but not in her usual merry way, and cried, +"Do smoke, James, I shall not mind it; I am forever disciplined to any +fate. There is a spittoon in the hall--a spittoon!" + +The Squire laughed joyously, and kissed her. "I can wait for my pipe; we +can't have any lapse in domestic discipline." Then he added, "I hear that +my good Josiah has gone away--I may as well say, run away." + +"Yes--he has gone, James." She hesitated greatly troubled. + +"And you helped him--a runaway slave--you--" He smiled. It had for him an +oddly humorous aspect. + +"I did--I did--" and the little lady began to sob like a child. "It +was--was wrong--" There was nothing comic in it for Ann Penhallow. + +"You angel of goodness," he cried, as he caught her in his arms and held +the weeping face against his shoulder, "my brave little lady!" + +"I ought not to have done it--but I did--I did--oh, James! To think that +my cousin should have brought this trouble on us--But I did--oh, James!" + +"Listen, my dear. If I had been here, I should have done it. See what you +have saved me. Now sit down and let us have it all out, my dear, all of +it." + +"And you really mean that?" she wailed piteously. "You won't think I did +wrong--you won't think I have made trouble for you--" + +"You have not," he replied, "you have helped me. But, dear, do sit down +and just merely, as in these many years, trust my love. Now quiet +yourself and let us talk it over calmly." + +"Yes--yes." She wiped her eyes. "Do smoke, James--I like it." + +"Oh, you dear liar," he said. "And so it was Grey?" + +She looked up. "Yes, George Grey; but, James, he did not know how much we +liked Josiah nor how good he had been to me, and how he got hurt when he +stopped Leila's pony. He was sorry--but it was too late--oh, James!--you +will not--oh, you will not--" + +"Will not what, dear?" Penhallow was disgusted. A guest entertained in +his own house to become a detective of an escaped slave in Westways, at +his very gate! "My charity, Ann, hardly covers this kind of sin against +the decencies of life. But I wish to hear all of it. Now, who betrayed +the man--who told Grey?" + +"I am sorry to say that it was Peter Lamb who first mentioned Josiah to +George Grey as a runaway. When he spoke of his lost fingers, George was +led to suspect who Josiah really was. Then he saw him, and as soon as he +was sure, he wrote to a Mr. Woodburn, who was Josiah's old owner." + +"I suppose he recognized Josiah readily?" + +"Yes, he had been a servant of George's friend, Mr. Woodburn, and George +says he was a man indulgently treated and much trusted." + +"I infer from what I learned to-day that George told you all this and had +already seen Swallow, so that the trap was set and Mr. Woodburn was to +arrive. Did George imagine you would warn my poor barber--" + +"But I--I didn't--I mean--I let John hear about it--and he told Josiah." + +He listened. Here was another Mrs. Ann. There was in Ann at times a +bewildering childlike simplicity with remarkable intelligence--a +combination to be found in some of the nobler types of womanhood. He made +no remark upon her way of betraying the trust implied in George Grey's +commonplace confession. + +"So, then, my dear, John went and gave the man a warning?" + +"Yes, I would have gone, but it was at night and I thought it better to +let John see him. How he did it I did not want to know--I preferred to +know nothing about it." + +This last sentence so appealed to Penhallow's not very ready sense of +humour that he felt it needful to control his mirth as he saw her +watching earnestness. "Grey, I presume, called on that rascal Swallow, +Mr. Woodburn is sent for, and meanwhile Josiah is told and wisely runs +away. He will never be caught. Anything else, my dear?" + +"Yes, I said to George that we would buy Josiah's freedom--what amuses +you, James?" He was smiling. + +"Oh, the idea of buying a man's power to go and come, when he has +been his own master for years. You were right, but it seems that you +failed--or, so I infer." + +"Yes. He said Mr. Woodburn was still angry and always had considered +Josiah wickedly ungrateful." Penhallow looked at his wife. Her sense of +the comedies of life was sometimes beyond his comprehension, but now--now +was she not a little bit, half consciously, of the defrauded master's +opinion? + +"And so, when that failed, you went to bank and drew out the poor +fellow's savings?" He meant to hear the whole story. There was worse yet, +and he was sure she would speak of it. But now she was her courageous +self and desired to confess her share in the matter. "Of course, he had +to have money, Ann." + +She wanted to get through with this, the most unpleasant part of the +matter. "I want to tell you," she said. "I drew out his money with a +cheque John made out and Josiah signed. John took him his two hundred +dollars, as he knew where Josiah would hide--I--I did not want to know." + +Her large part in this perilous business began to trouble the Squire. His +face had long been to her an open book, and she saw in his silence the +man's annoyance. She added instantly, "I could not let John draw it--and +Josiah would not--he was too scared. He had to have his money. Was I +wrong--was I foolish, James?" + +"No--you were right. The cheque was in John's handwriting. You were the +person to draw it. I would have drawn the money for him. He had a man's +right to his honest savings. It will end here--so you may be quite at +ease." Of this he was not altogether certain. He understood now why she +had not given him of her own money, but Ann was clearly too agitated to +make it well or wise to question her methods further. "Go to bed, dear, +and sleep the sleep of the just--you did the right thing." He kissed her. +"Good-night." + +"One moment more, James. You know, of course--you know that all my life I +have believed with my brothers that slavery was wise and right. I had to +believe that--to think so might exact from me and others what I never +could have anticipated. I came face to face with a test of my creed, and +I failed. I am glad I failed." + +"My dear Ann," he said, "I am supposed to be a Christian man--I go to +church, I have a creed of conduct. To-day I lost my temper and told a man +I would thrash him if he dared to say a word more." + +"It was at the bank, James?" + +"Yes. That fellow Swallow spoke of your having drawn Josiah's money. He +was insolent. You need have no anxiety about it--it is all over. I only +mention it because I want you to feel that our creeds of conduct in life +are not always our masters, and sometimes ought not to be. Let that +comfort you a little. You know that to have been a silent looker-on at +the return to slavery of a man to whom we owed so much was impossible. +My wonder is that for a moment you could have hesitated. It makes me +comprehend more charitably the attitude of the owners of men. Now, dear, +we won't talk any more. Good-night--again--good-night." + +He lighted a cigar and sat long in thought. He had meant not to speak to +her of Swallow, but it had been, as he saw, of service. Then he wondered +how long Mr. George Grey would remain and if he would not think it +necessary to speak of Josiah. As concerned John, he would be in no hurry +to talk to him of the barber; and how the lad had grown in mind and +body!--a wonderful change and satisfactory. + +When after breakfast Mr. Grey showed no desire to mention Josiah and +prudently avoided talk about politics, Penhallow was greatly relieved. +That his host did not open the question of Mr. Grey's conduct in the +matter of the runaway was as satisfactory to the Maryland gentleman, +whose sense of duty had created for him a situation which was +increasingly disagreeable. He warmly welcomed Penhallow's invitation to +look at some newly purchased horses, and expressed the most cordial +approval of whatever he saw, somewhat to the amusement of Penhallow. + +Penhallow left him when, declining to ride to the mills, Mr. Grey retired +to the library and read the _Tribune_, with internal comment on its +editorial columns. He laid the paper aside. Mr. Woodburn would probably +have arrived in the afternoon, and would have arranged with Swallow for a +consultation in which Mr. Grey would be expected to take part. It was +plain that he really must talk to the Captain. He rose and went slowly +down the avenue. A half-hour in Westways singularly relieved him. +Swallow was not at home, and Josiah, the cause of Mr. Grey's +perplexities, had certainly fled, nor did he learn that Mr. Woodburn +had already arrived. + +He was now shamefully eager to escape that interview with the captain, +and relieved to find that there was no need to wait for the friend he had +brought to Westways on a vain errand. Returning to Grey Pine, he +explained to his cousin that letters from home made it necessary for him +to leave on the mid-afternoon train. Never did Ann Penhallow more +gratefully practise the virtue that speeds the parting guest. He was +sorry to miss the captain and would have the pleasure of sending him a +barrel of the best Maryland whisky; "and would you, my dear cousin, say, +in your delightful way, to the good rector how much I enjoyed his +conversation?" + +Ann saw that the lunch was of the best and that the wagon was ready in +more than ample season. As he left, she expressed all the regret she +ought to have felt, and as the carriage disappeared at a turn of the +avenue she sank down in a chair. Then she rang a bell. "Take away that +thing," she said,--"that spittoon." + +"If James Penhallow were here," she murmured, "I should ask him to +say--damn! I wonder now if that man Woodburn will come, and if there will +be a difficulty with James on my account." She sat long in thought, +waiting to greet her husband, while Mr. Grey was left impatient at the +station owing to the too hospitable desire of Ann to speed the parting +guest. + +When about dusk the Squire rode along the road through Westways, he came +on the rector and dismounted, leaving his horse to be led home by Pole's +boy. "Glad to see you, Mark. How goes it; and how did you like Mr. Grey?" + +"To tell you the truth, Squire, I did not like him. I was forced into a +talk about politics. We differed, as you may suppose. He was not quite +pleasant. He seemed to have been so mixed up with this sad business about +Josiah that I kept away at last, so that I might keep my temper. Billy +drove him to the station after lunch." + +"Indeed!" said Penhallow, pleased that Grey had gone. It was news to him +and not unwelcome. Ann would no doubt explain. "What put Grey on the +track of Josiah as a runaway? Was it a mere accidental encounter?" He +desired to get some confirmatory information. + +"No--I suspect not." Then he related what Josiah had told him of Peter's +threats. "I may do that reprobate injustice, but--However, that is all I +now know or feel justified in suspecting." + +"Well, come up and dine to-day; we can talk it out after dinner." + +"With pleasure," said Rivers. + +Penhallow moodily walking up the street, his head bent in thought, was +made aware that he was almost in collision with Swallow and a large man +with a look of good-humoured amusement and the wide-open eyes and uplift +of brow expressive of pleasure and surprise. + +"By George, Woodburn!" said the Squire. "I heard some one of your name +was here, but did not connect the name with you. I last heard of you as +in a wild mix-up with the Sioux, and I wished I was with you." As +Penhallow spoke the two men shook hands, Swallow meanwhile standing apart +not over-pleased as through the narrowed lids of near-sight he saw that +the two men must have known one another well and even intimately, for +Woodburn replied, "Thought you knew I'd left the army, Jim. The last five +years I've been running my wife's plantation in Maryland." + +The Squire's pleasure at his encounter with an old West Point comrade for +a moment caused him to forget that this was the master who had been set +on Josiah's track by Grey. It was but for a moment. Then he drew up his +soldierly figure and said coldly, "I am sorry that you are here on what +cannot be a very agreeable errand." + +"Oh!" said Woodburn cheerfully, "I came to get my old servant, Caesar. It +seems to have been a fool's errand. He has slipped away. I suppose that +Grey as usual talked too freely. But how the deuce does it concern you? I +see that it does." + +Penhallow laughed. "He was my barber." + +"And mine," said Woodburn. "If you have missed him, Jim, for a few days, +I have missed him for three years and more." Then both men laughed +heartily at their inequality of loss. + +"I cannot understand why this fellow ran away. He was a man I trusted and +indulged to such an extent that my wife says I spoiled him. She says he +owned me quite as much as I owned him--a darned ungrateful cuss! I came +here pretty cross when I got George's letter, and now I hear of an amount +of hostile feeling which rather surprised me." + +"That you are surprised, Will, surprises me," said Penhallow. "The +Fugitive-Slave Act will always meet with opposition at the North. It +seems made to create irritation even among people who really are not +actively hostile to slavery. If it became necessary to enforce it, I +believe that I would obey it, because it is the law--but it is making +endless trouble. May I ask what you propose to do about this present +case?" + +"Do--oh, nothing! I am advised to employ detectives and hunt the man +down. I will not; I shall go home. It is not Mr. Swallow's advice." + +"No, it is not," said the lawyer, who stood aside waiting a chance to +speak. "Some one warned the man, and it is pretty generally suspected how +he came to be told." + +Penhallow turned to Woodburn, "Has Mr. Swallow ventured to connect me or +any of my family with this matter?" + +"No," said Woodburn, which was true. Swallow meant to keep in reserve +Mrs. Penhallow's share in the escape until he learned how far an angry +slave-owner was disposed to go. Woodburn had, however, let him understand +that he was not of a mind to go further, and had paid in good-humour a +bill he thought excessive. Grey had made it all seem easy, and then as +Swallow now learned had gone away. He had also written to his own +overseer, and thus among their neighbours a strong feeling prevailed that +this was a case for prompt and easy action. The action had been prompt +and had failed. Woodburn was going home to add more bitterness to the +Southern sense of Northern injustice. + +When Woodburn, much to Penhallow's relief, had said he was done with the +case, the Squire returned, "Then, as you are through with Mr. Swallow, +come home and dine with me. Where are you staying?" + +"At Mr. Swallow's, but I leave by the night train." + +"So soon! But come and dine. I will send for your bag and see that you +get to your train." + +The prospect of Swallow and his feeble, overdressed wife, and his +comrade's urgency, decided Woodburn. He said, "Yes, if Mr. Swallow will +excuse me." + +Swallow said, "Oh, of course!" relieved to be rid of a dissatisfied +client, and the two ex-soldiers went away together chatting of West Point +life. + +Half-way up the avenue Penhallow said, "Before we go in, a word or two--" + +"What is it, Jim?" + +"That fellow said nothing of Mrs. Penhallow, you are sure?" + +"Yes," returned Woodburn, "not a word. I knew that you lived here, but +neither of you nor of Mrs. Penhallow did he say a word in connection with +this business. I meant to look you up this afternoon. Why do you speak of +your wife?" + +"Because--well--I could not let you join us without an honest word +concerning what I was sure you would have heard from Swallow. Now if you +had taken what I presume was his advice--to punish the people concerned +in warning Josiah, you--indeed I--might hesitate--" + +"What do you mean, Jim?" said his companion much amazed. + +"I mean this: After our loose-tongued friend Grey told my wife that +Josiah was in danger, she sent him word of the risk he ran, and then drew +out of our bank for him his savings and enabled him to get away. Now +don't say a word until I have done. Listen! This man turned up here over +three years ago and was soon employed about my stables. He broke his leg +in stopping a runaway and saved my wife's young niece, our adopted child, +Leila Grey. There was some other kind and efficient service. That's all. +Now, can you dine with me?" + +"With all my heart, Jim. Damn Grey! Did he talk much?" + +"Did he? No, he gabbled. But are you satisfied?" + +"Yes, Jim. I am sorry I drove off your barber--and I shall hold my tongue +when I get home--as far as I can." + +"Then come. I have some of my father's Madeira, if Grey has left any. I +shall say a word to Mrs. Penhallow. By George! I am glad to have you." + +Penhallow showed Woodburn to a room, and feeling relieved and even +elated, found his wife, who had tired of waiting and had gone to get +ready to dine. He told her in a few words enough to set her at ease with +the new guest. Then Mark Rivers came in and John Penhallow, who having +heard about the stranger's errand was puzzled when he became aware of the +cordial relations of his uncle and Mr. Woodburn. + +The dinner was pleasant and unembarrassed. The lad whom events had +singularly matured listened to gay memories of West Point and to talk of +cadets whose names were to live in history or who had been distinguished +in our unrighteous war with Mexico. When now and then the talk became +quite calmly political, Ann listened to the good-natured debate and was +longing to speak her mind. She was, however, wisely silent, and reflected +half amused that she had lost the right to express herself on the +question which was making politics ill-tempered but was now being +discussed at her table with such well-bred courtesy. John soon ceased to +follow the wandering talk, and feeling what for him had the charm of +romance in the flight of Josiah sat thinking over the scene of the +warning at night, the scared fugitive in the cabin, and the lonely voyage +down through the darkness of the rapids of the river. Where would the man +go? Would they ever see him again? They were to meet in far-away days and +in hours far more perilous. Then he was caught once more by gay stories +of adventures on the plains and memories of Indian battles, until the +wine had been drunk and the Squire took his friend to the library for an +hour. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Penhallow himself drove his guest to meet the night express to the East, +and well pleased with his day returned to find his wife talking with +Rivers and John. He sat down with them at the fire in the hall, saying, +"I wanted to keep Woodburn longer, but he was wise not to stay. What are +you two talking over--you were laughing?" + +"I," said Rivers, "was hearing how that very courteous gentleman chanced +to dine with these mortal enemies who stole his property. I kept quiet, +Mrs. Penhallow said nothing, John ate his dinner, and no one quarrelled. +I longed for Mr. Grey--" + +"For shame," said Mrs. Ann. "Tell him why we were laughing--it was at +nothing particular." + +"It was about poor old Mrs. Burton." + +"What about her? If you can make that widow interesting in any way, I +shall be grateful." + +"It was about her dead husband--" + +"Am I to hear it or not?" said Penhallow. "What is it?" + +"Why, what she said was that she was more than ever confirmed in her +belief in special Providences, because Malcolm was so fond of tomatoes, +and this year of his death not one of their tomatoes ripened." + +The Squire's range of enjoyment of the comic had limitations, but this +story was immensely enjoyed and to his taste. He laughed in his hearty +way. "Did she tell you that, Mark, or has it improved in your hands?" + +"No--no, I got it from Grace, and he had it from the widow. I do not +think it seemed the least bit funny to Grace." + +"But after all," said Mrs. Ann, "is it so very comic?" + +"Oh, now," said Penhallow, "we are in for a discussion on special +Providences. I can't stand it to-night; I want something more definite. +My manager says sometimes, 'I want to close out this-here business.' Now +I want to close out this abominable business about my poor Josiah. You +and your aunt, John, have been, as you may know, breaking the law of your +country--" + +Rivers, surprised and still partially ignorant, looked from one to +another. + +"Oh, James!" remonstrated his wife, not overpleased. + +"Wait a little, my dear Ann. Now, John, I want to hear precisely how you +gave Josiah a warning and--well--all the rest. You ought to know that my +little lady did as usual the right thing. The risks and whatever there +might have been of danger were ours by right--a debt paid to a poor +runaway who had made us his friends. Now, John!" + +Rivers watched his pupil with the utmost interest. John stood up a little +excited by this unexpected need to confess. He leaned against the side of +the mantel and said, "Well, you see, Uncle Jim, I got in at the back--" + +"I don't see at all. I want to be made to see--I want the whole story." + +John had in mind that he had done a rather fine thing and ought to relate +it as lightly as he had heard Woodburn tell of furious battles with +Apaches. But, as his uncle wanted the whole story, he must have some good +reason, and the young fellow was honestly delighted. Standing by the +fire, watched by three people who loved him, and above all by the +Captain, his ideal of what he felt he himself could never be, John +Penhallow told of his entrance to Josiah's room and of his thought of +the cabin as a hiding-place. When he hesitated, Penhallow said, "Oh, +don't leave out, John Penhallow, I want all the details. I have my +reasons, John." + +Flushed and handsome, with his strong young face above the figure which +was to have his uncle's athletic build, he related his story to the +close. As he told of the parting with the frightened fugitive and the +hunted man's last blessing, he was affected as he had not been at the +time. "That's all, Uncle Jim. It was too bad--and he will never come +back." + +"He could," said Rivers. + +"Yes--but he will not. I know the man," said Penhallow. "He has the +courage of the minute, but the timidity of the slave. We shall see him no +more, I fear." + +The little group around the fire fell to silence, and John sat down. He +wanted a word of approval, and got it. "I want you to know, John," said +Penhallow, "that I think you behaved with courage and discretion. It was +not an errand for a boy, but no man could have done better, and your aunt +had no one else. I am glad she had not." + +Then John Penhallow felt that he was shaky and that his eyes were +uncomfortably filling. With a boy's dislike of showing emotion, he +mastered his feelings and said, "Thank you, Uncle Jim." + +"That is all," said the Squire, who too saw and comprehended what he saw, +"go to bed, you breaker of the law--" + +"And I," said Ann, "a wicked partner. Come, John." + +They left the master of the house with the rector. Rivers looked at the +clock, "I think I must go. I do not stand late hours. If I let the day +capture the night, the day after is apt to find me dull." + +"Well, stand it this once, Mark. I hate councils of war or peace without +the pipe, and now, imagine it, my dear wife wanted me to smoke, and that +was all along of that terrible spittoon and the long-expected cousin of +whom I have heard from time to time. _Les absens n'out pas toujours +tort_. Now smoke and don't watch the clock. I said this abominable +business was to be closed out--" + +"And is it not?" asked Rivers. + +"No. I do not talk about Peter Lamb to my wife, because she thinks my +helping him so often has done the man more harm than good. It was not +Grey alone who was responsible. He told Mrs. Penhallow that Peter had +sent him to Josiah's shop. He told Grey too that Josiah must be a runaway +slave and that any one would know him by his having lost two fingers. +That at once set Grey on this mischievous track." + +"I am only too sure that you are right," returned Rivers. "Peter tried a +very futile blackmailing trick on Josiah. He wanted to get whisky, and +told the poor negro that he must get it for him or he would let his +master know where he was. Of course, the scamp knew what we all knew and +no more, but it alarmed Josiah, who came to me at once. He was like a +scared child. I told him to go home and that Peter had lied. He went away +looking as if the old savagery in his blood might become practically +active." + +"I don't wonder," said Penhallow. "Did it end there?" + +"No, I saw Peter next day, and he of course lied to me very cleverly, +said it was only a joke on Josiah, and so on. I think, sir, and you will +I hope excuse me--I do think that the man were better let alone. Every +time you help him, he gets worse. When he was arrested and suspected of +burning Robert's hayrick, you pleaded with the old farmer and got the man +off. He boasted of it the next time he got drunk." + +"I know--I know." The Squire had paid Robert's loss, and aware of his own +folly was of no mind to confess to any one. "I have no wish or will to +help him. I mean now to drop him altogether, and I must tell him so. But +what a pity it is! He is intelligent, and was a good carpenter until he +began to drink. I must talk to him." + +"You will only make him more revengeful. He has what he calls 'got even' +with Josiah, and he is capable of doing it with you or me. Let him +alone." + +"Not I," said the Squire; "if only for his mother's sake, I must see what +I can do." + +"Useless--quite useless," said Rivers. "You may think that strange advice +for a clergyman, but I do sometimes despair of others and occasionally of +Mark Rivers. Goodnight." + +During these days the fugitive floated down the swift little river at +night, and at dawn hid his frail boat and himself in the forests of a +thinly settled land. He was brave enough, but his ignorance of geography +added to his persistent terror. On the third day the broader waters +brought him to farms and houses. Then he left his boat and struck out +across the country until he came to a railway. In the station he made out +that it led to Philadelphia. Knowing that he would be safe there, he +bought a ticket and arrived in the city the next day--a free man with +money, intelligence, and an honest liking for steady work. + +The Squire had the good habit of second thought. His wife knew it well +and had often found it valuable and to be trusted. At present he was +thoroughly disgusted with the consequences of what he knew to be in some +degree the result of his own feeling that he was bound to care for the +man whose tie to him was one few men would have considered as in any +serious degree obligatory. The night brought good counsel, and he made +up his mind next morning simply to let the foster-brother alone. Fate +decreed otherwise. In the morning he was asked by his wife to go with her +to the village; she wanted some advice. He did not ask what, but said, +"Of course. I am to try the barber's assistant I have brought from the +mills to shave me, and what is more important--Westways. I have put him +in our poor old Josiah's shop." + +They went together to Pole's, and returning she stopped before the +barn-like building where Grace gathered on Sundays a scant audience to +hear the sermons which Rivers had told him had too much heart and too +little head. + +"What is it?" asked Penhallow. + +"I have heard, James, that their chapel (she never called it church) is +leaking--the roof, I mean. Could not you pay for a new roof?" + +"Of course, my dear--of course. It can't cost much. I will see Grace +about it." + +"Thank you, James." On no account would she now have done this herself. +She was out of touch for the time with the whole business of politics, +and to have indulged her usual gentle desire to help others would have +implied obligation on the part of the Baptist to accept her wish that he +should vote and use his influence for Buchanan. Now the thing would be +done without her aid. In time her desire to see the Democrats win in the +interest of her dear South would revive, but at present what with Grey +and the threat of the practical application of the Fugitive-Slave Act and +her husband's disgust, she was disposed to let politics alone. + +Presently, as they walked on, Peter Lamb stopped them. "I'd like to speak +to you for a moment, Mr. Penhallow." Mrs. Penhallow walked on. + +"What is it?" said the Squire. + +"I'm all right now--I'll never drink again. I want some work--and +mother's sick." + +"We will see to her, but you get no more work from me." + +"Why, what's the matter, sir?" + +"Matter! You might ask Josiah if he were here. You know well enough what +you did--and now I am done with you." + +"So help me God, I never--" + +"Oh! get out of my way. You are a miserable, lying, ungrateful man, and I +have done with you." + +He walked away conscious of having again lost his temper, which was rare. +The red-faced man he left stood still, his lips parted, the large yellow +teeth showing. "It's that damned parson," he said. + +Penhallow rejoined his wife. "What did he want?" she asked. + +"Oh, work," he said. "I told him he could get no more from me." + +"Well, James," she said, "that is the first sensible thing you have ever +done about that man. You have thoroughly spoiled him, and now it is very +likely too late to discipline him." + +"Yes--perhaps--you may be right." He knew her to be right, but he did not +like her agreement with his decision to be connected with even her mild +statement that it had been better if long before he had been more +reasonably severe and treated Lamb as others would have treated him. In +the minor affairs of life Ann Penhallow used the quick perception of a +woman, and now and then brought the Squire's kindly excesses to the bar +of common sense. Sometimes the sentence was never announced, but now and +then annoyed at his over-indulgent charity she allowed her impatience the +privilege of speech, and then, as on this occasion, was sorry to have +spoken. + +Dismissing his slight vexation, Penhallow said presently, "He told me his +mother was sick." + +"She was not yesterday. I took her our monthly allowance and some towels +I wanted hemmed and marked. He lied to you, James. Did you believe him +even for a moment?" + +"But she might be sick, Ann. I meant you to stop and ask." + +"I will, of course." This time she held her tongue, and left him at +Grace's door. + +The perfect sweetness of her husband's generous temperament was sometimes +trying to Ann in its results, but now it had helped her out of an awkward +position, and with pride and affection she watched his soldierly figure +for a moment and then went on her way. + +Intent with gladness on fulfilling his wife's errand, he went up the +steps of the small two-storey house of the Baptist preacher. He had +difficulty in making any one hear where there was no one to hear. If at +Westways the use of the rare bells or more common knockers brought no one +to the door, you were free to walk in and cry, "Where are you, Amanda +Jane, and shall I come right up?" Penhallow had never set foot in the +house, but had no hesitation in entering the front room close to the +narrow hall which was known as the front entry. The details of men's +surroundings did not usually interest Penhallow, but in the mills or the +far past days of military service nothing escaped him that could be of +use in the work of the hour. The stout little Baptist preacher, with his +constant every-day jollity and violent sermons, of which he had heard +from Rivers, in no way interested Penhallow. When he once said to Ann, +"The man is unneat and common," she replied, "No, he is homely, but +neither vulgar nor common. I hate his emotional performances, but the man +is good, James." "Then I do wish, Ann, he would button his waistcoat and +pull up his socks." + +Now he looked about him with some unusual attention. There was no carpet. +A set of oddly coloured chairs and settees which would have pleased Ann, +a square mahogany table set on elephantine legs, completed the +furnishings of a whitewashed room, where the flies, driven indoors by +cool weather, buzzed on window glasses dull with dust. The back room had +only a writing-table, a small case of theological books, and two or +three much used volumes of American history. Penhallow looked around him +with unusually awakened pity. The gathered dust, the battered chairs, the +spider-webs in the darker corners, would have variously annoyed and +disgusted Ann Penhallow. A well-worn Bible lay on the table, with a +ragged volume of "Hiawatha" and "Bunyan's Holy War." There were no other +books. This form of poverty piteously appealed to him. + +"By George!" he exclaimed, "that is sad. The man is book-poor. Ann must +have that library. I will ask him to use mine." As he stood still in +thought, he heard steps, and turned to meet Dr. McGregor. + +"Come to see Grace, sir?" said the doctor. + +"Yes, I came about a little business, but there seems to be no one in." + +"Grace is in bed and pretty sick too." + +"What is the matter?" + +"Oh, had a baptism in the river--stood too long in the water and got +chilled. It has happened before. Come up and see him--he'll like it." + +The Squire hesitated and then followed the doctor. "Who cares for him?" +he asked as they moved up the stairs. + +"Oh, his son. Rather a dull lad, but not a bad fellow. He has no +servant--cooks for himself. Ever try it, Squire?" + +"I--often. But what a life!" + +The stout little clergyman lay on a carved four-post bedstead of old +mahogany, which seemed to hint of better days. The ragged patch-work +quilt over him told too of busy woman-hands long dead. The windows were +closed, the air was sick (as McGregor said later), and there was the +indescribable composite odour which only the sick chamber of poverty +knows. The boy, glad to escape, went out as they entered. + +Grace sat up. "Now," he said cheerfully, "this is real good of you to +come and see me! Take a seat, sir." + +The chairs were what the doctor once described as non-sitable, and +wabbled as they sat down. + +"You are better, I see, Grace," said the doctor. "I fetched up the Squire +for a consultation." + +"Yes, I'm near about right." He had none of the common feeling of the +poor that he must excuse his surroundings to these richer visitors, nor +any least embarrassment. "It's good to see some one, Mr. Penhallow." + +"I come on a pleasant errand," said Penhallow. "We will talk it over and +then leave you to the doctor. Mrs. Penhallow wants me to roof your +church. I came to say to you that I shall do it with pleasure. You will +lose the use of it for one Sunday at least." + +"Thank you, Squire," said Grace simply. "That's real good medicine." + +"I will see to it at once." + +The doctor opened a window, and Penhallow drew a grateful breath of fresh +air. + +"Don't go, sir," said Grace. The Squire sat down again while McGregor +went through his examination of the sick man. Then he too rose to leave. + +"Must you go?" said Grace. "It is such a pleasure to see some one from +the outside." The doctor smiled and lingered. + +"I suppose, Squire, you'll get Joe Boynton, the carpenter, to put on the +roof? He's one of my flock." + +"Yes," said Penhallow, "but he will want to put his old workman, Peter +Lamb, on the job, and I have no desire to help that man any further. He +gives his mother nothing, and every cent he makes goes for drink." + +McGregor nodded approval, but wondered why at last the Squire's unfailing +good-nature had struck for higher wages of virtue in the man he had +ruined by kindness. + +"I try to keep work in Westways," said Penhallow. "Joe Shall roof the +chapel, and like as not Peter will be too drunk to help. I can't quite +make it a condition with Joe that he shall not employ Peter, but I should +like to." McGregor's face grew smiling at Penhallow's conclusion when he +added, "I hope he may get work elsewhere." Then the Squire went +downstairs with the doctor, exchanging brevities of talk. + +"Are you aware, Penhallow, that this wicked business about Josiah has +beaten Buchanan in Westways? Come to apply the Fugitive-Slave Act and +people won't stand it. As long as it was just a matter of newspaper +discussion Westways didn't feel it, but when it drove away our barber, +Westways's conscience woke up to feel how wicked it was." + +The Squire had had an illustration nearer home and kept thinking of it as +he murmured monosyllabic contributions while the doctor went on--"My own +belief is that if the November election were delayed six months, Fremont +would carry Pennsylvania." + +Penhallow recovered fuller consciousness and returned, "I distrust +Fremont. I knew him in the West. But he represents, or rather he stands +for, a party, and it is mine." + +"I am glad to know that," said McGregor. "I am really glad. It is a +relief to be sure about a man like you, Penhallow. I suppose you know +that you are loved in the county as no one else is." + +"Nonsense," exclaimed the Squire, laughing, but not ill-pleased. + +"No, I am serious; but it leads up to this: Am I free to say you will +vote the Republican ticket?" + +"Yes--yes--you may say so." + +"It will be of use, but couldn't I persuade you to speak at the meeting +next week at the mills?" + +"No, McGregor. That is not in my line." He had other reasons for refusal. +"Let us drop politics. What is that boy of yours going to do?" + +"Study medicine," he says. "He has brains enough, and Mr. Rivers tells me +he is studious. Our two lads fell out, it seems, and my boy got the worst +of it. What I don't like is that he has not made up with John." + +"No, that is bad; but boys get over their quarrels in time. However, I +must go. If I can be of any use to Tom, you know that I am at your +service." + +"When were you not at everybody's service?" said the doctor, and they +went out through the hall. + +"Good-bye," said Penhallow, but the doctor stopped him. + +"Penhallow, may I take the liberty to bother you with a bit of unasked +advice?" + +"A liberty, nonsense! What is it?" + +"Well, then--let that drunken brute Peter alone. You said that you would +not let the carpenter use him, but why not? Then you hoped he would get +work. Let him alone." + +"McGregor, I have a great charity for a drunkard's son--and the rest you +know." + +"Yes, too well." + +"I try to put myself in his place--with his inheritance--" + +"You can't. Nothing is more kind than that in some cases, and nothing +more foolish in others or in this--" + +"Perhaps. I will think it over, Doctor. Good-bye." + +Meanwhile Grace lay in bed thoughtfully considering the situation. While +her husband seemed practically inactive in politics, Mrs. Penhallow had +been busy, and she had clearly hinted that the roofing of the chapel +might depend on how Grace used his large influence in the electoral +contest, but had said nothing very definite. He was well aware, however, +that in his need for help he had bowed a little in the House of Rimmon. +Then he had talked with Rivers and straightened up, and now did the +Squire's offer imply any pledge on his own part? While he tried to solve +this problem, Penhallow reappeared. + +"I forgot something, Grace," he said. "Mrs. Penhallow will send Mrs. Lamb +here for a few days, and some--oh, some little luxuries--ice and fresh +milk." + +The Baptist did not like it. Was this to keep him in the way he had +resolved not to go. "Thank you and her," he returned, and then added +abruptly, "How are you meaning to vote, Squire?" + +"Oh, for Fremont," replied Penhallow, rather puzzled. + +"Well, that will be good news in Westways." It was to him, too, and he +felt himself free. "Isn't Mrs. Penhallow rather on the other side?" + +He had no least idea that the question might be regarded as impertinent. +Penhallow said coldly, "My wife and I are rather averse to talking +politics. I came back to say that I want you to feel free to make use of +my library--just as Rivers does." + +"Now that will be good. I am book-starved except for Rivers's help. Thank +you." He put out a fat hand and said, "God has been good to me this day; +may He be as kind to you and yours." + +The Squire went his way wondering what the deuce the man had to do with +Ann Penhallow's politics. + +Mrs. Lamb took charge of Grace, and Mrs. Penhallow saw that he was well +supplied and gave no further thought to the incorrigible and changeful +political views of Westways. + +The excitement over the flight of Josiah lessened, and Westways settled +down to the ordinary dull routine of a little community dependent on +small farmers and the mill-men who boarded at the old tavern or with some +of the townspeople. + + * * * * * + +The forests were rapidly changing colour except where pine and spruce +stood darkly green amid the growing magnificence of maple and oak. It was +the intermediate season in which were neither winter nor summer sports, +and John Penhallow enjoying the pageant of autumn rode daily or took long +walks, exploring the woods, missing Leila and giving free wing to a mind +which felt the yearning, never to be satisfied, to translate into human +speech its bird-song of enjoyment of nature. + +On an afternoon in mid-October he saw Mr. Rivers, to his surprise, far +away on the bank of the river. Well aware that the clergyman was rarely +given to any form of exercise on foot, John was a little surprised when +he came upon the tall, stooping, pallid man with what Ann Penhallow +called the "eloquent" eyes. He was lying on the bank lazily throwing +stones into the river. As John broke through the alders and red willows +above him, he turned at the sound and cried, as John jumped down the +bank, "Glad to see you, John! I have been trying to settle a question no +one can settle to the satisfaction of others or even himself. You might +give me your opinion as to who wrote the Epistle to the Hebrews. Origen +gave it up, and Philo had a theory about Apollos, and there is +Tertullian, that's all any fellow knows; and so now I await your opinion. +What nobody knows about, anybody's opinion is good about." + +John laughed as he said, "I don't think I'll try." + +"Did you ever read Hebrews, John? The epistle I mean." + +"No." + +"Then don't or not yet. The Bible books ought to be read at different +ages of a man's life. I could arrange them. Your aunt reads to you or +with you, I believe?" + +"Yes--Acts just now, sir. She makes it so clear and interesting that it +seems as if all might have happened now to some missionaries somewhere." + +"That is an art. Some of the Bible stories require such help to make them +seem real to modern folk. How does, or how did, Leila take Mrs. Ann's +teachings?" + +"Oh, Leila," he replied, as he began to pitch pebbles in the little +river, "Leila--wriggled. You know, she really can't keep quiet, Mr. +Rivers." + +"Yes, I know well enough. But did what interested you interest Leila?" + +"No--no, indeed, sir. It troubled Aunt Ann because she could not make her +see things. Usually at night before bedtime we read some of the Gospels, +and then once a week Acts. Every now and then Leila would sit still and +ask such queer questions--about people." + +"What kind of questions, John?" He was interested and curious. + +"Oh, about Peter's mother and--I forget--oh, yes, once--I remember that +because aunt did not like it and I really couldn't see why." + +"Well, what was it?" + +"She wanted to know if Christ's brothers ever were married and if they +had children." + +"Did she, indeed! Well--well!" + +"Aunt Ann asked her why she wanted to know that, and Leila said it was +because she was thinking how Christ must have loved them, and maybe that +was why He was so fond of little children. Now, I couldn't have thought +that." + +"Nor I," said Rivers. "She will care more for people--oh, many +people--and by and by for things, events and the large aspects of life, +but she is as yet undeveloped." + +John was clear that he did not want her to like many people, but he was +inclined to keep this to himself and merely said, "I don't quite +understand." + +"No, perhaps I _was_ a little vague. Leila is at the puzzling age. You +will find her much altered in a year." + +"I won't like that." + +"Well, perhaps not. But you too have changed a good deal since you came. +You were a queer young prig." + +"I was--I was indeed." + +Then they were silent a while. John thought of his mother who had left +him to the care of tutors and schools while she led a wandering, unhappy, +invalid life. He remembered the Alps and the _spas_ and her fretful care +of his very good health, and then the delight of being free and +surrounded with all a boy desires, and at last Leila and the wonderful +hair on the snow-drift. + +"Look at the leaves, John," said Rivers. "What fleets of red and gold!" + +"I wonder," said John, "how far they will drift, and if any of them will +ever float to the sea. It is a long way." + +"Yes," returned Rivers, "and so we too are drifting." + +"Oh, no, sir," said John, with the confidence of youth, "we are not +drifting, we are sailing--not just like the leaves anywhere the waves +take them." + +"More or less," added Rivers moodily, "more or less." + +He looked at the boy as he spoke, conscious of a nature unlike his own. +Then he laughed outright. "You may be sure we are a good deal hustled by +circumstances--like the leaves." + +"I should prefer to hustle circumstances," replied John gaily, and again +the rector studied the young face and wondered what life had in store for +this resolute nature. + +"Come, let us go. I have walked too far for me, I am overtired, John." + +What it felt to be overtired, John hardly knew. He said, "I know a short +cut, cater-cornered across the new clearing." + +As they walked homeward, Rivers said, "What do you want to do, John? You +are more than fit for the university--you should be thinking about it." + +"I do not know." + +"Would you like to be a clergyman?" + +"No," said John decisively. + +"Or a lawyer, or a doctor like Tom McGregor?" + +"I do not know--I have not thought about it much, but I might like to go +to West Point." + +"Indeed!" + +"Yes, but I am not sure." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +When John was eager to hear what Leila wrote, his aunt laughed and said, +"As you know, there is always a word of remembrance for you, but her +letters would hardly interest you. They are about the girls and the +teachers and new gowns. Write to her--I will enclose it, but you need +expect no answer." + +That Leila should have acquired interest in gowns seemed to him unlike +that fearless playmate. He learned that the rules of the school forbade +the writing of letters except to parents and near relatives. He was now +to write to Leila the first letter he had written since his laborious +epistles to his mother when at school. His compositions seemed to Rivers +childlike long after he showed notable competence in speech. + +"DEAR LEILA: It is very hard that you cannot write to me. We are all well +here except Lucy, who is lame. It isn't very much. + +"Of course you have heard about our good old Josiah. Isn't that slave law +wicked? Westways is angry and all turned round for Fremont. Mr. Grace has +been ill, and Uncle Jim is putting a roof on his chapel. Josiah left me +his traps when he ran away. He meant to make you a muskrat skin bag. I +found four in his traps, and I have caught four more, and when Mrs. Lamb +makes a bag of them, I am to have for it a silver clasp which belonged +to Great-grandmother Penhallow. No girl will have one like that. It was +on account of Josiah the town will not vote for Buchanan. + +"I wish I had asked you for a lock of your hair. I remember how it looked +on the snow when Billy upset us."-- + +He had found his letter-writing hard work, and let it alone for a time. +Before he finished it, he had more serious news to add. + +The autumnal sunset of the year, the red and gold of maple, oak and +sassafras, was new to the boy who had spent so many years in Europe, and +more wonderful was it when in this late October on the uplands there fell +softly upon the glowing colours of the woods a light covering of early +snow. Once seen it is a spectacle never to be forgotten, and he had the +gift of being charmed by the scenic ingenuities of nature. + +The scripture reading was over and he was thinking late in the evening of +what he had seen, when his aunt said, "Goodnight, John--bed-time," and +went up the stairway. John lay quiet, with closed eyes, seeing the sunlit +snow lightly dusted on the red and yellows of the forest. + +About eleven his uncle came from the library. "What, you scamp!--up so +late! I meant to mail this letter to-day; run down and mail it. It ought +to go when Billy takes the letters to Westways Crossing early to-morrow. +I will wait up for you. Now use those long legs and hurry." + +John took his cap and set off, liking the run over the snow, which was +light and no longer falling. He raced down the avenue and climbed the +gate, thinking of Leila. He dropped the letter into the post-office box, +and decided to return by a short way through the Penhallow woods which +faced the town. He moved eastward, climbed the fence, and stood still. He +was some two hundred yards from the parsonage. His attention was arrested +by a dull glow behind the house. He ran towards it as it flared upward a +broad rush of flame, brilliantly lighting the expanse of snow and sending +long prancing shafts of shadow through the woods as it struck on the tall +spruces. Shouting, "Fire! Fire!" John came nearer. + +The large store of dry pine and birch for winter-use piled in a shed +against the back of Rivers's house was burning fiercely, with that look +of ungoverned fury which gives such an expression of merciless, personal +rage to a great fire. The terror of it at first possessed the lad, who +was shouting himself hoarse. The flame was already running up and over +the outer planking and curling down upon the thin snow of the shingled +roof as he ran around the small garden and saw the front door open and +Rivers come out. The rector said, "It is gone, John; I will go for your +uncle. Run over to the Wayne and call up the men. Tell them to get out my +books and what they can, but to run no risks. Quick, now! Wake up the +town." + +There was little need, for some one at the inn had heard John's cries. In +a few minutes the village was awake and out of doors before Penhallow +arriving took charge and scattered men through the easily lighted pines, +in some dread of a forest fire. The snow on the floor of pine-needles and +on the laden trees was, however, as he soon saw, an insurance against the +peril from far-scattered sparks, and happily there was no wind. Little +of what was of any value was saved, and in the absence of water there was +nothing to do but to watch the fire complete its destructive work. + +"There is nothing more we can do, Rivers," said Penhallow. "John was the +first to see it. We will talk about it to-morrow--not now--not here." + +The three Grey Pine people stood apart while books and clothes and little +else were carried across the road and stored in the village houses. At +last the flames rose high in the air and for a few minutes as the roof +fell in, the beauty of the illumination was what impressed John and +Rivers. The Squire now and then gave quick orders or stood still in +thought. At last he said to the rector, "I want you to go to Grey Pine, +call up Mrs. Penhallow and tell her, and then go to bed. You will like +to stay here with me, John?" + +"Yes, sir." The Squire walked away as Rivers left them. + +"Fine sight, ain't it, Mr. John," said Billy, the one person who enjoyed +the fire. + +"Yes," said John, absently intent on the red-lighted snow spaces and the +gigantic shadows of the thinly timbered verge of the forest as they were +and were not. Then there was a moment of alarm. An old birch, loosely +clad with dry, ragged bark stood near to the house. A flake of falling +fire fell on it. Instantly the whole trunk-cover blazed up with a roar +like that of a great beast in pain. It was sudden and for the instant +terrible, but the snow-laden leaves still left on it failed to take fire, +and what in summer would have been a calamity was at an end. + +"Gosh!" exclaimed Billy, "didn't he howl?" John made no reply. + +"Couldn't wake Peter. I was out first." He had liked the fun of banging +at the doors. "Old Woman Lamb said she couldn't wake him." + +"Drunk, I suppose," said John absently, stamping out a spark among the +pine-needles at his feet, now freed from snow by the heat. + +The night passed, and when the dawning came, the Squire leaving some +orders went homeward with John, saying only, "Go to bed at once, we will +talk about it later. I don't like it, John. You saw it first--where did +it begin?" + +"Outside, sir, in the wood-shed." + +"Indeed! There has been some foul play. Who could it have been?" He said +no more. + +It was far into the morning when John awaking found that he had been +allowed to make up for the lost sleep of the past night. His aunt smiling +greeted him with a kiss, concerning which there is something to be said +in regard to what commentary the assistant features make upon the kiss. +"I would not have you called earlier," she said; "but now, here is your +breakfast, you have earned it." She sat down and watched the +disappearance of a meal which would have filled his mother with anxiety. +Ann was really enjoying the young fellow's wholesome appetite and +contrasting it with the apprehensive care concerning food he had shown +when long before he had seemed to her husband and herself a human problem +hard to solve. James Penhallow had been wise, and Leila a rough and +efficient schoolmistress. "Do not hurry, John; have another cup?" + +"Yes, please." + +"Have you written that letter? I mean to be naughty enough to enclose it +to Leila. I told you so." + +"Yes, but it is not quite done, and now I must tell her about the fire. I +wrote her that Josiah had gone away." + +"The less of it the better. I mean about--well, about your warning +him--and the rest--your share and mine." + +"Of course not, Aunt Ann. I would not talk about myself. I mean, I could +not write about it." + +"You would talk of it if she were here--you would, I am sure." + +"Yes, that's different--I suppose, I would," he returned. She was struck +with this as being like what James Penhallow would have said and have, or +not have, done. + +"If you have finished, John, I think your uncle wants you." + +"Why didn't you tell me, aunt?" he said, as he got up in haste. + +"Oh, boys must be fed," she cried. She too rose from her seat, and went +around the table and kissed him again, saying, "You are more and more +like my captain, John." + +Being a woman, as John was well aware, not given to express approval of +what were merely acts of duty, he was surprised at what was, for her, +excess of praise; nor was she as much given to kissing, as are many +women. The lad felt, therefore, that what she thus said and did was +unusual, and was what his Uncle Jim called one of Ann's rarely conferred +brevets of affection. + +"Yes," she repeated, "you are like him." + +"What! I like Uncle Jim! I wish I were." + +"Now go," she said, giving him a gentle push. She was shyly aware of a +lapse into unhabitual emotion and of some closer approach to the maternal +relation fostered by his growing resemblance to James Penhallow. + +"So," laughed his uncle as John entered the library, "you have burned +down the school and are on a holiday--you and Rivers." + +John grinned. "Yes, sir." + +"Sit down. We are discussing that fire. You were the first to see it, +John. It was about eleven--" + +"Yes, uncle, it struck as I left the hall." + +"No one else was in sight, and in fact, Rivers, no one in Westways is out +of bed at ten. Both you and John are sure the fire began outside where +the wood was piled under a shed." + +"Yes," said Rivers. "It was a well dried winter supply, birch and pine. +The shed, as you know, was alongside of the kitchen door. I went over the +house as usual about nine, after old Susan, the maid, had gone home. I +covered the kitchen fire with ashes--a thing she is apt to neglect. I +went to bed at ten and wakened to hear the glass crack and to smell +smoke. The kitchen lay under my bedroom. I fear it was a deliberate act +of wickedness." + +"That is certain," said Penhallow, "but who could have wanted to do it. +You and I, Rivers, know every one in Westways. Can you think of any one +with malice enough to make him want to bum a house and risk the +possibility of murder?" + +Rivers turned his lean pale face toward the Squire, unwilling to speak +out what was in the minds of both men. John listened, looking from one +serious face to the other. + +"It seems to me quite incredible," said Penhallow, and then Rivers knew +surely that the older man had a pretty definite belief in regard to the +person who had been concerned. He knew too why the Squire was unwilling +to accuse him, and waited to hear what next Penhallow would say. + +"It makes one feel uncomfortable," said Penhallow, and turning to John, +"Who was first there after you came?" + +"Billy, sir, I think, even before the men from the Wayne, but I am not +sure. I told him to pound on the doors and wake up the town." + +"Did he say anything?" + +"Oh, just his usual silliness." + +"Was Peter Lamb at the fire?" + +"I think not. His mother opened a window and said that she could not +waken Peter. It was Billy told me that. I told Billy, I supposed Peter +was drunk. But he wasn't yesterday afternoon--I saw him." + +"Oh, there was time enough for that," remarked Rivers. + +Then the two men smoked and were silent, until at last the Squire said, +"Of course, you must stay here, Rivers, and you know how glad we shall +be--oh, don't protest. It is the only pleasant thing which comes out of +this abominable matter. Ann will like it." + +"Thank you," returned Rivers, "I too like it." + +John went away to look at the ruin left by the fire, and the Squire said +to his friend, "As I am absent in the mornings at the mills, you may keep +school here, Rivers," and it was so settled. + +Before going out Penhallow went to his wife's little room on the farther +side of the hall. He had no desire to hide his conclusions from her. She +saw how grave he looked. "What is it, James?" she asked, looking up from +her desk. + +"I am as sure as a man can be that Peter Lamb set fire to the parsonage. +He has always been revengeful and he owed our friend, the Rector, a +grudge. I have no direct evidence of his guilt, and what am I to do? You +know why I have always stood by him. I suppose that I was wrong." + +She knew only too well, but now his evident trouble troubled her and she +loved him too well to accept the temptation to use the exasperating +phrase, "I always told you so." "You can do nothing, James, without more +certainty. You will not question his mother?" + +"No, I can't do that, Ann; and yet I cannot quite let this go by and +simply sit still." + +"What do you propose to do?" + +"I do not know," and with this he left her and rode to the mills. In the +afternoon he called at Mrs. Lamb's and asked where he could find Peter. + +She was evidently uneasy, as she said, "You gave him work on the new roof +of the Baptist chapel with Boynton; he might be there." + +He made no comment, and went on his way until reaching the chapel he +called Peter down from the roof and said, "Come with me, I want to talk +to you." + +Peter was now sober and was sharply on guard. "Come away from the town," +added the Squire. He crossed the street, entered his own woods and walked +through them until he came in sight of the smoking relics of the +parsonage, where at a distance some few persons were idly discussing what +was also on Penhallow's mind. Here he turned on his foster-brother, and +said, "You set that house on fire. I could get out of your mother enough +to make it right to arrest you, but I will not bring her into the matter. +Others suspect you. Now, what have you to say?" + +"Say! I didn't do it--that's all. I was in bed." + +"Why did you not get up and help?" + +"Wasn't any of my business," he replied sulkily. "Everybody in this +town's against me, and now when I've given up drinking, to say I set a +house afire--" + +"Well!" said Penhallow, "this is my last word, you may go. I shall not +have you arrested, but I cannot answer for what others may do." + +Peter walked away. He had been for several days enough under the +influence of whisky to intensify what were for him normal or at least +habitually indulged characteristics. For them he was only in part +responsible. His mother had spoiled him. He had been as a child the +playmate of his breast-brother until time and change had left him only in +such a relation to Penhallow as would have meant little or nothing to +most men. As a result, out of the Squire's long and indulgent care of a +lad who grew up a very competent carpenter, and gradually more and more +an idle drunkard, Peter had come to overestimate the power of his claim +on Penhallow. What share in his evil qualities his father's drunkenness +had, is in no man's power to say. His desire to revenge the slightest +ill-treatment or the abuse his evil ways earned had the impelling force +of a brute instinct. What he called "getting even" kept him in +difficulties, and when he made things unpleasant or worse for the +offenders, his constant state of induced indifference to consequences +left him careless and satisfied. When there was not enough whisky to be +had, his wild acts of revengeful malice were succeeded by such childlike +terror as Penhallow's words produced. 'The preacher would have him +arrested; the Squire would not interfere. Some day he would get even with +him too!' There was now, however, no recourse but flight. He hastened +home and finding his mother absent searched roughly until by accident as +he let fall her Bible, a bank note dropped out. There were others, some +sixty dollars or more, her meagre savings. He took it all without the +least indecision. At dark after her return he ate the supper she +provided. When she had gone to bed, he packed some clothes in a canvas +bag and went quietly out upon the highway. Opposite to the smoking ruin +of the rectory he halted. He muttered, "I've got even with him anyhow!" + +As he murmured his satisfaction, a man left on guard crossed the road. +"Halloa! Where are you bound, Peter?" + +"Goin' after a job. Bad fire, wasn't it--hard on the preacher!" + +"Hard. He's well lodged at the Squire's, and I do hear it was insured. +Nobody's much the worse, and it will make a fine bit of work for some of +us. Who done it, I wonder?" + +"How should I know! Good-night." + +When out of sight, he turned and said, "I ain't got even yet. Them rich +people's hard to beat. Damn the Squire! I'll get even with him some day." +He was bitterly disappointed. "Gosh! I ran that nigger out, and now I'm a +runaway too. It's queer." + +At Westways Crossing he waited until an empty freight train was switched +off to let the night express go by. Then he stowed himself away in an +open box-car and had a comfortable sense of relief as it rolled eastward. +He felt sure that the Squire's last words meant that he might be arrested +and that immediate flight was his only chance of escape. + +He thus passes, like Josiah, for some years out of my story. He had +money, was when sober a clever carpenter, and felt, therefore, no fear of +his future. He had the shrewd conviction that the Squire at least would +not be displeased to get rid of him, and would not be very eager to have +him pursued. + +James Penhallow was disagreeably aware that it was his duty to bring +about the punishment of his drunken foster-brother, but he did not like +it. When the next morning he was about to mount his horse, he saw Mrs. +Lamb, now an aged woman, coming slowly up the avenue. As she came to the +steps of the porch, Penhallow went to meet her, giving the help of his +hand. + +"Good-morning, Ellen," he said, "what brings you here over the snow this +frosty day? Do you want to see Mrs. Penhallow?" + +For a moment she was too breathless to answer. The withered leanness of +the weary old face moved in an effort to speak, but was defeated by +emotion. She gasped, "Let me set down." + +He led her into the hall and gave her a chair. Then he called his wife +from her library-room. Ann at once knew that something more than the +effect of exertion was to be read in the moving face. The dull grey eyes +of age stared at James Penhallow and then at her, and again at him, as in +the vigour of perfect health they looked down at his old nurse and with +kindly patience waited. "Don't hurry, Ellen," said Mrs. Ann. "You are out +of breath." + +She seemed to Ann like some dumb animal that had no language but a look +to tell the story of despair or pain. At last she found her voice and +gasped out, "I came to tell you he has run away. He went last night. I'd +like to be able to say, James Penhallow, that I don't know why he went +away--" + +"We will not talk of it, Ellen," said the Squire, with some sense of +relief at the loss of need to do what he had felt to be a duty. "Come +near to the fire," he added. + +"No, I want to go home. I had to tell you. I just want to be alone. +I'd have given it to him if he had asked me. I don't mind his taking +the money, but he took it out of my Bible. I kept it there. It was +like stealing from the Lord. It'll bring him bad luck. Mostly it was +in the Gospels--just a bank-note here and there--sixty-one dollars and +seventy-three cents it was." She seemed to be talking to herself rather +than to the man and woman at her side. She went on--sometimes a babble +they could not comprehend, as in pity and wonder they stood over her. +Then again her voice rose, "He took it from the book of God. Oh, my son, +my son! I must go." + +She rose feebly tottering, and added, "It will follow him like a curse +out of the Bible. He took it out of the Bible. I must go." + +"No," said Penhallow, "wait and I will send you home." + +She sat down again. "Thank you." Then with renewed strength, she said, +"You won't have them go after him?" + +"No, I will not." + +He went away to order the carriage, and returning said, "You know, Ellen, +that you will always be taken care of." + +"Yes, I know, sir--I know. But he took it out of my Bible--out of the +book of God." She was presently helped into the wagon and sent away +murmuring incoherently. + +"And so, James," said Ann, "she knew too much about the fire. What a +tragedy!" + +"Yes, she knew. I am glad that he has gone. If he had faced it out and +stayed, I must have done something. I suppose it is better for her on the +whole. When he was drunk, he was brutal; when he was sober, he kept her +worried. I am glad he has gone." + +"But," said Ann, "he was her son--" + +"Yes, more's the pity." + +In a day or two it was known that Peter had disappeared. The town knew +very well why and discussed it at evening, when as usual the men gathered +for a talk. Pole expressed the general opinion when he said, "It's hard +on the old woman, but I guess it's a riddance of bad rubbish." Then they +fell to talking politics, the roofing of the chapel and the price of +wheat and so Westways settled down again to its every-day quiet round of +duties. + +The excitement of the fire and Lamb's flight had been unfavourable to +literary composition, but now John returned to his letter. He continued: + +"The reticule will have to be finished in town. Uncle will take it after +the election or send it to you. If you remember your Latin, you will know +that reticule comes from _reticulus,_ a net. But this isn't really a net. + +"We have had a big excitement. Some one set fire to the parsonage and it +burnt down." [He did not tell her who set it on fire, although he knew +very well that it was Peter Lamb.] "Lamb has run away, and I think we are +well rid of him. + +"I do miss you very much. Mr. Rivers says you will be a fashionable young +lady when you come back and will never snowball any more. I don't believe +it. + +"Yours truly, + +"JOHN PENHALLOW." + +Mrs. Penhallow enclosed the letter in one of her own, and no answer came +until she gave him a note at the end of October. Leila wrote: + +"DEAR JOHN: It is against the rules to write to any one but parents, and +I am breaking the rules when I enclose this to you. I do not think I +ought to do it, and I will not again. + +"You would not know me in my long skirts, and I wear my hair in two +plaits. The girls are all from the South and are very angry when they +talk about the North. I cannot answer them and am sorry I do not know +more about politics, but I do know that Uncle Jim would not agree with +them. + +"I go on Saturdays and over Sundays to my cousins in Baltimore. They say +that the South will secede if Fremont should be elected. I just hold my +tongue and listen. + +"Yours sincerely, + +"LEILA GREY. + +"P.S. I shall be very proud of the bag. I hope you are studying hard." + +"Indeed!" muttered John. "Thanks, Miss Grey." There was no more of it. + +John Penhallow had come by degrees to value the rare privilege of a +walk with the too easily wearied clergyman, who had avenues of ready +intellectual approach which invited the adventurous mind of the lad and +were not in the mental topography of James Penhallow. The cool, hazy days +of late October had come with their splendour of colour-contrasts such as +only the artist nature could make acceptable, and this year the autumn +was unusually brilliant. + +"Do you enjoy it?" asked Rivers. + +"Oh, yes, sir. I suppose every one does." + +"In a measure, as some people do the great music, and as the poets +usually do not. People presume that the ear for rhythm is the same as +that for music. They are things apart. A few poets have had both." + +"That seems strange," said John. "I have neither," and he was lost in +thought until Rivers, as usual easily tired, said, "Let us sit down. How +hazy the air is, John! It tenderly flatters these wild colour-contrasts. +It is like a November day of the Indian summer." + +"Why do they call it Indian summer?" asked John. + +"I do not know. I tried in vain to run it down in the dictionaries. In +Canada it is known as 'L'ete de St. Martin.'" + +"It seems," said John, "as if the decay of the year had ceased, in pity. +It is so beautiful and so new to me. I feel sometimes when I am alone in +these woods as if something was going to happen. Did you ever feel that, +sir?" + +Rivers was silent for a moment. The lad's power to state things in speech +and his incapacity to put his thoughts in writing had often puzzled the +tutor. "Why don't you put such reflections into verse, John? It's good +practice in English." + +"I can't--I've tried." + +"Try again." + +"No," said John decidedly. "Do look at those maples, Mr. Rivers--and the +oaks--and the variety of colour in the sassafras. Did you ever notice how +its leaves differ in shape?" + +"I never did, but nothing is exactly the same as anything else. We talked +of that once." + +"Then since the world began there never was another me or Leila?" + +"Never. There is only one of anything." + +John was silent--in thought of his unresemblance to any other John. "But +I am like Uncle Jim! Aunt says so." + +"Yes, outwardly you are; but you have what he has not--imagination. It +is both friend and foe as may be. It may not be a good gift for a +soldier--at least one form of it. It may be the parent of fear--of +indecisions." + +"But, Mr. Rivers, may it not work also for good and suggest +possibilities--let you into seeing what other men may do?" + +The reflection seemed to Rivers not like the thought of so young a man. +He returned, "But I said it might be a friend and have practical uses in +life. I have not found it that myself. But some men have morbid +imagination. Let us walk." They went on again through the quiet splendour +of the woodlands. + +"Uncle Jim is going away after the election." + +"Yes." + +"He will see Leila. Don't you miss her?" + +"Yes, but not as you do. However, she will grow up and go by you and be a +woman while you are more slowly maturing. That is their way. And then she +will marry." + +"Good gracious! Leila marry!" + +"Yes--it is a way they have. Let us go home." + +John was disinclined to talk. Marry--yes--when I am older, I shall ask +her until she does! + +November came in churlish humour and raged in storms of wind and rain, +until before their time to let fall their leaves the woods were stripped +of their gay colours. On the fourth day of November the Squire voted the +Fremont electoral ticket, and understood that with the exception of +Swallow and Pole, Westways had followed the master of Grey Pine. The +other candidates did not trouble them. The sad case of Josiah and the +threat to capture their barber had lost Buchanan the twenty-seven votes +of the little town. Mr. Boynton, the carpenter, fastening the last +shingles on the chapel roof remarked to a workman that it was an awful +pity Josiah couldn't know about it and that the new barber wasn't up to +shaving a real stiff beard. + +The Squire wrote to his wife from Philadelphia on the ninth: + +"DEAR ANN: We never talk politics because you were born a Democrat and +consider Andrew Jackson a political saint. I begin to wish he might be +reincarnated in the body of Buchanan. He will need backbone, I fear. He +has carried our State by only three thousand majority in a vote of +433,000. I am told that the excitement here was so great that the +peacemaking effect of a day of cold drizzle alone prevented riot and +bloodshed. Mr. Buchanan said in October, 'We shall hear no more of +"Bleeding Kansas."' Well, I hope so. Here we are at one. I should feel +more regret at the defeat of my party if I had more belief in Fremont, +but your man is, I am sure, elected, and we must hope for the best and +try to think that hope reasonable. + +"I have been fortunate in my contracts for rails with the two railroads. +I shall finish this letter in Baltimore.-- + +"Baltimore.--I saw Leila, who has quite the air of a young lady and is +well, handsome and reasonably contented. Dined with your brother Henry; +and really, Ann, the cold-blooded way the men talked of secession was a +little beyond endurance. I spoke my mind at last, and was heard with +courteous disapproval. My friend, Lt.-Colonel Robert Lee of the Army, was +the only man who was silent about our troubles. Two men earnestly +advocated the re-opening of the slave-trade, and if as they say slavery +is a blessing, the slave-trade is morally justified and logically +desirable. I do want you to feel, my dear Ann, how extreme are the views +of these pleasant gentlemen. + +"The Madeira was good, and despite the half-hidden bitterness of opinion, +I enjoyed my visit. Let John read this letter if you like to do so. + +"Yours always and in all ways, + +"JAMES PENHALLOW." + +She did not like, but John heard all about this visit when the Squire +came home. + +The winter of 1856-7 went by without other incident at Westways, with +Mrs. Ann's usual bountiful Christmas gifts to the children at the mills +and Westways. Mr. Buchanan was inaugurated in March. The captain smiled +grimly as he read in the same paper the message of the Governor of South +Carolina recommending the re-opening of the trade in slaves, and the new +President's hopes "that the long agitation over slavery is approaching +its end." Nor did Penhallow fancy the Cabinet appointments, but he said +nothing more of his opinions to Ann Penhallow. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +In the early days of May the Squire began to rebuild the parsonage, and +near by it a large room for Sunday school and town-meetings. Ann desired +to add a library-room for the town and would have set about this at once +had not her husband resolutely set himself against any addition to the +work with which she filled her usefully busy life. She yielded with +reluctance, and the library plan was set aside to the regret of Rivers, +who living in a spiritual atmosphere was slow to perceive what with the +anxiety of a great love James Penhallow saw so clearly--the failure of +Ann Penhallow's health. + +When at last Penhallow sat down with McGregor in his office, the doctor +knew at once that something serious was troubling his friend. + +"Well, Penhallow," he said, "what can I do for you?" + +"I want you to see my wife. She sleeps badly, tires easily, and worst of +all is unwilling to consult you." + +"Yes, that's serious. Of course, she does the work of two people, but has +it ever occurred to you, Penhallow, that in the isolated life you lead +she may be at times bored and want or need society, change?" + +"My dear Doctor, if I propose to her to ask our friends from the cities +to visit us, she says that entertaining women would only add to her +burdens. How could she amuse them?" The Squire had the helplessness of a +strong man who has to deal with the case of a woman who, when a doctor is +thought to be necessary, feels that she has a right to an opinion as to +whether or not it is worth while. She did not believe it to be necessary +and felt that there was something unpleasant in this medical intrusion +upon a life which had been one of unbroken health. To her husband's +annoyance she begged him to wait, and on one pretext or another put off +the consultation--it would do in a week, or 'she was better.' Her +postponement and lack of decision added to the Squire's distress, but it +was mid-June before she finally yielded and without a word to Penhallow +wrote to ask McGregor to call. + +In a week Leila would be at Grey Pine. The glad prospect of a summer's +leisure filled John with happy anticipations. He had his boat put in +order, looked after Lucy's condition, and had in mind a dozen plans for +distant long-desired rides into the mountains, rides which now his uncle +had promised to take with them. He soon learned that the medical +providence which so often interferes with our plans in life had to be +considered. + +Mrs. Penhallow to John's surprise had of late gone to bed long before her +accustomed hour, and one evening in this June of 1857 Penhallow seeing +her go upstairs at nine o'clock called John into the library. + +"Mr. Rivers," he said, "has gone to see some one in Westways, and I have +a chance to talk to you. Sit down." + +John obeyed, missing half consciously the ever-ready smile of the Squire. + +"I am troubled about your aunt. Dr. McGregor assures me that she has no +distinct ailment, but is simply so tired that she is sure to become ill +if she stays at home. No one can make her lessen her work if she stays +here. You are young, but you must have been aware of what she does for +this town and at the mills--oh, for every one who is in need or in +trouble. There is the every-day routine of the house, the sick in the +village, the sewing class, the Sunday afternoon reading in the small +hospital at our mills, letters--no end of them. How she has stood it so +long, I cannot see." + +"But she seems to like it, sir," said John. He couldn't understand that +what was so plainly enjoyed could be hurtful. + +"Yes, she likes it, but--well, she has a heavenly soul in an earthly +body, and now at last the body is in revolt against overuse, or that at +least is the way McGregor puts it. I ought to have stopped it long ago." +John was faintly amused at the idea of any one controlling Ann Penhallow +where her despotic beliefs concerning duties were concerned. + +The Squire was silent for a little while, and then said, "It has got to +stop, John. I have talked to McGregor and to her. Leila is to meet us in +Philadelphia. I shall take them to Cape May and leave them there for at +least the two months of summer. You may know what that means for me and +for her, and, I suppose, for you." + +"Could I not go there for a while?" + +"I think not. I really have not the courage to be left alone, John. I +think of asking you to spend a part of the day at the mills this summer. +You will have to learn the business, for as you know your own property, +your aunt's and mine are largely invested in our works. I thought too of +an engineering school for you in the fall, and then of the School of +Mines in Paris. It is a long look ahead, but it would fit you to relieve +me of my work. Think it over, my son. How does it look to you, or have +you thought of what you mean or want to do? Don't answer me now--think it +over. And now I have some letters to write. Good-night." + +John went upstairs to bed with much to think about, and above all else of +the disappointing summer before him and the wish he had long cherished, +but which his uncle's last words had made it necessary for him to +reconsider. + +Ann Penhallow had made a characteristic fight against the combined forces +of the doctor and her husband. She had declared she would give up this +and that, if only she could be left at home. She showed to the doctor an +irritability quite new to his experience of her and which he accepted as +added evidence of need of change. Her bodily condition and her want of +common sense in a matter so clear to him troubled the Squire and drove +him to his usual resort when worried--long rides or hard tramps with his +gun. After luncheon and a decisive talk with Mrs. Ann, she had pleaded +that he ought to remain with them at the shore. She was sure he needed it +and it would set her mind at ease. He told her what she knew well enough, +how impossible it would be for him to leave the mills and be absent long. +She who rarely manufactured difficulties now began to ask how this was to +be done and that, until Rivers said at last, "I can promise to read at +the hospital until I go away for my August holiday." + +"You would not know the kind of things to read." + +"No one could do it as well as you," said Rivers, "but I can try." + +"Everything will be cared for, Ann," said Penhallow, "only don't worry." + +"I never worry," she returned, rising. "You men think everything will run +along easily without a woman's attention." + +"Oh, but Ann, my dear Ann!" exclaimed Penhallow, not knowing what more to +say, annoyed at the discussion and at her display of unnecessary temper +and the entire loss of her usual common sense. + +She said, with a laugh in which there was no mirth, "I presume one of you +will, of course, run my sewing-class?" + +"Ann--Ann!" said the Squire. + +Rivers understood her now in the comprehending sympathy of his own too +frequent moods of melancholy. "Ah!" he murmured, "if I could but teach +her how to knit the ravelled sleeve of care." + +"I presume," she added, "that I am to accept it as settled," and so went +out. + +"Come, John," said Penhallow an hour later, "call the dogs--I must have a +good hard tramp, and a talk with you!" + +John kept pace with, the rapid stride of the Squire, taking note of the +reddening buds of the maples, for this year in the hills the spring came +late. + +"You must have seen your aunt's condition," said Penhallow. "I have seen +it coming on ever since that miserable affair of Josiah. It troubled her +greatly." + +John had the puzzled feeling of the inexperienced young in regard to the +matter of illness and its influential effect on temper, and was well +pleased to converse on anything else, when his uncle asked, "Have you +thought over what I said to you about your future?" + +"Well?" + +"I should like to go to West Point, Uncle Jim." + +To his surprise Penhallow returned, pausing as he spoke, "I had +thought of that, but as I did not know you had ever considered it, I +did not mention it. It would in some ways please me. As a life-long +career it would not. We are in no danger of war, and an idle existence +at army-posts is not a very desirable thing for an able man." + +"I had the idea, uncle, that I would not remain in the service." + +"But you would have to serve two years after you were graduated--and +still that was what I did, oh! and longer--much longer. As an education +in discipline and much else, it is good--very good. But tell me are you +really in earnest about it?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Well, it is better than college. I will think about it. If you go to the +Point, it should be this coming fall. I wonder what Ann will say." + +Then John knew that the Squire favoured what had been for a long time on +his own mind. What had made him eager to go into the army was in part +that tendency towards adventure which had been a family trait and his +admiration for the soldier-uncle; nor did the mere student life and the +quiet years of managing the iron-mills as yet appeal to him as desirable. + +"I wish, Uncle Jim, that you could settle the matter." + +This was so like his own dislike of unsettled affairs that the Squire +laughed in his hearty way. "So far as I am concerned, you may regard it +as decided; but securing a nomination to the Point is quite another +matter. It may be difficult. I will see about it. Now we will let it +drop. That dog is pointing. Ah! the rascal. It is a hare." + +They saw no more birds, nor did the Squire expect to find anything in the +woods except the peace of mind to be secured by violent exercise. He went +on talking about the horses and the mills. + +When near to the house, Penhallow said, "Your aunt is to go away +to-morrow. Every day here seems to add to her difficulty in leaving home. +I shall say nothing to her of West Point until it is settled one way or +another. I shall, of course, go to the Cape for a day, unless your aunt's +brother Charles will take my place when he brings Leila to Philadelphia +to meet us. I may be gone a week, and you and Rivers are to keep +bachelor's hall and watch the work on the parsonage. I shall ask Leila to +write to you and to me about your aunt. Did I say that we go by the +9:30 A.M. express?" + +"No, sir." + +"Well, we do." + +James Penhallow was pleased and amazed when he discovered that Mrs. Ann +was quietly submissive to the arrangements made for her comfort on the +journey. She appeared to have abruptly regained her good temper and, +Penhallow thought, was unnaturally and excessively grateful for every +small service. Being unused to the ways of sick women, he wondered as the +train ran down the descent from the Allegheny Mountains how long a time +was required to know any human being entirely. He had been introduced +within two weeks to two Ann Penhallows besides the Ann he had lived with +these many years. He concluded, as others have done, that people are hard +to understand, and thus thinking he ran over in mind the group they left +on the platform at Westways Crossing. + +There was Billy--apparently a simple character, abruptly capable of +doing unexpected things; useful to-day, useless tomorrow. He called +up to mind the very competent doctor; John, and his friend--the moody +clergyman--beloved of all men. The doctor had said of him, "a man living +in the monastery of himself--in our world, but not of it." + +"What amuses you, James?" asked his wife. + +This good sign of return to her normal curiosity was familiarly pleasant. +"I was recalling, Ann, what McGregor said of Rivers after that horrid +time of sickness at Westways. You may remember it." + +"No, I do not." + +"No! He said that Rivers was a round-shouldered angel." + +"That does not seem to me amusing, James." + +"Round-shouldered he is, Ann, and for the rest you at least ought to +recognize your heavenly fellow-citizens when you meet them." + +"Is that your poetry or your folly, James Penhallow?" + +"Mine, my dear? No language is expansive enough for McGregor when he +talks about you." + +"Nonsense, James. He knows how to please somebody. We were discussing +Mark Rivers." + +"Were we? Then here is a nice little dose from the doctor for you. Last +Christmas, after you had personally sat up with old Mrs. Lamb when she +was so ill, and until I made a row about it--" + +"Yes--yes--I know." Her curiosity got the better of her dislike of being +praised for what to her was a simple duty, and she added, "Well, what did +he say?" + +"Oh, that you and Rivers were like angels gone astray in the strange +country called earth; and then that imp of a boy, John, who says queer +things, said that it was like a bit of verse Rivers had read to him. He +knew it too. I liked it and got him to write it out. I have it in my +pocket-book. Like to see it?" + +"No," she returned--and then--"yes," as she reflected that it must have +originally applied to another than herself. + +He was in the habit of storing in his pocket-book slips from the +papers--news, receipts for stable-medicine, and rarely verse. Now and +then he emptied them into the waste basket. He brought it out of his +pocket-book and she read it: + +As when two angel citizens of Heaven +Swift winged on errands of the Master's love +Meet in some earthly guise. + +"Is that all of it?" + +"No, John could not remember the rest, and I did not ask Mark." + +"I should suppose not. Thank you for believing it had any application to +me. And, James, I have been a very cross angel of late." + +"Oh, my dear Ann, Dr. McGregor said--" + +"Never mind Dr. McGregor, James. Go and smoke your cigar. I am tired and +I must not talk any more--talking on a train always tires me." + +Two days after the departure of his aunt and uncle, John persuaded Rivers +to walk with him on the holiday morning of Saturday. The clergyman caring +little for the spring charm of the maiden summer, but much for John +Penhallow's youth of promise, wandered on slowly through the woods, with +head bent forward, stumbling now and then, lost to a world where his +companion was joyfully conscious of the prettiness of new-born and +translucent foliage. + +Always pleased to sit down, Rivers dropped his thin length of body upon +the brown pine-needles near the cabin and settling his back against a +fallen tree-trunk made himself comfortable. As usual, when at rest, he +began to talk. + +"John," he said, "you and Tom McGregor had a quarrel long ago--and a +fight." + +"Yes, sir," returned John wondering. + +"I saw it--I did not interfere at once--I was wrong." + +This greatly amused John. "You stopped it just in time for me--I was +about done for." + +"Yes, but now, John, I have talked to Tom, and--I am afraid you have +never made it up." + +"No, he was insolent to Leila and rude. But we had a talk about it--oh, a +good while ago--before she went away." + +"Oh, had you! Well, what then?" + +"Oh, he told me you had talked to him and he had seen Leila and told her +he was sorry. She never said a word to me. I told him that he ought to +have apologized to me--too." + +Rivers was amused. "Apologies are not much in fashion among Westways +boys. What did he say?" + +"Oh, just that he didn't see that at all--and then he said that he was +going away this fall to study medicine, and some day when he was a doctor +he would have a chance to get even with me, and wouldn't he dose me well. +Then we both laughed, and--I shook hands with him. That's all, sir." + +"Well, I am pleased. He is by no means a bad fellow, and as you know he +is clever--and can beat you in mathematics." + +"Yes, but I licked him well, and he knows it." + +"For shame, John. I wish my Baptist friend's boy would do better--he is +dull." + +"But I like him," said John. "He is so plucky." + +"There is another matter I want to talk about. I had a long conversation +about you with your uncle the night before he left. I heard with regret +that you want to go into the army." + +"May I ask why?" said John, as he lay on the ground lazily fingering the +pine-needles. + +"Is it because the hideous business called war attracts you?" + +"No, but I like what I hear of the Point from Uncle Jim. I prefer it to +any college life. Besides this, I do not expect to spend my life in the +service, and after all it is simply a first rate training for anything I +may want to do later--care of the mills, I mean. Uncle Jim is pleased, +and as for war, Mr. Rivers, if that is what you dislike, what chance of +war is there?" + +"You have very likely forgotten my talk with Mr. George Grey. The North +and the South will never put an end to their differences without +bloodshed." + +It seemed a strange opinion to John. He had thought so when he heard +their talk, but now the clergyman's earnestness and some better +understanding of the half-century's bitter feeling made him thoughtful. +Rising to his feet, he said, "Uncle Jim does not agree with you, and Aunt +Ann and her brother, Henry Grey, think that Mr. Buchanan will bring all +our troubles to an end. Of course, sir, I don't know, but"--and his voice +rose--"if there ever should be such a war, I am on Uncle Jim's side, and +being out of West Point would not keep me out of the fight." + +Rivers shook his head. "It will come, John. Few men think as I do, and +your uncle considers me, I suspect, to be governed by my unhappy way of +seeing the dark side of things. He says that I am a bewildered pessimist +about politics. A pessimist I may be, but it is the habitually hopeful +meliorist who is just now perplexed past power to think straight." + +John's interest was caught for the moment by the word, "meliorist." "What +is a meliorist, sir?" he asked. "Oh, a wild insanity of hopefulness. You +all have it. I dislike to talk about the sad future, and I wonder men at +the North are so blind." + +He fell again to mere musings, a self-absorbed man, while John, attracted +by a squirrel's gambols and used to the rector's long silences, wandered +near by among the pines, with a vagabond mind on this or that, and +watching the alert little acrobat of the forest. As he moved about, he +recalled his first walks to the cabin with Leila and the wild thing he +had said one day--and her reply. One ages fast, at seventeen, and now he +wondered if he had been quite wise, and with the wisdom and authority of +a year and a half of mental growth punished his foolish boy-past with +severity of reproach. He had failed for a time to hear, or at least to +hear with attention, the low-voiced soliloquies in which Mr. Rivers +sometimes indulged. McGregor, an observant man, said that Rivers's mind +jumped from thought to thought, and that his talk had at times no +connective tissue and was hard to follow. + +Now he spoke louder. "No one, John, no one sees that every new compromise +compromises principles and honour. Have you read any of the speeches of a +man named Lincoln in Illinois? He got a considerable vote in that +nominating convention." + +"No, sir." + +"Then read it--read him. A prophet of disaster! He says, 'A house divided +against itself cannot stand. This government cannot endure permanently +half slave, half free.' The man did not know that he was ignorantly +quoting George Washington's opinion. It is so, and so it will be. I would +let them go their way in peace, for the sin of man-owning is ours--was +ours--and we are to suffer for it soon or late--a nation's debts have +to be paid, and some are paid in blood." + +The young fellow listened but had no comment ready, and indeed knew too +little of the terrible questions for which time alone would have an +answer to feel the full force of these awful texts. He did say, "I will +read Mr. Lincoln's speeches. Uncle talks to me about Kansas and slavery +and compromises, but it is sometimes too much for me." + +"Yes, he will not talk of these things to your aunt, and is not willing +to talk to me. He thinks both of us are extremists. No, I won't walk any +further. Let us go home." + +The natural light-mindedness of a healthy lad easily disposes of the +problems which disturb the older mind. John forgot it all for a time in +the pleasant interest of a letter from Leila, received a day before his +uncle's return. + +"CAPE MAY, June 21st. + +"MY DEAR JOHN: Here at last I am free to write to you when I please, +and I have some rather strange news; but first of Aunt Ann. She is very +well pleased and is already much better. Uncle Jim left us to-day, and I +am to have Lucy here and one of the grooms. If only I could have you to +ride with me on this splendid beach and see the great blue waves roll up +like a vast army charging with white plumes and then rolling back in +defeat."-- + +John paused. This was not like Leila. He felt in a vague way that she +must be changing, and remembered the rector's predictions. Then he read +on-- + +"Now for my adventure: Aunt Ann wanted some hair-wash, and I went to the +barber's shop in the town to buy it. There was no one in but a black boy, +because it was the bathing-time. He, I mean the boy, said he would call +Mr. Johnson. In a moment there came out of a back room who do you think +but our Josiah! He just stood still a moment--and then said, 'Good God! +Miss Leila! Come into the back room--you did give me a turn.' I thought +he seemed to be alarmed. Well, I went with him, and he asked me at once +who was with me. I said, Aunt Ann, and that she was not well. Then I got +out of him that he had wandered a while, and at last chosen this as a +safe place. No one had told me fully about Cousin George Grey and why +Josiah was scared and ran away, but now I got it all out of him--and how +you warned him--and I do think it was splendid of a boy like you. He was +dreadfully afraid of being taken back to be a slave. It seems he saved +his money, and after working here bought out the shop when his master +fell ill. I did not like it, but to quiet him I really had to say that I +would not tell Aunt Ann, or he would have to run away again. I am sure +aunt would not do anything to trouble him, but it was quite impossible to +make him believe me, and he got me at last to promise him. I suppose +there is really no harm in it, but I never did keep anything from Aunt +Ann. I got the hair-wash and went away with his secret. Now, isn't that a +story! + +"I forgot one thing. As the Southern gentlemen come to be shaved and ask +where he was born, they hear--think of it--that 'Mr. Johnson' was born in +Connecticut! His grandfather had been a slave. I shall see him again. + +"This is the longest letter I ever wrote, and you are to feel duly +complimented, Mr. Penhallow. + +"Good-bye. Love from Aunt Ann. + +"Yours truly, + +"LEILA GREY. + +"P.S. I am sure that I may trust you not to speak of Josiah." + +Mr. John Penhallow, as they said at Westways, "going on seventeen," +gathered much of interest in reading and re-reading this letter from Miss +Grey. To own a secret with Leila was pleasant. To hear of Josiah as "Mr. +Johnson" amused him. That he was prosperous he liked, and that he was +fearful with or without reason seemed strange. It was and had been hard +for the young freeman to realize the ever-present state of mind of a man +in terror of arrest without any crime on his conscience. There was +perhaps a slight hint of doubt in Leila's request that he would be +careful not to mention what she had said of Josiah, "as if I am really a +boy and Leila older than I," murmured John. He knew, as he once more read +her words, that he ought to tell his uncle, who could best decide what to +do about Josiah and his terror of being reclaimed by his old owner. + +During the early hours of a summer night Mark Rivers sat on the porch in +a rocking-chair, which he declared gave him all the exercise he required. +It was the only rocking-chair at Grey Pine, and nothing so disturbed the +Squire as Mark Rivers rocking on that unpleasant piece of furniture and +smoking as if it were a locomotive. It was an indulgence of Ann +Penhallow, who knew that there had been a half-dozen rockers in the +burned rectory. + +John sat on the steps and listened to the shrill katydids or watched the +devious lanterns of the fireflies. A bat darted over the head of Rivers, +who ducked as it went by, watching its uncertain flight. + +"I am terribly afraid of bats," said the rector. "Are you?" + +"I--no. They're harmless." + +"Yes, I know that, but I am without reason afraid of them. I think of the +demons as being like monstrous bats. But that is a silly use of +imagination." + +"Uncle Jim doesn't like them, and you once told me that he had very +little imagination." + +"Yes. One can't explain these dislikes. Your uncle reasons well and has a +clear logical mind, but he has neither creative nor receptive +imagination." + +"Receptive?" asked John. + +"Yes, that is why he has none of your aunt's joy in poetry. When I read +to her Wordsworth's 'Brougham Castle,' he said that he had never heard +more silly nonsense." + +"I remember it was that wonderful verse about the 'longing of the +shield.'" + +"Yes--I forgot you were there. Verse like that is a good test of a +person's capacity to feel poetry--that kind, I mean." + +"I hear Uncle Jim's horse." + +"Yes. I can't see, John, why a man should want to have a horse sent to +meet him instead of a comfortable wagon,"--and for emphasis, as usual +with Rivers, the rocking-chair was swinging to the limits of its arc of +safe motion. + +The Squire dismounted and came up the steps with "Good-evening, +Rivers,"--and to John, "I have good news for you--but order my supper +at once, then we will talk." He was in his boyish mood of gaiety. "How +far have you travelled on that rocker, Rivers?" + +"Now, Squire--now, really--" It was a favourite subject of chaff. + +"Why not have rocking-chairs in church, Mark? Think what a patient +congregation you would have! Come, John, I am hungry." He fled laughing. + +While the Squire ate in silence, John waited until his uncle said, "Come +into the library." Here he filled his pipe and took the match John +offered. "There are many curious varieties of man, John. There is the man +who prefers a rocking-chair to the saddle. It's queer--very queer; and he +is as much afraid of a horse as I am--of--I don't know what." + +The Squire's memory failed to answer the call. "What are you grinning at, +you young scamp?" + +"Oh, Mr. Rivers did say, Uncle Jim, something about bats." + +"Yes, that's it--bats--and I do suppose every one has his especial fear. +Ah! quite inexplicable nonsense!--fears like mine about bats, or your +aunt's about dogs, but also fears that make a man afraid that he will not +face a danger that is a duty. When we had smallpox at the mills, soon +after Rivers came here, he went to the mill-town and lived there a month, +and nursed the sick and buried the dead. At last he took the disease +lightly, but it left a mark or two on his forehead. That I call--well, +heroic. Confound that rocking-chair! How it squeaks!" + +John was too intently listening to hear anything but the speaker who +declared heroic the long lean man with the pale face and the eyes like +search-lights. John waited; he wanted to hear something more. + +"Did many die, uncle?" + +"Oh, yes. The men had fought McGregor about vaccination. Many died. There +was blindness too. Supplies failed--no one would come in from the farms." + +John waited with the fear of defect in his ideal man. Then he ventured, +"And Aunt Ann, was she here?" + +"No, I sent her away when I went to Milltown." + +"Oh! you were there too, sir?" + +"Yes, damn it!" He rarely swore at all. "Where did you suppose I would +be? But I lived in terror for a month--oh, in deadly fear!" + +"Thank you, sir." + +"Thank me, what for? Some forms of sudden danger make me gay, with all my +faculties at their best, but not that. I had to nurse Rivers; that was +the worst of it. You see, my son, I was a coward." + +"I should like to be your kind of a coward, Uncle Jim." + +"Well, it was awful. Let us talk of something else. I left your aunt +better, went to Washington, saw our Congressman, got your nomination to +West Point and a letter from Leila. Your aunt must be fast mending, for +she was making a long list of furniture for the new parsonage, and 'would +I see Ellen Lamb and'--eleven other things, the Lord knows what else, +and 'when could she return?' McGregor said in September, and I so wrote +to her; she will hate it. And she dislikes your going to West Point. I +had to tell her, of course." + +"I have had a letter from Leila, uncle. Did she write you anything about +Josiah?" + +"About Josiah! No. What was that?" + +"She said I was not to tell, but I think you ought to know--" + +"Of course, I should know. Go on. Let me see the letter." + +"It is upstairs, sir, but this is what she wrote," and he went on to tell +the story. + +The Squire laughed. "I must let Mr. Johnson know, as Leila did not know, +that it was Ann who really sent you to warn him. Poor fellow! I can +understand his alarm, and how can I reassure him? George Grey is going to +Cape May, or so says your aunt, and I am sure if Josiah knows that he is +recognized, he will drop everything and run. I would run, John, and +quickly too. Grey will be sure to write to Woodburn again." + +"What then, sir?" + +"Oh, he told your Aunt Ann and me that he would not go any further unless +he chanced to know certainly where Josiah was. If he did, it would be his +duty, as he said, to reclaim him. It is not a pleasant business, and I +ought to warn Josiah, which you may not know is against the law. However, +I will think it over. Ann did not say when Grey was coming, and he is +just as apt not to go as to go. Confound him and all their ways." + +John had nothing to say. The matter was in older and wiser hands +than his. His uncle rose, "I must go to bed, but I have a word to say +now about your examinations for admission. I must talk to Rivers. +Good-night!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +On Saturday the Squire asked John to ride with him. As they mounted, +Billy came with the mail. Penhallow glanced at the letters and put them +in his pocket. + +As the horses walked away, John said, "I was in Westways yesterday, +uncle, to get my hair cut. I heard that Pole has had chicken-pox, uncle." + +"Funny that, for a butcher!" said the Squire. They chatted of the small +village news. "They have quit discussing politics, Uncle Jim." + +"Yes, every four years we settle down to the enjoyment of the belief that +now everything will go right, or if we are of those who lost the fight, +then there is the comfort of thinking things could not be worse, and that +the other fellows are responsible." + +"Uncle Jim, at Westways people talked about the election as if it were a +horse-race, and didn't interest anybody when it was over." + +"Yes, yes; but there are for the average American many things to think +about, and he doesn't bother himself about who is to be President or why, +until, as McGregor says, events come along and kick him and say, 'Get up +and think, or do something.'" + +"When I talked to Mr. Rivers lately, he seemed very blue about the +country. He seems to believe that everything is going wrong." + +"Oh, Rivers!" exclaimed Penhallow, "what a great, noble soul! But, John, +a half hour of talk with him about our national affairs leaves me tangled +in a net of despair, and I hate it. You have a letter, I see." + +"Yes, it is from Leila, sir." + +"Let's hear it," said Penhallow. + +John was inclined, he could hardly have told why, to consider this letter +when alone, but now there was nothing possible except to do as he was +bid. + +"Read it. I want to hear it, John." + +As they walked their horses along the road, John read: + +"DEAR JOHN": I did not expect to write to you again until you wrote to +me, but I have been perplexed to know what was best to do. I wanted--oh, +so much--to consult Uncle Jim, or some older person than you, and so I +ask you to send this to Uncle Jim if he is absent, or let him see it if +he is at home. He is moving about and we do not know how to address +him."-- + +"That's a big preface--go on." + +"I did not see Josiah again until yesterday morning. Aunt Ann has been +insisting that my hair needs singeing at the ends to make it grow. [It is +too long now for comfort.]"-- + +"That's in brackets, Uncle Jim--the hair, I mean." + +"Yes--what next?" + +"Well, John, when Aunt Ann keeps on and on in her gently obstinate, I +mean resolute, way, it is best to give up and make believe a little that +you agree with her. My hair was to be singed--I gave up."-- + +"Oh, Leila!" exclaimed Penhallow, rocking in the saddle with laughter, +while John looked up smiling. "Go on." + +"So aunt's new maid got her orders, and while aunt was asleep in her room +the maid brought up Josiah. It was as good as a play. He was very civil +and quiet. You know how he loved to talk. He singed my hair, and it was +horrid--like the smell of singeing a plucked chicken. After that he sent +the maid to his shop for some hair-wash. As soon as she was gone, he +said, 'I'm done for, Miss Leila. I met Mr. George Grey on the beach this +morning. He knew me and I knew him. He said, "What! you here, you +rascally runaway horse-thief!" I said, "I wasn't a thief or a rascal." +Then he said something I didn't hear, for I just left him and--I can't +stay here--he'll do something, and I can't run no risks--oh, Lord!'"-- + +"I thought," said the Squire, "we were done with that tiresome fool, +George Grey. Whether he will write again to Woodburn about Josiah or not, +no one can say. Woodburn did tell me that if at any time he could easily +get hold of his slave, he would feel it to be a duty to make use of the +Fugitive-Slave Law. I do not think he will be very eager, but after all +it is uncertain, and if I were Josiah, I would run away." + +As he talked, the horses walked on through the forest wood-roads. For a +moment he said nothing, and then, "It is hard to put yourself in another +man's place; that means to be for the time of decision that man with his +inheritances, all his memories, all his hopes and all his fears." + +This was felt by the lad to be somehow unlike his uncle, who added, "I +heard Mark Rivers say that about Peter, but it applies here. I would run. +But go on with your letter. What else does Leila say?" + +John read on: + +"Josiah was so scared that I could not even get him to listen to me. He +gathered up his barber things in haste, and kept on saying over and over, +'I have got to go, missy.' Now he has gone and his shop is shut up. I was +so sorry for him, I must have cried, for aunt's maid asked me what was +the matter. This is all. It is late. I shall mail this to-morrow. Aunt +Ann has been expecting Mr. George Grey, my far-away cousin. I wish he was +further away! "-- + +"Good gracious! Leila. Well, John, any more?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"He came in this morning, I mean Mr. Grey, and began to talk and was so +pleased to see his dear cousin. Aunt Ann went on knitting and saying +something pleasant now and then. At last he asked if she knew that +runaway horse-thief we called Josiah was the barber here. He said that he +must really write to that rascal's owner, and went over and over the same +thing. Aunt Ann looked at me when he mentioned the barber. Then she sat +up and said, 'If you have done talking, I desire to say a word.' Of +course, he was at her service. You know, John, how he talks. Aunt Ann +said, 'You made quite enough trouble, George, about this man at Westways. +I told you then that he had done us a service I could never forget. I +won't have him disturbed here. Mr. Woodburn behaved with discretion and +courtesy. If you make any more trouble, I shall never forgive you. I +won't have it, George Grey.' I never saw any one so embarrassed, John. He +put his hat on the floor and picked it up, and then he sat down in his +chair and, I call it, wilted. He said that he had not quite made up his +mind. At this Aunt Ann stood up, letting her knitting drop, and said, +'Then you had better; you've got no mind.' After this he got up and said +that she had insulted him. Aunt Ann was red and angry. She said, 'Tell +James Penhallow that, Mr. Grey.' After this he went away, and Aunt Ann +said to me, 'Tell Josiah if you can find him that he need not be afraid; +the man will not write to Mr. Woodburn.' After that I told her all about +Mr. Johnson and got a good scolding for not having told her before, and +that Josiah had gone away scared. She was tired and angry and sent me +away. That is all. Let Uncle Jim get this letter. + +"Yours truly, + +"LEILA. + +"P.S. Oh, I forgot. Josiah gave me a letter for Uncle Jim. I enclose it. +I did not give it to Aunt Ann; perhaps I ought to have done so. But it +would have been useless because it is sealed, and you know the rule at +Grey Pine." + +"Poor Josiah!" said Penhallow, "I wonder where he has gone." + +"He may say in his letter," said John. + +"Read it to me, my son. I forgot my glasses." + +"It is addressed to Captain Penhallow." + +"Yes, I was always that to Josiah--always." + +John opened the letter, which was carefully sealed with a large red +wafer. + +"It is well written, uncle." + +"Yes--yes. Rivers taught him--and he speaks nearly as good English as +George Grey." + +John looked up from the letter. "Oh, that is funny! It begins, +'Respectable Sir.'" + +"My dear John, that isn't funny at all--it's old-fashioned. I have seen a +letter from the great Dr. Rush in which the mother of Washington is +mentioned as 'that respectable lady.' But now, sir, you will be good +enough to let me hear that letter without your valuable comments." + +The tone was impatient. John said, "Excuse me, uncle, but I couldn't help +it." + +"Oh, read it." + +"I am driven away again. I write this to thank you for all you done for +me at Westways. Mr. Grey he met me here on the beach and I'm afraid--I +don't take no chances. I saved money here. I can get on anywhere. It's +awful to have to ran away, and that drunkard Peter Lamb all the while +safe with his mother. I can't get him out of my mind. I'm a Christian +man--and I tried to forgive him. I can't do it. If I am quiet and let +alone, I forget. I've got to get up and go and hide, and I curse him that +done it. Please, sir, not tell Mr. Rivers what I say. I seen Miss Leila. +I always said Miss Leila would be a beauty. There ain't no young lady +here can hold a candle to her. I want to say I did have hope to see Mr. +John. + +"God bless you, Captain. + +"Your obedient servant, + +"JOSIAH." + +The Squire halted in the open pine forest on a wood-road behind the +cabin. He threw one leg over the pommel and sat still with the ease of a +horseman in any of the postures the saddle affords. "Read me both of +those letters again, and slowly." + +This time John made no remarks. When he came to the end of Josiah's +letter, he looked towards the silent figure seated sideways. The Squire +made no comment, but searched his pockets for the flint and steel he +always carried. Lighting his pipe he slid to the ground. + +"Take the rein, John," he said, "or the mare will follow me." + +Penhallow was deep in the story these letters told, and he thought best +when walking. John sat in his saddle watching the tall soldierly figure +move up the road and back again to the cabin his ancestors had held +through one long night of fear. John caught sight of the face as +Penhallow came and then turned away on his slow walk, smoking furiously. +He sat still, having learned to be respectful of the long silences to +which at times Penhallow was given. Now and then with a word he quieted +the uneasy mare--a favourite taught to follow the master. At last +Penhallow struck his pipe on a stone to empty it, and by habit carefully +set a foot on the live coal. Then he came to the off side of his mare and +took the rein. Facing John, he set an elbow on the horse's back and a +hand on his own cheek. This was no unusual attitude. He did not mount, +but stood still. The ruddy good-humoured face, clean-shaven and large of +feature, had lost its look of constant good-humour. In fact, the feature +language expressed the minute's mood in a way which any one less familiar +with the man than John might have read with ease. Then he said, in an +absent way, "Are we men of the North all cowards like Josiah? They think +so--they do really think so. It is helping to make trouble." Then he +lifted himself lightly into the saddle, with swift change of mood and an +odd laugh of comment on his conclusion, as he broke into a gallop. "Let +us get into the sun." + +John followed him as they rode swiftly over a cross-road and out on to +the highway. Again the horses were walking, and Penhallow said, "I +suppose you may not have understood me. I was suddenly angry. It is a +relief sometimes to let off steam. Well, I fancy time will answer me--or +that is what I try not to believe--but it may--it may. Let us talk of +something else. I must find out from Rivers just how well you are +prepared for the Point. Then I mean to give you every night an hour or so +of what he cannot teach. You ride well, you know French and German, you +box--it may be of service, keep it up once a week at least. I envy you +the young disciplined life--the simpleness of it--the want of +responsibilities." + +"Thank you, sir," returned John, "I hope to like it and to do you credit, +uncle." + +"You will, I am sure. Let us go to the mills." + +John hesitated before he asked, "Could not I have, sir, a few days with +Aunt Ann at the Cape?" + +"No, I shall want you here." + +John was silent and disappointed. The Squire saw it. "It can't be +helped--I do not feel able to be alone. Leila will be away a year more +and you will be gone for several years. For your sake and mine I want you +this summer. Take care! You lost a stirrup when Dixy shied. Oh! here are +the mills. Good morning, McGregor. All well?" + +"Yes, sir. Tom has gone to the city. He is to be in the office of a +friend of mine this summer. I shall be alone." + +"John goes to West Point this September, Doctor." + +"Indeed! You too will be alone. Next it will be Leila. How the young +birds are leaving the nests! Even that slow lad of Grace's is going. He +is to learn farming with old Roberts. He has a broad back and the +advantage of not being a thinking-machine." + +"He may have made the best choice, McGregor." + +"No, sir," said the Doctor, "my son has the best of it." + +John laughed. "I don't think I should like either farm or medicine." + +"No," returned the Doctor, with his queer way of stating things, "there +must be some one to feed the people; Tom is to be trained to cure, and +you to kill." + +"I don't want to kill anybody," said John, laughing. + +"But that is the business you are going to learn, young man." John was +silent. The idea of killing anybody! + +"Heard from Mrs. Penhallow lately?" asked the doctor. + +"No, but from Leila to-day; and, you will be surprised, from Josiah too." + +"Is that so?" + +"Yes. Give him the two letters, John. Let me have them to-morrow, Doctor. +Good-bye," and they rode on to the mills. + +"It is a pity, John, Josiah gave no address," said Penhallow,--"a +childlike man, intelligent, and with some underlying temper of the old +African barbarian." The summer days ran on with plenty of work for John +and without incidents of moment, until the rector went away as was his +habit the first of August, more moody than usual. If the rectory were +finished, he would go there in September, and Mrs. Ann had written to him +about the needed furniture. + +On August 20th that lady wrote from Cape May that she must go home, and +Leila that her aunt was well but homesick. The Squire, who missed her +greatly, unreluctantly yielded, and on August 25th she was met at the +station by Penhallow and John. To the surprise of both, she had brought +Leila, as her school was not to begin until September 10th. + +"My dear James," cried Mrs. Ann, "it is worth while to have been away to +learn how good it is to get home again. I thought I would surprise you +with Leila." As the Squire kissed her, Leila and the maid came from the +car to the platform loaded with bundles. + +John stood still. Nature had been busy with her artist-work. A year had +gone by--the year of maturing growth of mind and body for a girl nearing +sixteen. Unprepared for her change, John felt at once that this was a +woman, who quickly smiling gave him a cordial greeting and her hand. +"Why, John Penhallow," she said, "what a big boy you are grown!" It was +as if an older person had spoken to a younger. A head taller than the +little Mrs. Ann, she was in the bloom of maiden loveliness, rosy, joyous, +a certain new stateliness in her movements. The gift of grace had been +added by the fairy godmother nature. + +John said, with gravity, "You are most welcome home, Leila," and then +quickly aware of some coldness in his words, "Oh, I am so very glad to +see you!" She had gone by him in the swift changes of life. Without so +putting it distinctly into the words of a mental soliloquy, John was +conscious that here was another Leila. + +"Come, in with you," said the happy master of Grey Pine. + +"How well you look, Ann, and how young! The cart will bring your +bundles." + +John Penhallow on an August afternoon was of Billy's opinion that Leila +had "rowed a lot" as she came out upon the porch and gaily laughing +cried, "At last,--Aunt Ann has done with me." + +They were both suffering from one of those dislocations of relation which +even in adult life are felt when friends long apart come together again. +The feeling of loss, as far as John was concerned, grew less as Leila +with return of childlike joy roamed with him over the house and through +the stables, and next day through Westways, with a pleasant word for +every one and on busying errands for her aunt. He was himself occupied +with study; but now the Squire had said it would be wise to drop his +work. + +With something of timidity he said to Leila, "I am free for this +afternoon; come and see again our old playgrounds. It will be a long +while before we can take another walk." + +"Certainly, John. And isn't it a nice, good-natured day? The summer is +over. Sometimes I wish we had no divisions of months, and the life of the +year was one quiet flow of days--oh, with no names to remind you." + +"But think, Leila, of losing all the poetry of the months. Why not have +no day or night? Oh, come along. What do you want with a sunshade and a +veil--we will be mostly in the woods." + +"My complexion, Mr. Penhallow," cried Miss Grey gaily. + +He watched her young figure as she went upstairs--the mass of darkened +gold hair coiled in the classic fashion of the day on the back of her +head. She looked around from the stair. "I shall be ready in a minute, +John. It rained yesterday--will it be wet in the woods?" + +"No," cried John, "and what does it matter?" He had a dull feeling of +resentment, of loss, of consciousness of new barriers and of distance +from the old comrade. + +Their way led across the garden, which was showing signs of feeling the +chilly nights of the close of summer in this upland, where the seasons +sometimes change abruptly. + +"The garden has missed Aunt Ann," said Leila. "Uncle Jim looks at it from +the porch, says 'How pretty!' and expects to see roses on his table every +day. I do believe he considers a garden as merely a kind of flower-farm." + +"Aunt Ann's garden interests her the way Westways does. There are sick +flowers and weeds like human weeds, and bugs and diseases that need a +flower-doctor, and flowers that are morbid or ill-humoured. That is not +my wisdom, Leila, it is Mr. Rivers's." + +"No, John, it isn't at all like you." + +"Aunt Ann didn't like it, and yet I think he meant it to be a compliment, +for he really considers Aunt Ann a model of what a woman ought to be." + +"I know that pretty well," said Leila. "When I used to lose my temper +over that horrid algebra, I was told to consider how Aunt Ann kept her +temper no matter what happened, as if that had anything to do with +algebra and equations. If he had seen her when she talked to George Grey +about Josiah, he would have known Aunt Ann better. I was proud of her." + +"Aunt Ann angry!" said John. "I should have liked to have seen that. Poor +Josiah!" + +They talked of the unlucky runaway, and were presently among the familiar +pine and spruce, far beyond the garden bounds. "Do put up that veil," +said John, "and you have not the least excuse for your parasol." + +"Oh, if you like, John. Tell me about West Point. It was such a +surprise." + +"I will when I am there, if I am able to pass the examinations." + +"You will--you will. Uncle Jim told me you would pass easily." + +"Indeed! He never told me that. I have my doubts." + +"And I have none," she returned, smiling. "Mr. Rivers dislikes it. +He wrote to me about it just before he left. Do you know, he did +really think that you ought to be a clergyman. He said you were so +serious-minded for--for a boy." + +John laughed, "nice clergyman I'd have made." Did Leila too consider him +a boy? "Oh! here we are at the old cabin. I never forget the first day we +came here--and the graves. The older I grow, Leila, the more clearly I +can see the fight and the rifle-flashes, and the rescue--and the night--I +can feel their terror." + +"Oh, we were mere children, John; and I do suppose that it is a pretty +well decorated tradition." He looked at her with surprise, as she added, +"I used to believe it all, now it seems strange to me, John--like a dream +of childhood. I think you really are a good deal of a boy yet." + +"No, I am not a boy. I sometimes fancy I never was a boy--I came here a +child." And then, "I think you like to tease me, Leila," and this was +true, although she was not pleased to be told so. "You think, Leila, that +it teases me to be called a boy by your ladyship. I think it is because +you remember what a boy once said to you here--right here." + +"What do you mean?" She knew very well what he meant, but quickly +repenting of her feminine fib, said, "Oh, I do know, but I wanted to +forget--I wanted to pretend to forget, because you know what friends we +have been, and it was really so foolish." + +He had been lying at her feet; now he rose slowly. "You are not like my +Leila to-day." + +"Oh, John!" + +"No--and it is hard, because I am going away--and--it will not be +pleasant to think how you are changed." + +"I wish you wouldn't say such things to me, John." + +"I had to--because--I love you. If I was a boy when I was, as you say, +silly, I was in earnest. It was nonsense to ask you, to say you would +marry me some day. It wasn't so very long ago after all; but I agree with +you, it _was_ foolish. Now I mean to make no such proposal." + +"Please, John." She looked up at him as he stood over her so grave, so +earnest--and so like Uncle Jim. For the time she got the fleeting +impression of this being a man. + +He hardly heard her appeal. "I want to say now that I love you." For a +moment the 'boy's will, the wind's will,' blew a gale. "I love you and I +always shall. Some day I shall ask you that foolish question again, and +again." + +She too was after all very young and had been playing a bit at being a +woman. Now his expression of passion embarrassed her--because she had no +answer ready; nor was it all entirely disagreeable. + +He stood still a moment, and added, "That is all--I ask nothing now." + +Then she stood up, having to say something and unwilling to hurt +him--wanting not to say too much or too little, and ending by a childlike +reply. "Oh, John, I do wish you would never say such things to me. I am +too young to listen to such nonsense." + +"And I am young too," he laughed. "Well--well--let us go home and confess +like children." + +"Now I know you are a fool, John Penhallow, and very disagreeable." + +"When we were ever so young, Leila, and we quarrelled, we used to agree +not to speak to one another for a day. Are you cross enough for that +now?" + +"No, I am not; but I want to feel sure that you will not say such things +to me again." + +"I make no promise, Leila; I should break it. If I gave you a boy's love, +forget it, laugh at it; but if I give you a man's love, take care." + +This odd drama--girl and woman, boy and maturing man--held the stage; now +one, now the other. + +"Take care, indeed!" she said, repeating his words and turning on him +with sudden ungraciousness, "I think we have had enough of this +nonsense." + +She was in fact the more disturbed of the two, and knowing it let anger +loose to chase away she knew not what, which was troubling her with +emotion she could neither entirely control nor explain later as the +result of what seemed to her mere foolishness. If he was himself +disturbed by his storm of primitive passion, he did not show it as she +did. + +"Yes," he said in reply, "we have had for the present enough of +this--enough talk, I mean--" + +"We!" she exclaimed. + +"Leila! do you want me to apologize?" + +"No." + +"Then--let us get those roses for Aunt Ann--what are left of them." + +She was glad to escape further discussion--not sure of her capacity to +keep in order this cousin who was now so young and now so alarmingly old. +His abrupt use of self-control she recognised--liked and then disliked, +for a little wrath in his reply would have made her feel more at ease. +With well-reassumed good-humour, she said, "Now you are my nice old +playmate, but never, never bother me that way again." + +"Yes, ma'am," said John, laughing. "I can hear Aunt Ann say, 'Run, dears, +and get me flowers--and--there will be cakes for you.'" + +"No, bread and apple-butter, John." They went along merry, making believe +to be at ease. + +"The robins are gone," said Leila. "I haven't seen one today; and the +warblers are getting uneasy and will be gone soon. I haven't seen a +squirrel lately. Josiah used to say that meant an early winter." + +"Oh, but the asters! What colour! And the golden-rod! Look at it close, +Leila. Each little flower is a star of gold." + +"How pretty!" She bent down over the flowers to pay the homage of honest +pleasure. "How you always see, John, so easily, the pretty little wild +beauties of the woods; I never could." She was "making up" as children +say. + +"Oh, you were the schoolmaster once," he laughed. "Come, we have enough; +now for the garden." + +They passed through the paling fence and along the disordered beds, where +a night of too early frost had touched with chill fingers of disaster the +latest buds. Leila moved about looking at the garden, fingering a bud +here and there with gentle epitaphs of "late," "too late," or gathering +the more matronly roses which had bloomed in time. John watched her bend +over them, and then where there were none but frost-wilted buds stand +still and fondle with tender touch the withered maidens of the garden. + +He came to her side, "Well, Leila, I'll swap thoughts with you." + +She looked up, "Your's first then." + +"I was thinking it must be hard to die before you came to be a rose--like +some other more human things." + +"Is that a charade, John? You will be writing poems about the lament of +the belated virgin roses that had not gathered more timely sunshine and +were alas! too late." + +He looked at her with a smile of pleased surprise. "Thanks, cousin; it is +you who should be the laureate of the garden. Shelley would envy you." + +"Indeed! I am flattered, sir, but I have not read any of Shelley as yet. +You have, I suppose? He is supposed to be very wicked. Get me some more +golden-rod, John." He went back to the edge of the wood and came again +laden, rejoining her at the porch. + +For two days her aunt kept her busy. Early in the week she went away to +be met in Philadelphia by her Uncle Charles, and to be returned to her +Maryland school. + +A day or two later John too left to undergo the dreaded examination at +West Point. The two older people were left alone at Grey Pine with the +rector, who had returned from his annual holiday later than usual. Always +depressed at these seasons, he was now indisposed for the society of even +the two people who were his most valued friends. He dined with them the +day John went away and took up the many duties of his clerical life, +until as was his custom, a week later he came in smiling for the Saturday +dinner, saying, "Well, here comes the old house-dog for his bone." + +They made him welcome as gaily. "Has the town wickedness accumulated in +your absence, Mark?" said Penhallow. + +"Mine has," said Ann Penhallow, "but I never confess except to myself." + +"Ann Penhallow might be a severe confessor," said Rivers as they sat +down. "How you must miss John and Leila. I shall most sadly." + +"Oh, for my part," said Ann, "I have made up my mind not to lament the +inevitable, but my husband is like a lost dog and--oh!--heart-hungry +for Leila, and worried about that boy's examination--his passing." + +"Have I said a word?" said the Squire indignantly. "Pass! Of course, he +will pass." + +"No one doubts that, James; but you are afraid he will not be near the +top." + +"You are a witch, Ann. How did you know that?" + +"How?" and she laughed. "How long have we been married!" + +"Nonsense, Ann! What has that got to do with the matter?" + +"Well," said Rivers, a little amused, "we shall know in a day or two. He +will pass high." + +"Of course," said Penhallow. + +Then the talk drifted away to the mills, the village and the farm work. +When after dinner Rivers declined to smoke with the Squire, Ann walked +with the clergyman down the avenue and said presently, "Dine with us on +Monday, Mark, and as often as possible. My husband is really worrying +about John." + +"And you, dear lady?" + +"I--oh, of course, I miss them greatly; but Leila needs the contact with +the social life she now has in the weekly holiday at Baltimore; and as +for John, did it never occur to you that he ought to be among men of his +age--and social position--and women too, who will not, I fancy, count for +much in the 'West Point education.' + +"Yes--yes, what you say is true of course, but ah! I dread for him the +temptations of another life than this." + +"Would you keep him here longer, if you could?" she asked. + +"No. What would life be worth or how could character be developed without +temptation? That is one of my puzzles about the world to come, a world +where there would be no 'yes and no' would hardly be worth while." + +"And quite beyond me," cried Ann, laughing. "We have done our best for +them. Let us pray that they will not forget. I have no fear for Leila. I +do not know about John. I must go home. Come often. Good-night. I suppose +the sermon takes you away so early." + +"Yes--more or less, and I am poor company just now. Good-night." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +When at breakfast on a Monday morning Penhallow said, "That mail is late +again," his wife knew that he was still eager for news from John. + +"The mail is always late on Monday morning, James. If you are in haste to +get to the mills, I will send it after you." + +"No, it is unimportant, Ann. Another cup, please. Ah! there it is now." +He went out on to the porch. "You are late, Billy." + +"I ain't late--it was Mrs. Crocker--she kept me." + +Penhallow selected two letters postmarked West Point, and opening one as +he went in to the breakfast-room, said, "My dear, it is rather +satisfactory--quite as much as could be expected." + +"Well, James! What is rather satisfactory? You are really exasperating at +times." + +"Am I? Well, John has passed in the first half dozen--he does not yet +know just where--" + +"And are you not entirely contented? You ought to be. What is the other +letter?" + +He opened it. "It is only a line from the old drawing-master to say that +John did well and would have been second or third, they said, except for +not being higher in mathematics." As he spoke he rose and put both +letters in his pocket. "Now I must go." + +"But let me see them, James." + +"Oh, John's is only a half dozen lines, and I must go at once--I have an +appointment at the mills--I want to look over the letters again, and +shall write to him from the office." Ann was slightly annoyed, but said +no more until on the porch before he mounted she took a mild revenge. +"I know where you are going." + +"Well, and where, please?" He fell into her trap. + +"First, you will stop at the rectory and read those letters to Mark +Rivers; then the belated mail will excuse a pause at the post-office to +scold Mrs. Crocker. Tell Pole as you go by that last mutton was +atrociously tough. Of course, you won't mention John." + +"Well, are you done?" he said, as he mounted Dixy. "I can wait, Ann, +until you read the letters." + +"Thanks, I am in no hurry." He turned in the saddle and gave her the +letters. She put aside her brief feeling of annoyance and stood beside +him as she read them. "Thank you, James. What an uneasy old uncle you +are. Now go. Oh, be off with you--and don't forget Dr. McGregor." As he +rode away, she called after him, "James--James--I forgot something." + +He turned, checking Dixy. "Oh, I forgot to say that you must not forget +the office clerks, because you know they are all so fond of John." + +"What a wretch you are, Ann Penhallow! Go in and repent." + +"I don't," and laughing, joyously, she stood and looked after the tall +figure as he rode away happy and gaily singing, as he was apt to do if +pleased, the first army carol the satisfaction of the moment suggested: + +Come out to the stable +As soon as you 're able, +And see that the horses +That they get some corn. +For if you don't do it, +The colonel will know it, +And then you will rue it +As sure as you're born. + +"Ah!" said his wife, "how he goes back--always goes back--to the wild +army life when something pleases him. Thank God that can never come +again." She recalled her first year of married life, the dull garrison +routine, the weeks of her husband's absences, and when the troop came +back and there were empty saddles and weeping women. + +At dinner the Squire must needs drink the young cadet's health and +express to Rivers his regret that there was not a West Point for Leila. +Mrs. Ann was of opinion that she had had too much of it already. Rivers +agreed with his hostess, and in one of his darkest days won the privilege +of long silences by questioning the Squire in regard to the studies and +life at West Point, while Mrs. Ann more socially observant than her +husband saw how moody was Rivers and with what effort he manufactured +an appearance of interest in the captain's enthusiasm concerning +educative methods at the great army school. She was relieved when he +carried off Rivers to the library. + +"It is chilly, Mark; would you like a fire?" he asked. + +"Yes, I am never too warm." + +The Squire set the logs ablaze. "No pipe, Mark?" + +"Not yet." He stretched out his lean length before the ruddy birch blaze +and was silent. The Squire watched him and made no attempt to disturb the +deep reverie in which the young clergyman remained. At last the great +grey eyes turned from the fire, and Rivers sat up in his chair, as he +said, "You must have seen how inconsiderately I have allowed my +depression to dismiss the courtesies of life. I owe you and my dear Mrs. +Penhallow both an apology and an explanation."-- + +"But really, Mark--" + +"Oh, let me go on. I have long wanted to talk myself out, and as often my +courage has failed. I have had a most unhappy life, Penhallow. All the +pleasant things in it--the past few years--have been given me here. I +married young--" + +"One moment, Mark. Before you came to us the Bishop wrote me in +confidence of your life. Not even Mrs. Penhallow has seen that letter." + +"Then you knew--but not all. Now I have had a sad relief. He told you +of--well, of my life, of my mother's hopeless insanity--and the rest." + +"Yes--yes--all, I believe--all." + +"Not quite all. I have spent a part at least of every August with her; +now at last she is dead. But my family story has left with me the fear of +dying like my brothers or of becoming as she became. When I came to you I +was a lonely soul, sick in mind and weak in body. I am better--far +better--and now with some renewal of hope and courage I shall face my +world again. You have had--you will have charity for my days of +melancholy. I never believed that a priest should marry--and yet I +did. I suffered, and never again can I dream of love. I am doubly armed +by memory and by the horror of continuing a race doomed to disaster. +There you have it all to my relief. There is some mysterious consolation +in unloading one's mind. How good you have been to me! and I have been so +useless--so little of what I might have been." + +Penhallow rose, set a hand on Rivers's shoulder, seeing the sweat on his +forehead and the appeal of the sad eyes turned up to meet his gaze. +"What," he said, "would our children have been without you? God knows I +have been a better man for your company, and the mills--the village--how +can you fail to see what you have done--" + +"No--no--I am a failure. It may be that the moods of self-reproach are +morbid. That too torments me. Even to-day I was thinking of how Christ +would have dealt with that miserable man, Peter Lamb, and how +uncharitable I was, how crude, how void of sympathy--" + +"You--you--" said Penhallow, as he moved away. "My own regret is that +I did not turn him over to the law. Well, points of view do differ +curiously. We will let him drop. He will come to grief some day. And now +take my thanks and my dear Ann's for what you have told me. Let us drop +that too. Take a pipe." + +"No, I must go. I am the easier in my mind, but I am tired and not at +all in the pipe mood." He went out through the hall, and with a hasty +"good-night" to his hostess and "pleasant dreams--or none," went slowly +down the avenue. + +The woman he left, with her knitting needles at rest a moment, was +considering the man and his moods with such intuitive sympathy and +comprehension as belongs to the sex which is physiologically the more +subject to abrupt changes in the climate of the mind. As her husband +entered, she began anew the small steadying industry for which man has no +substitute. + +"Upon my word, James, when you desire to exchange confidences, you must +get further away from me." + +"You don't mean me to believe you overheard our talk in the library, with +the door closed and the curtain across it." Her acuteness of hearing +often puzzled him, and he had always to ask for proof. + +She nodded gay assurance, and said again, ceasing to knit, "I overheard +too much--oh, not all--bits--enough to trouble me. I moved away so as not +to hear. All I care to know is how to be of real service to a friend to +whom we owe so much." + +"I want you--in fact, Mark wants you--to hear in full what you know in +part." + +"Well, James, I have very little curiosity about the details of the +misfortunes of my friends unless to know is to obtain means of +helpfulness." + +"You won't get any here, I fear, but as he has been often strange and +depressed and, as he says, unresponsive to your kindness, he does want +you now to see what cause there was." + +"Very well, if he wants it. I see you have a letter." + +"Yes, I kept it. It was marked strictly confidential--I hate that--" She +smiled as he added, "It seems to imply the possibility of indiscretion on +my part." + +"Oh, James! Oh, you dear man!" and she laughed outright, liking to tease +where she deeply loved, knowing him through and through, as he never +could know her. Then she saw that he was not in the mood for jesting with +an edge to it; nor was she. "At all events, you did not let me see that +letter--now I am to see it." + +"Yes, you are to see it. You might at any time have seen it." + +"Yes, read it to me." + +"When our good Bishop sent Mark Rivers here to us, he wrote me this +letter--" + +"Well, go on." + +"MY DEAR SIR: I send you the one of my young clergy with whom I am the +most reluctant to part. You will soon learn why, and learning will be +thankful. But to make clear to you why I urge him--in fact, order him to +go--requires a word of explanation. He is now only twenty-six years of +age but looks older. He married young and not wisely a woman who lived a +childlike dissatisfied life, and died after two years. One of his +brothers died an epileptic; the other, a promising lawyer, became insane +and killed himself. This so affected their widowed mother that she fell +into a speechless melancholy and has ever since been in the care of +nurses in a farmer's family--a hopeless case. I became of late alarmed at +his increasing depression and evident failure in bodily strength. He was +advised to take a small country parish, and so I send him to you and my +friend, Mrs. Penhallow, sure that he will give as much as he gets. I need +not say more. He is well worth saving--one of God's best--with too +exacting a conscience--learned, eloquent and earnest, and to end, a +gentleman." + +"There is a lot more about Indian missions, which I think are hopeless, +but I sent him a cheque, of course." + +"I supposed, James, that his depression was owing to his want of vigorous +health. Now I see, but how very sorrowful it is! What else is there? I +did not mean to listen, but something was said about his mother." + +"Yes. He has spent with her a large part of every August--he called it +his holiday. My God, Ann! Poor fellow! This August she died. It must be a +relief." + +"Perhaps." + +"Oh, surely. This is all, Ann." + +"I wish you had been less discreet long ago, James. I think that the +Bishop knowing how sensitive, how very reticent Mark is, meant only that +he should not learn what was confided to you." + +"I never thought of that, Ann. You may be right." + +She made no further comment, except to say, "But to know clears the air +and leaves me free to talk to him at need." Penhallow felt that where he +himself might be a useless confessor, his wife was surely to be trusted. + +"If, Ann, the man could only be got on to the back of a horse--" She won +the desirable relief of laughter, and the eyes that were full of the +tears of pity for this disastrous life overflowed of a sudden with mirth +at the Squire's one remedy for the troubles of this earthly existence. + +"Oh, I am in earnest," he said. "Now I must write to John." + +When after a week or more she did talk to Mark Rivers, he was the better +for it and felt free to speak to her as a younger man may to an older +woman and can rarely do to the closest of male friends, for, after all, +most friendships have their personal limitations and the man who has not +both men and women friends may at some time miss what the double +intimacies alone can give. + + * * * * * + +The uneasy sense of something lost was more felt than mentioned that fall +at Grey Pine, where quick feet on the stair and the sound of young +laughter were no longer heard. Rivers saw too how distinctly the village +folk missed these gay young people. Mrs. Crocker, of the shop where +everything was to be bought, bewailed herself to Rivers, who was the +receiver of all manner of woes. "Mrs. Penhallow is getting to be so +particular no one knows where to find her. You would never think it, sir, +but she says my tea is not fit to drink, and she is going to get her +sugar from Philadelphia. It's awful! She says it isn't as sweet as it +used to be--as if sugar wasn't always the same--" + +"Which it isn't," laughed Rivers. + +"And my tea!--Then here comes in the Squire to get a dog-collar, and +roars to my poor deaf Job, 'that last tea was the best we have ever had. +Send five pounds to Dr. McGregor from me--charge it to me--and a pound to +Mrs. Lamb.' It wasn't but ten minutes later. Do set down, Mr. Rivers." He +accepted the chair she dusted with her apron and quietly enjoyed the +little drama. The facts were plain, the small influential motives as +clear. + +Secure of her hearer, Mrs. Crocker went on: "I was saying it wasn't ten +minutes later that same morning Mrs. Penhallow came down on me about the +sugar and the tea--worst she ever had. She--oh, Lord!--She wouldn't +listen, and declared that she would return the tea and get sugar from +town." + +"Pretty bad that," said Rivers, sympathetic. "Did she send back the tea?" + +"No, sir. In came Pole grinning that very evening. He said she had made +an awful row about the last leg of mutton he sent. Pole said she was that +bad--She didn't show no temper, but she kept on a sort of quiet mad about +the mutton." + +"Well, what did Pole do?" + +"You'd never guess. It was one of the Squire's own sheep. Pole he just +sent her the other leg of the same sheep!" + +Again the rector laughed. "Well, and what did Mrs. Penhallow do?" + +"She told him that was all right. Pole he guessed I'd better send her a +pound of the same tea." + +"Did you?" + +"I did--ain't heard yet. Now what would you advise? Never saw her this +way before." + +"Well," said Rivers, "tell her how the town misses Leila and John." + +"They do. I do wonder if it's just missing those children upsets her so." + +Whether his advice were taken or not, Rivers did not learn directly, but +Mrs. Crocker said things were better when next they met, and the +clergyman asked no questions. + +Penhallow had his own distracting troubles. The financial condition which +became serious in the spring and summer of 1857 was beginning to cause +him alarm, and soon after the new year came in he felt obliged to talk +over his affairs and to advise his wife to loan the mill company money +not elsewhere to be had except at ruinous interest. She wished simply to +give him the sum needed, but he said no, and made clear to her why he +required help. She was pleased to be consulted, and showing, as usual, +notable comprehension of the business situation, at once did as he +desired. + +Rivers not aware of what was so completely occupying Penhallow's mind, +wondered later why he would not discuss the decision of the Supreme Court +in the Dred Scott case and did not share his own indignation. "But," he +urged, "it declares the Missouri Compromise not warranted by the +Constitution!" + +"I can't talk about it, Mark," said Penhallow, "I am too worried by my +own affairs." + +Then Rivers asked no further questions; he hoped he would read the +masterly dissenting opinion of Justices McLean and Curtis. Penhallow +returned impatiently that he had no time, and that the slavery question +were better left to the decision of "Chief Justice Time." + +It was unlike the Squire, and Rivers perplexed and more or less ignorant +concerning his friend's affairs left him, in wonder that what was so +angrily disturbing the Northern States should quite fail to interest +Penhallow. + +Meanwhile there were pleasant letters from Leila. She thought it hard to +be denied correspondence with John, and wrote of the satisfaction felt by +her Uncle Henry and his friends in regard to the Dred Scott decision. She +had been wise enough to take her Uncle Charles's advice and to hold her +Republican tongue, as he with a minority in Baltimore was wisely doing. + +The money crisis came with full force while the affairs of Kansas were +troubling both North and South. In August there was widespread ruin. +Banks failed, money was held hard, contracts were broken and to avoid a +worse calamity the Penhallow mills discharged half of the men. Meanwhile +under Governor Walker's just and firm rule, for a brief season 'Bleeding +Kansas' was no longer heard of. To add to the confusion of parties, +Douglas broke with the Administration and damaged the powerful Democratic +machine when he came out with changed opinions and dauntless courage +against the new Lecompton constitution. + +In June Leila's school life came to a close, and to the delight of her +relations she came home. When that afternoon Rivers came into the hall, a +tall young woman rose of a sudden and swept him a curtsey, saying, "I am +Leila Grey, sir. Please to be glad to see me." + +"Good gracious, Leila! You are a woman!" + +"And what else should I be?" + +"Alas! what? My little friend and scholar--oh! the evil magic of time." + +"Oh! Friend--friend!" she exclaimed, "then, now, and always." She gave +him both hands. + +"Yes, always," he said quickly. "And this," he said to himself, "is the +child who used to give me the morning kiss. It is very wonderful!" + +"I really think, Aunt Ann, that Mr. Rivers just for a moment did not know +me." + +"Indeed! That must have amused him." + +"Oh, here is James." There was laughter at dinner and a little gay +venture into the politics of Leila's school, which appeared to have been +disagreeable to Miss Grey. + +Rivers watched the animated face as she gave her account of how the +school took a vote in the garden and were all Democrats. The Squire a +little puzzled by his wife's evident disinclination to interfere with the +dinner-table politics got a faint suspicion that here had come into Grey +Pine a new and positive influence. He was more surprised that Mrs. Ann +asked, "What did you say, Leila?" + +"I? Now, Aunt Ann, what would you have done or said?" + +"Oh, voted with the Democrats, of course." + +"Oh, Mrs. Penhallow!" cried the Rector. + +The Squire much amused asked, "Well, Leila, did you run away?" + +"I--Oh, Uncle Jim! I said I was a democrat--I voted the Democratic +ticket." + +"Did you?" exclaimed Rivers. + +"So James Penhallow and my brother Charles have lost a Republican vote," +laughed Ann. + +"But, Aunt Ann, I added that I was a Douglas Democrat." + +The Squire exploded into peals of laughter. Ann said, "For shame!" + +"They decided to lynch me, but no one of them could catch me before Miss +Mayo appeared on the playground and we all became demure as pussy cats. +She was cross." + +"She was quite right," said her aunt. "I do not see why girls should be +discussing politics." + +Rivers became silently regardant, and Penhallow frowning sat still. The +anticipated bolt had fallen--it fell in vain. Leila did not accept the +decree, but defended herself gaily. "Aunt Ann," she said, "Douglas is +right, or at least half right. And do tell me how old must a girl be +before she has a right to think?" + +"Think! Oh, if you like, think. But, my dear Leila, your uncle, Mr. +Rivers and I, although we think and hold very diverse opinions, feel that +on such matters discussion only leaves a sting, and so we tacitly leave +it out of our talk. There, my dear, you have my opinion." + +There was a moment of silence. Leila looked up. "Oh, my dear Aunt Ann, if +you were on the side of old Nick, Mr. Rivers wouldn't care a penny less +for you, and I never could see why to differ in talk about politics is +going to hurt past anything love could accept. Aunt Helen and Uncle +Charles both talk politics and they do love one another, although Aunt +Helen is tremendously Democratic." + +"My dear Leila!" + +"Oh, Aunt Ann! I will not say a word more if you want me to hold my +tongue." + +"Wouldn't the other way be more wholesome on the whole?" said Rivers. + +"I have long thought so," said the Squire. "There are ways and ways--" + +"Perhaps," said Ann. "Shall you ride with your uncle tomorrow, Leila?" + +"Oh, shall I! I long for it--I dream about it. May I ride Dixy, Uncle +Jim?" + +"Yes, if you have a riding-habit you can wear. We will see to that. You +have grown a good bit, but I fancy we can manage." + +"And how is Pole, aunt; and the doctor and Crocker and his fat wife--oh, +and everybody?" + +"Oh, much, as usual. We had a skirmish about mutton, but the last Pole +sent is good--in fact, excellent. He needs watching." + +Then the talk fell on the lessened work at the mills, and there being now +four players the Squire had his whist again, and later carried Rivers +away to smoke in the library, leaving Ann and Leila. + +As the library door closed, Leila dropped on a cushion at her aunt's +feet, and with her head in Ann's lap expressed her contentment by a few +moments of silence. Then sitting up, she said, "I am so happy I should +like to purr. I was naughty at dinner, but it was just because I wanted +to make Uncle Jim laugh. He looks--Don't you think he looks worried, +aunt? Is it the mills and--the men out of work? Dear Aunt Ann, how can +one keep on not talking about politics and things that are next to one's +religion--and concerning our country--my country?" + +Ann made no direct reply, but went back to what was nearer than any creed +of politics. "Yes, dear. When one big thing worries James, then +everything worries him. The state of the money market makes all business +difficult, and he feels uncomfortable because the mill company is in want +of work, and because their debts are overdue and not likely to be paid in +full or at all." + +"I wish I could do something to help Uncle Jim." + +"You can ride with him and I cannot. You can talk to him without +limitations; I cannot. He is reasonable about this grave question of +slavery. He does not think it right; I do--oh, good for master and best +for the black. When, soon after our marriage, we spoke of it, he was +positive and told me to read what Washington had said about slavery. We +were both young and said angry things which left a pang of remembrance. +After that we were careful. But now this terrible question comes up in +the village and in every paper. It will get worse, and I see no end to +it." + +Leila was silent, remembering too her aunt's share in Josiah's escape. +The advice implied in her aunt's frank talk she saw was to be accepted. +"I will remember, Aunt Ann." At least she was free to talk to her uncle. + +"Has any one heard of Josiah?" asked Leila. + +"No, I was sorry for him. He had so many good traits. I think he would +have been more happy if he had remained with his master." + +Leila had her doubts, but was self-advised to say no more than, "I often +think of him. Now I shall go to bed." + +"Yes, you must be tired." + +"I am never tired, but to be free to sit up late or go to bed and read +what I want to--and to ride! Good-night. I can write to John--now there's +another bit of freedom. Oh, dear, how delightful it all is!" She went +upstairs thinking how hard it would be to keep off of the forbidden +ground, and after all was her aunt entirely wise? Well, there was Uncle +Jim and John. + +While this talk went on the rector alone with his host said, "You are +evidently to have a fresh and very positive factor in your household +life--" + +"Hush," said the Squire. "Talk low--Ann Penhallow has incredible +hearing." + +"True--quite true--I forgot. How amazingly the child has changed. She +will be a useful ferment, I fancy. How strange it is always--this abrupt +leap of the girl into the heritage of womanhood. The boy matures slowly, +by imperceptible gradations. Now Leila seems to me years older than John, +and the change is really somewhat startling; but then I have seen very +little of young women. There is the girl, the maid, the woman." + +"Oh, but there is boy, lad, and man." + +"Not comparable, Squire; continuously growing in one case, and in the +other developmental surprises and, ever after, fall and rise of energy. +The general trouble about understanding women is that men judge them by +some one well-known woman. I heard a famous doctor say that no man need +pretend to understand women unless he had been familiar with sick women." + +The Squire recalling the case of Ann Penhallow was silent. The clergyman +thinking too of his own bitter experience lapsed into contemplative +cleaning of a much valued meerschaum pipe. The Squire not given to morbid +or other psychological studies made brief reply. "I hope that Leila will +remain half boy." + +"Too late, Squire--too late. You've got a woman on your hands. There will +be two heads to Grey Pine." + +"And may I ask where do I come in?" He was at times almost dull-witted, +and yet in danger swift to think and quick to act. + +Rivers filling the well-cleaned pipe looked up. There was something of +unwonted gaiety in the moving face-lines which frame the eyes and give to +them the appearance of change of expression. "My dear friend, you were as +dough that is kneaded in the hands of Leila, the girl; you will be no +less so now in the hands of this splendid young woman." + +"Oh, now--by George! Rivers, you must think me--" + +"Think you! Oh, like other men. And as concerns Mrs. Ann, there +will sometimes be a firm alliance with Leila before which you will +wilt--or--no, I will not venture further." + +"You had better not, or you may fail like other prophets." + +"No, I was thinking as you spoke of the fact that Leila has seen a good +deal of a very interesting society in Baltimore, and has had the chance, +and I am sure the desire, to hear more of the wild Southern party-talk +than most girls have." + +"Yes, she has been in both camps." + +"And always was and is, I fancy, eagerly curious in the best sense. More +than my dear Mrs. Ann, she has wide intellectual sympathies--and +appetites." + +"That's a very fine phrase, Mark." + +"Isn't it, Squire? I was also comparing in my mind John's want of +association with men of his own social accident of position. He lived +here with some rough country lads and with you and me. He has had no such +chance as Leila's." + +"Oh, the Point will mature him. Then two years on the Plains--and after +that the mills." + +"Perhaps--two years! But, Penhallow, who can dare to predict what God has +in store for us. Two years!" + +"Yes--too true--who can! Just now we are financially diseased, and men +are thinking more of the bread and butter and debts of to-morrow than of +Mr. Buchanan in the toils of his Southern Cabinet." + +"That's so. Good-night." + +Leila took upstairs with her John's last letter to her aunt, and sitting +down read it eagerly: + +"WEST POINT. + +"MY DEAR AUNT: The life here, as I wrote you, is something almost +monastic in its systematic regularity, and its despotic claims on one's +time. It leaves small leisure for letters except on Sundays; and if a +fellow means to be well placed, even then he is wise to do some work. The +outside world seems far away, and we read and can read few papers. + +"I am of Uncle Jim's politics, but although there are many pretty +sensitive cadets from the South, some of them my friends, there is so +pleasant a camaraderie among us that there are few quarrels, and +certainly none of the bitterness of the two sections. + +"I think I may have told you that we have no furlough until we have been +here two years, but I hope some time for a visit from Uncle Jim and you, +or at least from him and Leila. How she would enjoy it! The wonderful +beauty of the great river in the embrace of these wooded mountains, the +charm of the heroic lives it has nourished and the romance of its early +history are delightful--" + +"Enjoy it," murmured Leila, "oh, would I not indeed!" Then she read on: + +"Tell Leila to write me all about the horses and the town, and if Josiah +has been heard of. Tom McGregor writes me that after he is graduated next +year, he means to try for a place in the army and get a year or two of +army life before he settles down to help his father. So it takes only two +years to learn how to keep people alive and four to learn how to kill +them." + +"I wonder who John means to kill." She sat in thought a while, and rising +to undress said, "He must be greatly changed, my dear boy, Jack. Jack!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +The widespread disapproval at the North of the Dred Scott Decision was +somewhat less manifest in the middle months of the year because of the +general financial distress, which diverted attention from what was so +agreeable to the slave States, where in fact the stringency in the money +market had been felt but little. + +At Grey Pine, as elsewhere in Pennsylvania, the evil influence of the +depression in trade was felt as never before. More men were discharged, +and Penhallow and his wife practised economy which to him was difficult +and distasteful. To limit expenditure on herself was of little moment to +Ann Penhallow, but to have to limit her ability to give where more and +more were needing help was to her at least a hard trial. With the spring +of 1858, business had begun to revive, while more bitterness arose when +in the senatorial contest Stephen Douglas encountered the soil-born +vigorous intellect of the little known lawyer Lincoln. The debate put +fresh life into the increasing power of the Republican party in the West. + +"Listen to this," said Rivers to the Squire in July of 1858. "Here is a +new choice. Long ago I got touch of this man, when he said, 'A house +divided against itself cannot stand.'" He went on to read aloud parts of +the famous speech. + +Leila sitting with them on the porch looked round to hear her uncle's +comment. He said, "It is too radical, Rivers. It leaves no chance for +compromise--it is a declaration of war." + +"It is God's truth," said Rivers. + +"The Democrats will rejoice," said Penhallow. "The Administration will be +as I am against Douglas and against this man's views." + +"I wish he were even more of an abolitionist, Squire. The right to life, +liberty and the pursuit of happiness, ought to apply to all men, black +and white." + +"Yes, but are there to be further applications. Shall your free black +vote? Does he say that?" + +"No, but I do." + +"Good gracious!" exclaimed the Squire. "I move we adjourn. Here comes +Ann." + +Keen to have the last word, Rivers urged, "He is not against some +fugitive-slave law--not for abolition of slavery in the District of +Columbia--or the slave trade between the States." + +"But," said Leila, "I read it all last night in my room. He said it was +the right and duty of Congress to prohibit slavery in all the +territories." + +"The right," said Penhallow, "Miss Politician?" + +"And the duty," returned Rivers. They rose as Ann came up the steps. + +Billy was carrying the baskets she had emptied in the village, and as +usual with Ann when there had been much to do, she came home, Rivers +said, refreshed by the exercise of her gentle despotisms as a man may be +by use of competent muscles. "You are all struck dumb," she cried. "I +smell the sulphur of bad politics." + +"I'm for Buch and Breck," said Billy. "Misses she give me a dollar to +vote for Buchanan, I know--" + +Leila delightedly encouraged him. "Did you?" + +"No, it was for poll-tax. Take in those baskets at once," said Ann. + +"Yes, ma'am. Bought a fishing-pole." + +The confusion of mind which had made this practical use of Ann's mild +political contribution was new to the Squire, and deliciously funny to +Leila. Penhallow laughed outright. Rivers was silent watching Mrs. Ann. + +To his surprise, she said, "You are bad--all of you. If the women could +vote we would cease to have trouble. It may please you all to know that +since that idiot Pole has mortgaged his farm to Swallow and bought out +the butcher at the mills, he has repented of his Democratic wickedness +and says, 'After all the Squire was right.'" + +"And where, my dear, did you get all this gossip?" asked Penhallow. + +"It is complicated; ask Pole." + +"I could guess," laughed Leila. + +"And I," cried the Squire. + +"You will all suffer," cried Ann, "and don't complain, James Penhallow, +if tough beef is the final result of political complications." Whereupon +she gathered her skirts and fled laughing. + +"Pole will pay dearly," said the Squire, who was secretly securing meat +for the discharged mill-hands and understood what had influenced Pole. + +Grey Pine and Westways during the summer and fall of 1858 felt, like many +in the Northern States, the need to live with economy. Want of employment +added to the unrest, and the idle men found time to discuss the angry +politics which rang through the debates in the Senate. The changed tariff +on iron, to which Pennsylvania was always selfishly sensitive, affected +the voting, and Penhallow was pleased when the Administration suffered +disaster in the October elections. All parties--Republican, American and +Douglas Democrats--united to cast discredit on the President's policy, +but Penhallow knew that the change of duties on iron had little to do +with the far-spread ruin of trade and manufactures the result of long +credits and the careless finance of an over-prosperous people. The +electoral results were looked upon as a Republican victory. He so +explained it on a November afternoon, as he rode through the still forest +with Leila Grey, when the faint haze and warmer days told of that +mysterious arrest of decay we call the Indian summer. + +As they rode, the long lapses into silence told of the pleasant relations +of two people entirely at ease with one another. Now it was a question +asked--and now quick discussion. She had slowly won with maidenhood what +few children have, more or less of the varied forms of imagination, which +once had rather amused or puzzled her in John Penhallow. Her uncle, who +thought slowly unless in danger, rode on with his mind upon a small order +for rails and was far from feeling the mystery of the autumn days. The +girl beside him was reading into the slow rocking to and fro of the +falling leaves some reluctance to become forever a part of the decaying +mould. + +"Please, Uncle Jim, don't trot. Let them walk. It is so full of tender +deaths." + +"What do you mean, Leila?--as if death were ever beautiful or tender. You +and your aunt bother me with your absurd manufacture of some relation to +nature--" + +"Oh, Uncle Jim! Once I saw you pat a big pine and say 'how are you, old +fellow?' I told John it was nonsense, but he said it was fine." + +"Oh, but that was a tree." + +Leila laughed. "Of that there can be no doubt." + +"Well, and what of it? It was half fun. You and John and your aunt sit up +and explode into enthusiasm over verse, when it could all be said far +better in simple prose." + +"I should like to put that to the test some night." + +"Not I, Miss Grey. I have no poetry in me. I am cold prose through and +through." + +"You--you!" she cried. "Some people like poetry--some people are poetry." + +"What--what?" + +"Wasn't your hero Cromwell just magnificent, stately blank verse?" + +"What confounded nonsense!" She glanced at the manly figure with the +cavalry seat, erect, handsome, to her heroic--an ideal gentleman in all +his ways. "Stuff and nonsense!" he added. + +"Well, Uncle Jim--to talk prose--the elections please you?" + +"Yes. The North is stiffening up. It is as well. Did you see what Seward +said, 'An irrepressible conflict,' and that man Lincoln, 'The house +divided against itself cannot stand'? Now I should like to think them +both wrong." + +"And do you not?" she asked. + +"No. Some devilish fate seems to be at the helm, as Rivers says. We avoid +one rock to fall into wild breakers of exasperation; with fugitive-slave +cases on one side, and on the other importations of slaves. Where will it +end?" + +"But what would you do, uncle?" + +"Oh, amend the Fugitive-Slave Law. Try the cases by jury. Let slavery +alone to cure itself, as it would in time. It would if we let it alone." + +"And Kansas?" asked Leila. + +"Oh, Douglas is right, but his view of the matter will never satisfy the +South nor the extreme men at the North. My dear Leila, the days are dark +and will be darker, and worst of all they really think we are afraid." +His face grew stern. "I hate to talk about it. Have you heard from John +lately?" + +"Yes, only last week." + +"And you write to him, of course?" + +"Yes, I answer his letters. Aunt Ann writes every Sunday. Are things +better at the mills?" + +"Rather. Now for a gallop--it puts me always in a more hopeful humour. +Don't let your aunt overwork you, Leila; she will." + +"She can't, Uncle Jim." It was true. Leila gently rebelled against +incessant good works--sewing-classes for the village girls, Sunday +school, and the endless errands which left no time for books. Her +occasional walks with Marks Rivers enabled her to form some clear idea of +the difference of opinion which so sharply divided parties north of +Maryland. His own belief was that slavery was a sinful thing with which +there should be no truce and no patient waiting upon the influence of +time. He combated the Squire's equally simple creed--the unbroken union +of the States. She fought the rector hard, to his delight. Far more +pleasant on three afternoons in the week were the lessons in Italian with +her aunt, and Rivers's brilliant commentary on Dante. The months ran on +into and through the winter, with an economical Christmas to Ann's +regret. + + * * * * * + +As a rule the political contests of our country go on without deeply +affecting the peace of families. In the cotton States opinion was or had +to appear to be at one. In the North the bitterness and unreason of +limited groups of anti-slavery people excited the anger of men who saw in +their ways and speeches continual sources of irritation, which made all +compromise difficult. The strife of parties where now men were earnest as +they never were before since revolutionary days was felt most seriously +in the border States. + +"James," said Ann after breakfast, when Leila had gone to dress for a +ride, "I think I ought to tell you that I have had this morning letters +from both my brothers. I wrote, you know, asking them to bring the girls +to us. Leila is too much alone. They both decline. Charles has come out +for the Republicans, and now--it is too dreadful--they do not speak. +Charles tells me there is a strong minority with him and that the State +is not all for the South. I cannot believe it." + +"Indeed!" He was not altogether displeased. "I am sorry for you, Ann, as +their sister." + +"And as a man, you are not! Where will it all end? There is neither +charity nor reason at the North. I am disturbed for our country." + +"You ask where it will all end. Where will it end? God alone knows. Let +us at least wait quietly the course of events we cannot control. I at +least try to be reasonable." He left her standing in tears, for which he +had no comfort in thought or word. Over all the land, North and South, +there were such differences of opinion between wife and husband, +brothers, friends and kinsmen. As he stood at the door about to ride to +the mills he looked back and heard her delayed comment. + +"One moment, James--" + +"Oh, what is the matter?" cried Leila at the foot of the stairs. To see +Ann Penhallow in tears was strange indeed. + +Her uncle standing with his hand on his wife's shoulder had just spoken. +Turning to Leila, he said: "Your aunt and I have had some unpleasant news +from your uncles in Baltimore--a political quarrel." + +"I knew it in the spring, Uncle Jim." + +The girl's thoughtful reticence surprised him. Neither to him nor to Ann +had she said a word of this family feud. + +"Thank you, Leila," murmured her aunt. The Squire wondered why, as her +aunt added, "I am greatly troubled. We have always been a most united +family; but, dear, this--this has brought home to me, as nothing else +has, the breaking up of the ties which bound the South and North +together. It is only the sign of worse things to come." + +"But, Ann," said Penhallow, "I must say"--A sharp grip on his arm by +Leila's hand stopped him. He checked himself in time--"it is all very +sad, but neither you nor I can help it." + +"That is too true, James. I should not have said what I did. I want to +see one of the men at the mills. His children are ill, his wife is in +great distress." + +"I will drive you myself this morning. I will send Dixy away and order +the gig." + +"Thank you; I shall like that, James." + +Meanwhile Leila rode away, having in a moment of tactful interference +made her influence felt. She was well aware of it and smiled as she +walked her horse down the avenue, murmuring, + +"I suppose I shall catch it from Uncle Jim." And then, "No, he will be +glad I pinched him, but he did look cross for a moment." No word of the +family dissension reached John in their ever cheerful letters. + +On a wild windy afternoon in February, the snow falling heavily, Leila on +her way to the village rang at the Rector's door. Getting no answer, she +went in and passing through the front room knocked at the library door. + +"Come in." Rivers was at his table in a room littered with books and +newspapers. The gentle smile of his usual greeting was missing. She saw +at once that he was in one of his moods of melancholy--rare of late. Her +eyes quick to see when she was interested noted that where he sat there +was neither book nor paper in front of him. He rose as she entered, tall, +stooping, lean, and so thin-featured that his large eyes were the more +notable. + +"Aunt Ann has a cold, and Joe Grace was at the house to say that his +father is ill, and aunt wishes you to go with me and see what is wanted. +He has no way to send for the doctor; and so you see, as he is in bed, +you must go with me." + +"Oh, I saw him this morning. It is of no moment. I did what was needed." + +"But I have to see Mrs. Lamb too. Come for the walk. It is blowing a gale +and the snow is splendid--do come." + +Of late he had rarely walked with her. He hesitated. + +"Do come." + +"If I die of cold, Leila." + +"Die! You do not take exercise enough to keep your blood in motion. Come, +please!" + +He said no more except "Wait a moment," and returned fitly clad. A fury +of charging battalions of snow met them in the avenue. She faced it +gallantly, joyous and rosy. He bent to avoid the sting of the driven +snow, shivering, and more at ease when in the town the houses broke the +force of the gale. + +"You won't need to go to Grace's," he urged. + +"I am under orders. Don't you know Aunt Ann?" + +Presently plunging through the snow-drifts they came into the dreary +disordered back room which had so troubled Penhallow. It was cold with +that indoor cold which is so unpleasant. Joe Grace came in--a big +strapping young fellow. "I came from the farm and found father in bed and +no wood in the stack. Some one has just fetched a load." He began to +make a fire. + +"Go up to your father," said Rivers. "Make a fire in his room. You ought +to have come sooner. Oh, that poor helpless Baptist saint--there isn't +much wrong, but the man is half frozen--and it is so needless." + +"Come," said Leila. "Does he require anything?" + +"No, I saw to that." As he spoke, he piled log on log and warmed his long +thin hands. "Wait a little, Leila." She sat down, while the loose +casements rattled. + +"Leila," he said, "there is no chance to talk to you at Grey Pine. I am +troubled about these, my friends. What I now have of health and mental +wholesomeness in my life, I owe to them. I came hither a broken, hopeless +man. Now they are in trouble." She looked up at him in some surprise at +his confession. "I want to help them. Your uncle told me of your aunt's +new distress and the cause. Then I made him talk business, and asked him +to let me lend him thirty thousand dollars. He said no, but I did see how +it pleased him. He said that it would be lost. At all events his refusal +was decisive." + +"But," said Leila, increasingly surprised, "that was noble of you." + +"Nonsense, my dear Leila; I have more than I need--enough to help +others--and would still have enough." + +She had a feeling of astonishment at the idea of his being so well-off, +and now from his words some explanation of the mysterious aid which had +so helped at the mills and so puzzled Mrs. Ann. Why had he talked to her? +He himself could not have told why. As he stood at the fire he went on +talking, while she made her quick mental comments. + +"You call it noble. It is a rather strange thing; but to go to a friend +in financial despair with a cheque-book is a test of friendship before +which many friendships fail. Before my uncle left me rich beyond my +needs, I had an unpleasant experience on a small scale, but it was a +useful example in the conduct of life." He paused for a moment, and then +said, "I shall try the Squire again." + +"I think you will fail--I know Uncle Jim. But what you tell me--is it +very bad? I mean, is he--are the mills--likely to fail?" + +"That depends as I see it on the summer nominations and the fall +elections, and their result no one can predict. The future looks to me +full of peril." + +"But why?" she asked, and had some surprise when he said, "I have lived +in the South. I taught school in Macon. I know the South, its increasing +belief in the despotic power of cotton and tobacco, its splendid courage, +and the sense of mastery given by the ownership of man. Why do I talk my +despair out to a young life like yours? I suppose confession to be a +relief--the tears of the soul. I suppose it is easier to talk to a +woman." "Then why not to Aunt Ann?" thought Leila, as he went on to say, +"I have often asked myself why confession is such a relief." He smiled as +he added, "I wonder if St. Francis ever confessed to Monica." Then he was +silent, turning round before the fire, unwilling to leave it. + +Leila had been but recently introduced to the knowledge of St. Francis, +and was struck with the oddity of representing Monica; and the tall, +gaunt figure with the sad eyes, as the joyful St. Francis. + +"Now, I must go home," he said. + +"Indeed, no! You are to go with me to the post-office and then to see +Mrs. Lamb." + +He had some pleasant sense of liking to be ordered about by this young +woman. As they faced the snow, he asked, "How tall are you, Leila?" + +"Five feet ten inches and--to be accurate--a quarter. Why do you ask?" + +"Idle curiosity." + +"Curiosity is never idle, Mr. Rivers. It is industrious. I proved that in +a composition I wrote at school. It did bother Miss Mayo." + +"I should think it might," said Rivers. "Any letters, Mrs. Crocker?" + +"No, sir; none for Squire's folk. Two newspapers. Awful cold, Miss Leila. +Molasses so hard to-day, had to be chopped--" + +"Oh, now, Mrs. Crocker!" + +The fat post-mistress was still handling the pile of finger-soiled +letters. "Oh, there's one for Mrs. Lamb." + +"We are going there. I'll take it." + +"Thanks, miss. She's right constant in coming for letters, but the +letters they don't come, and now here's one at last." Leila tucked it +into her belt. "I tell you, Miss Leila, a post-office is a place to make +you laugh one day and cry the next. When you see a girl from the country +come here twice a week for maybe two months and then go away trying that +hard to make believe it wasn't of any account. There ought to be some one +to write 'em letters--just to say, 'Don't cry, he'll come.' It might be a +queer letter." + +Rivers wondered at the very abrupt and very American introduction of +unexpected sentiment and humour. + +"Let me know and I'll write them, Mrs. Crocker," cried Leila. She had the +very youthful reflection that it was odd for such a fat woman to be +sentimental. + +"I should like to open all the letters for a week, Mrs. Crocker," said +Rivers. + +"Wouldn't Uncle Sam make a row?" + +"He would, indeed!" + +"Idle curiosity," laughed Leila, as they went out into the storm. + +He made no reply and reflected on this young woman's developmental change +and the gaiety which he so lacked. + +Leila, wondering what Peter wrote to the lonely old widow, went to look +for her in the kitchen, while Rivers sat down in the neatly kept front +room. He waited long. At last Leila came out alone, and as they walked +away she said, "The letter was from Peter." + +"Indeed!" + +"Yes, I got it all out of her." + +"Got what?" + +"She gets three dollars a week from Aunt Ann and all her vegetables from +Aunt Ann, and she is all the time complaining to Uncle Jim. Then, of +course, Uncle Jim gives her more money--and Peter gets it--" + +"Where is he?" + +"Oh, in Philadelphia, and here and there." + +"You should tell the Squire." + +"No, I think not." + +"Perhaps--yes--perhaps you are right." And facing the wild norther she +left him at his door and went homewards with a new burden of thought on +her mind. + +The winter broke up and late in May Penhallow left home on business. He +wrote from Philadelphia: + +"My dear Ann: Trade is dead, money still locked up, and the railways +hesitating to give orders for much-needed rails. I have one small order, +which will keep us going, but will hardly pay. + +"I never talk of the political disorder, but now you will feel as I do a +certain dismay at the action of the Vicksburg Convention in the interest +of the slave States. Not all were represented--Tennessee and Florida +voted against the resolution that all State and Federal laws prohibiting +the African slave trade ought to be repealed. South Carolina to my +surprise divided its vote; there were forty for, nineteen against this +resolution. It seems made to exasperate the North and build up the +Republican party. I who am simply for the Union most deeply regret this +action. + +"I want Leila to meet me here to-day week. We will take the steamer and +go to West Point, let her see the place, and bring John home for his +month of furlough. + +"I have talked here to the Mayor and other moderate Union men, and find +them more hopeful than I of a peaceful ending. + +"Yours always, + +"JAMES PENHALLOW." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +When Leila sat upon the upper deck of the great Hudson River steamer, she +was in a condition of excitement natural to an imaginative nature unused +to travel. Her mind was like a fresh canvas ready for the hand of the +artist. She was wondering at times what John Penhallow would look like +after over two years of absence and hardly heard the murmur of talk +around her, and was as unconscious of the interested glances of the young +men attracted by the tall figure standing in the bow as the great river +opened before her. + +"That," said her uncle, "is Weehawken. There--just there--Hamilton was +killed by Burr, and near by Hamilton's son four years before was killed +in a duel--a political quarrel." She knew the sad story well, and with +the gift of visualization saw the scene and the red pistol-flashes which +meant the death of a statesman of genius. + +"And there are the palisades, Leila." The young summer was clothing the +banks with leafage not yet dark green, and translucent in the morning +sun. No railroads marred the loveliness of the lawns on the East bank, +and the grey architecture of the palisades rose in solemn grandeur to +westward. + +"It is full of history, Leila. There is Tarrytown, where Andre was +taken." She listened in silence. The day ran on--the palisades fell away. +"Dobbs's Ferry, my dear;" and pointing across the river, "on that hill +Andre died." + +Presently the mountains rose before them, and in the afternoon they drew +up at the old wharf. "We stay at Cozzen's Hotel, Leila. I will send on +the baggage and we will walk up to the Point." + +She hardly heard him. A tall young man in white pantaloons and blue +jacket stood on the pier. "Good gracious, Uncle Jim, it is John!" A +strange sense of disappointed remembrance possessed her. The boy playmate +of her youth was gone. He gave both hands of welcome, as he said, "By +George, Leila, I am glad to see you." + +"You may thank uncle for our visit. Aunt Ann was not very willing to part +with me." + +He was about to make the obvious reply of the man, but refrained. They +talked lightly of the place, of her journey, and at last he said very +quietly, even coldly, as if it were merely a natural history observation, +"You are amazingly grown, Cousin Leila. It is as well for cadets and +officers that your stay is to be brief." + +"John, I have been in Baltimore. You will have to put it stronger than +that--I am used to it." + +"I will see if I can improve on it, Leila." + +Now this was not at all the way she meant to meet him, nor these the +words they meant to use--or rather, she--for John Penhallow had given it +no thought, except to be glad as a child promised a gift and then +embarrassed into a word of simple descriptive admiration. When John +Penhallow said, with a curious gravity and a little of his old formal +manner, "I will reflect on it," she knew with the quick perception of her +sex that here was a new masculine study for the great naturalist woman. +The boy--the lad--she knew were no more. + +"Who is that with Uncle James?" she asked. + +"The Commandant." + +"My niece, Miss Grey. Colonel Beauregard, my dear. Let us walk up to the +Point." The Commandant, who made good his name, took possession of the +delighted young woman and carried her away to his home with Penhallow, +leaving the cadet to return to his routine of duty. As they parted, he +said, "I am set free to-morrow, Leila, at five, and excused from the +afternoon parade. If you and Uncle Jim will walk up to Port Putnam, I +will join you." + +"I will tell Uncle Jim. You will be at the hop of course? I have been +thinking of nothing else for a week." + +"I may be late." + +"Oh, why?" + +"We are in the midst of our examinations. Even to get time for a walk +with you and uncle was hard. I wrote Uncle Jim not to come now. He must +have missed it." + +"And so I am to suffer." + +"I doubt the anguish," he returned, laughing, as he touched his cap, and +left her to brief consideration of the cadet cousin. + +"Uncle Jim might have been just like that--looked like that. They are +very unlike too. I used to be able to tell just what Jack would do when +we were children--don't think I can now. How tall he is and how handsome. +The uniform is becoming. I wonder if I too am so greatly changed." + +It is well here to betray the secrets of the novelists' confessional. +Leila Grey had seen in the South much of an interesting society where +love affairs were brief, lightly taken, easily ended, or hardly more than +the mid-air flirtations of butterflies. No such perilous approaches to +the most intimate relations of men and women were for this young woman, +on whom the love and tactful friendship of the married life of Grey Pine +had left a lasting impression. One must have known her well to become +aware of the sense of duty to her ideals which lay behind her alert +appearance of joyous gaiety and capacity to see the mirthful aspects of +life. Once long ago the lad's moment of passionate longing had but +lightly stirred the dreamless sleep of unawakened power to love. Even the +memory of John's boy-folly had faded with time. Her relation to him had +been little more than warm friendship. Even that tie--and she was +abruptly aware of it--had become less close. She was directly conscious +of the fact and wondered if this grave young man felt as she did. She lay +awake that night and wondered too if his ideals of heroism and ambition +were still actively present, and where too was his imagination--ever on +the wing and far beyond her mental flight? She also had changed. Did he +know it or care? Then she dismissed him and fell asleep. + +As John Penhallow near to noon came out a little weary and anxious from +the examination ordeal, he chanced on his uncle and Leila waiting with +the officer of the day, who said to him, "After dinner you are free for +the rest of the afternoon. Mr. Penhallow has asked me to relieve you." + +As he bade them good-morning, his uncle said, "How goes the examination?" + +"Don't ask me yet, sir; but I cannot go home until the end of next week. +Then I shall know the result." + +"But what examination remains?" persisted the Squire. + +"Don't ask him, Uncle Jim." + +"Well--all right." + +"Thank you, Leila. I am worn out. I am glad of a let-up. I dream +equations and pontoon bridges--and I must do some work after dinner. Then +I will find you and Uncle Jim on Fort Putnam, at five." + +"I want to talk with Beauregard," said Penhallow, "about the South. Leila +can find her way." + +"I can," she said. "I want to sketch the river, and that will give me +time." + +"Oh, there goes the dinner call. Come in at a quarter to one with Uncle +Jim. I have leave to admit you. There will be something to interest you." + +"And what, John--men eating?" + +"No. One of my best friends, Gresham from South Carolina, has been +ordered home by his father." + +"And why?" asked Penhallow. + +"Oh, merely because his people are very bitter, and, as he tells me, they +write about secession as if it were merely needed to say to the North 'We +mean to cut loose'--and go; it is just to be as simple as 'Good-bye, +children.' I think I wrote you, uncle, that we do not talk politics here, +but this quiet assumption of being able to do with us what they please is +not the ordinary tone of the Southern cadets. Now and then there is +a row--" + +Leila listened with interest and some presently gratified desire to hear +her cousin declare his own political creed. She spoke, as they stood +beside the staff from which the flag was streaming in the north wind, +"Would it not be better, John, as Mr. Rivers desires, to let the Southern +States go in peace?" As she spoke, she was aware of something more than +being merely anxious that he should make the one gallant answer to the +words that challenged opinion. The Squire caught on to some comprehension +of the earnestness with which she put the question. + +To his uncle's surprise, the cadet said, "Ah, my dear Leila, that is +really asking me on which side I should be if we come to an open +rupture." + +"I did not mean quite that, John, and I spoke rather lightly; but you do +not answer." + +He somewhat resented this inquisition, but as he saw his uncle turn, +apparently expectant, he said quietly and speaking with the low voice +which may be so surpassingly expressive, "I hardly see, Leila, why +you put such a question to me here under the flag. If there is to be +war--secession, I shall stand by the flag, my country, and an unbroken +union." The young face flushed a little, the mouth, which was of singular +beauty, closed with a grip on the strong jaw. Then, to Leila's surprise, +the Captain and John suddenly uncovered as music rang out from the +quarters of the band. + +"Why do you do that, Uncle Jim?" + +"Don't you hear, Leila? It is the 'Star Spangled Banner'--we all +uncover." Here and there on the parade ground, far and near, officers, +cadets and soldiers, stood still an instant bareheaded. + +"Oh," murmured Leila. "How wonderful! How beautiful!" Surprised at the +effect of this ceremonial usage upon herself, she stood a moment with +that sense of constriction in the throat which is so common a signal of +emotion. The music ceased, and as they moved on Penhallow asked, "What +about Gresham, your friend?" + +"Oh, you know, uncle, when a cadet resigns for any cause which involves +no dishonour, we have a little ceremony. I want you to see it. No college +has that kind of thing. Don't be late. I will join you in time." + +The captain and Leila attracted much attention from the cadets at dinner +in the Mess Hall. "Now, dear, look!" said Penhallow. At the end of the +long table a cadet rose--the captain of the corps in charge of the +battalion. There was absolute silence. The young officer spoke: + +"You all know that to our regret one of us leaves to-day. Mr. Gresham, +you have the privilege of calling the battalion to attention." + +A slightly built young fellow in citizen's dress rose at his side. For a +moment he could not fully command his voice; then his tones rang clear: +"Most unwillingly I take my farewell. I am given the privilege of those +who depart with honour. Battalion! Attention! God bless you! Good-bye!" + +The class filed out, and lifting the departing man on their shoulders +bore him down to the old south dock and bade him farewell. + +Penhallow looked after them. "There goes the first, Leila. There will be +more--many more--to follow, unless things greatly change--and they will +not. I hoped to take John home with us, but he will come in a week. I +must leave to-morrow morning. John is in the dumps just now, but +Beauregard has only pleasant things to say of him. I wish he were as +agreeable about the polities of his own State." + +"Are they so bad?" + +"Don't ask me, Leila." + +The capital of available energy in the young may be so exhausted by +mental labour, when accompanied by anxiety, that the whole body for a +time feels the effect. Muscular action becomes overconscious, and intense +use of the mind seems to rob the motor centres of easy capacity to use +the muscles. John Penhallow walked slowly up the rough road to where the +ruined bastions of Port Putnam rose high above the Hudson. He was aware +of being tired as he had not been for years. The hot close air and the +long hours of concentration of mind left him discouraged as well as +exhausted. He was still in the toils of the might-have-been, of that +wasting process--an examination, and turning over in his mind logistics, +logarithms, trajectories, equations, and a mob of disconnected questions. +"Oh, by George!" he exclaimed, "what's the worth while of it?" All the +pleasantly estimated assets of life and love and friendship became +unavailable securities in the presence of a mood of depression which came +of breathing air which had lost its vitalizing ozone. And now at a turn +in the road nature fed her child with a freshening change of horizon. + +Looking up he saw a hawk in circling flight set against the blue sky. He +never saw this without thinking of Josiah, and then of prisoned things +like a young hawk he had seen sitting dejected in a cage in the barracks. +Did he have dreams of airy freedom? It had affected him as an image of +caged energy--of useless power. With contrasted remembrance he went +back to the guarded procession of boys from the lyceum in France, the +flower-stalls, and the bird-market, the larks singing merrily in their +small wicker cages. Yes, he had them--the two lines he wanted--a poet's +condensed statement of the thought he could not fully phrase: + +Ah! the lark! +He hath the heaven which he sings,-- +But my poor hawk hath only wings. + +The success of the capture of this final perfection of statement of his +own thought refreshed him in a way which is one of the mysteries of that +wild charlatan imagination, who now and then administers tonics to the +weary which are of inexplicable value. John Penhallow felt the sudden +uplift and quickened his pace until he paused within the bastion lines of +the fort. Before him, with her back to him, sat Leila. Her hat lay beside +her finished sketch. She was thinking that John Penhallow, the boy +friend, was to-day in its accepted sense but an acquaintance, of whom she +desired, without knowing why, to know more. That he had changed was +obvious. In fact, he had only developed on the lines of his inherited +character, while in the revolutionary alterations of perfected womanhood +she had undergone a far more radical transformation. + +The young woman, whom now he watched unseen, rose and stood on the +crumbling wall. A roughly caressing northwest wind blew back her skirts. +She threw out her wide-sleeved arms in exultant pleasure at the +magnificence of the vast river, with its forest boundaries, and the +rock-ribbed heights of Crow's Nest. As she stood looking "taller than +human," she reminded him of the figure of victory he had seen as a boy +on the stairway of the Louvre. He stood still--again refreshed. The +figure he then saw lived with him through life, strangely recurrent in +moments of peril, on the march, or in the loneliness of his tent. + +"Good evening," he said as he came near. She sat down on the low wall and +he at her feet. "Ah, it is good to get you alone for a quiet talk, +Leila." + +She was aware of a wild desire to lay a hand among the curls his +cadet-cropped hair still left over his forehead. "Do you really like the +life here, John?" + +"Oh, yes. It is so definite--its duties are so plain--nothing is left to +choice. Like it? Yes, I like it." + +"But, isn't it very limited?" + +"All good education must be--it is only a preparation; but one's +imagination is free--as to a man's future, and as to ambitions. There +one can use one's wings." + +She continued her investigation. "Then you have ambitions. Yes, you must +have," she cried with animation. "Oh, I want you to have them--ideals too +of life. We used to discuss them." + +He looked up. "You think I have changed. You want to know how. It is all +vague--very vague. Yet, I could put my creed of what conduct is desirable +in life in a phrase--in a text." + +"Do, John." She leaned over in her interest. + +"Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's and to God the things +which are God's." The seriousness of the upturned face for a moment kept +her silently reflective. + +"Caesar! What of Caesar, John?" + +"My country, of course; that is simple. The rest, Leila, covers +all--almost all of life and needs no comment. But how serious we are. +Tell me all about home and the village and the horses and Uncle Jim. +He has some grey hairs." + +"He may well have grey hairs, John. The times are bad. He is worried. +Imagine Uncle Jim economical!" + +"Incredible." + +"Yes. He told me that his talk with Colonel Beauregard had made him +despair of a peaceful ending, and usually he is hopeful." + +"Well, don't make me talk politics. We rarely do. Isn't this outlook +beautiful? People rarely come here and it often gives me a chance to be +alone and to think." + +"And what do you think about, John?" She was again curious. + +"Oh, many things, big and little. Uncle Jim, Aunt Ann, Mr. Rivers, +Dixy--hornets, muskrats," he laughed. She noted the omission of Leila +Grey. + +"And what else?" + +"Oh, the tragedy of Arnold,--the pathos of Washington's despair,--his +words, 'Who is there now I can trust?'" + +"It came home to me, John, this morning when Colonel Beauregard showed us +the portraits of the major-generals of the Revolution. I saw a vacant +place and a tablet like the rest, but with 'Major General--Born 1740' and +no name! I asked what it meant. The Colonel said only, 'Arnold.' That is +too pitiful--and his wife--I read somewhere that she was young, +beautiful, and innocent of his horrible treason." + +"Yes, what crime could be worse than his, and, too, such a gallant +soldier. Let us walk around the fort. Oh, by the way, I found here last +week two Continental buttons, Third Pennsylvania Infantry. Like to have +them, Leila? I thought you might." + +"Would I like?" She took them eagerly. "They ought to be gilded and used +as sleeve-links." But where she kept them John Penhallow never knew. They +did not make the sleeve-links for which she agreed they were so suitable. + +"Isn't there a walk down through the woods?" asked Leila. + +"Yes, this way." Leaving the road they followed a rough trail through the +woods to a more open space half-way down the hill. Here he paused. "This +is our last chance to talk until I am at Grey Pine." + +"That will be very soon, John." She sat down amid numberless violets, +adding, "There will be the hop to-night, as you call it." + +"Yes, the hop. I forgot. You will give me the first dance?" + +To her surprise he asked no others. "Cadets have to learn to dance, but +Baltimore may have left you critical." + +Still on her investigation track, she returned, "Oh, Baltimore! It seems +odd to me that I should have seen so much of the world of men and women +and you who are older so little in this military monastery." + +He laughed outright. "We have the officers' families, and if we are +allowed to visit, the Kembles and Gouverneurs and Pauldings across the +river--no better social life anywhere. And as for young women--sisters, +cousins--_embarras de choix_, Miss Grey. They come in flocks like the +blackbirds. I assure you that this branch of natural history is pretty +well illustrated at the Point. We are apt to be rather over-supplied in +June." + +"Indeed!--all sorts, I suppose." + +"Yes, a variety, and just now three charming young women from the South." + +"Rather a strong adjective--charming. I might hesitate to apply it to a +whole flock. I think men are more apt to use it than women." + +"I stand by my adjective. Take care of your laurels, Miss Grey. I am +lucky enough to have two dances with Miss Ramsay. Her brother is a +cadet." + +"Introduce him to me. What myriads of violets!" + +"Do you remember how, when we were small, we used to fight violets?" + +"How long ago it seems, John. It must have been the first June after you +appeared in that amazing cap and--the cane I have it yet. Let's fight +violets. It may have a charm to make me look young again--I feel so old +sometimes." + +Intent on her game, she was already gathering the flowers in her lap, +while the young man a little puzzled and a little amused watched the face +which she described for his benefit as needing to look young. She ran on +gaily, "You will pick five and I will pick five. I never heard of any +other children fighting violets. It is a neglected branch of education. I +got it from the Westways children. Now, fair play, John Penhallow." He +was carelessly taking his five violets, while Leila was testing hers, +choosing them with care. The charm she sought was working--they were +children again. + +"That's not fair, Leila." + +"Why not?" + +"You are testing yours. It is a mean advantage. I would scorn to do such +a thing. It is just like a woman--the way you do about dress. All women +ought to dress alike--then the competition would be fair." + +Leila looked up from her lap full of violets. "I should like to see +_your_ Miss Ramsay in one of my gowns." + +"_My_ Miss Ramsay! No such luck." + +"You're a goose, Jack." + +"You're a silly, Leila." + +"Oh, now, we are children, John. This is the magic of the June violets." + +"And you are just fourteen, Leila. The wrinkles of age are gone--they +used to be dimples." + +"Nonsense! Let's play." + +They hooked together the bent stems of the flowers. Then there was a +quick jerk, and one violet was decapitated. "One for you, Leila;--and +another." + +"You are not paying any attention to the game. Please to keep young a +little while." He was watching the sunlight as it fell upon her neck when +it bent over the flowers. + +"And how am I to keep young, Miss Grey?" + +"Oh, any woman can answer that--ask Miss Ramsay." + +"I will. There! you have won, Leila, three to two. There used always to +be a forfeit. What must I pay?" + +"Now, John, what terrible task shall I put upon you? I have it. You shall +ask me to give you the third dance." + +"That is Miss Ramsay's. I am sorry." + +"Oh, one girl is as good as another." + +"Perhaps--for women." He did not ask of her any other dances. "But +really, Leila, the better bred of these Southern girls we see here are +most pleasant acquaintances, more socially easy of acquaintance than +Northern girls. As they are butterflies of the hour--their frank ways are +valuable in what you call our monastery." + +"Yes, I know them well. There may be time here for some brief +flirtations. I used to see them in Maryland, and once when Aunt Margaret +took me on visits to some old Virginia homes. These pleasant girls take +to it with no more conscience than birds in the spring. I used to see it +in Maryland." + +"Oh, yes," he said, "but it means very little;--quite harmless--mere +practice, like our fencing bouts." + +"Did you ever kiss a woman, John--just for practice?" "Why did I say +that!" thought Leila. "Come, sir, confess!" + +"Yes," he said, not liking it and far from any conception of the little +mob of motives which betrayed to her a state of mind he had not the +daring to guess. "Did I? That requires courage. Have I--ever kissed a +woman? Yes, often--" + +"Oh, I did not ask who." + +"Aunt Ann--and a girl once--" + +"Indeed!" + +"Yes--Leila Grey, aged fifteen--and got my ears boxed. This confession +being at an end, I want absolution." The air was cleared. + +"How about the first polka as absolution?" said Leila. + +"It is unusual, but as penance it may answer." + +"The penance may be mine. I shall know better after the first round, Mr. +Penhallow." + +"You are complimentary, Miss Grey," he added, with the whimsical display +of mirth which was more than a smile and not a laugh, and was singularly +attractive. + +In place of keeping up the gay game of trifles as shuttle-cocks, Leila +stood still upon the edge of the wood, "I don't think you liked what I +asked." + +"What, about kissing? I did not, but upon my honour I answered you +truly." He was grave as he replied. + +"You did not think it impertinent, Jack?" + +"I don't know what I thought it." And then, as if to avoid need to defend +or explain contradictory statements, he said, "Put yourself in my place. +Suppose I had dared to ask you if ever a man had kissed you--" + +"Oh, that's the difference between kissing and being kissed." + +"Then put it my way." + +"John Penhallow, I should dearly like to box your ears. Once a man did +kiss me. He was tall, handsome, and had the formal courtly manners you +have at times. He was General Winfield Scott. He kissed my hand." + +"You minx!" cried John, "you are no better than you used to be. There +goes the bugle!" And laughing as he deserted her, he ran down the hill +and across the parade ground. + +"He is not really handsome," said the young woman, "but no man ought to +have so beautiful a mouth--I could have made him do it in a minute. Why +did I not? What's the matter? I merely couldn't. He hasn't the remotest +idea that if he were to kiss me--I--" She reddened at the thought and +went with quick steps of "virgin liberty" to take tea with the +Commandant. + +In New York, on his way home, Penhallow received a telegram, "I am third. +John Penhallow." Then the Squire presented Leila with a bracelet, to the +belated indignation of Aunt Ann, who was practising the most disagreeable +economy. Her husband wrote her that the best policy for a man financially +in peril was to be extravagant enough to discredit belief in his need to +lessen expenditure. He was, moreover, pleasantly aware that the improving +conditions of trade this summer of 1859 had enabled him to collect some +large outstanding debts. He encouraged Leila to remember their old +village friends, but when he proposed a set of furs for Ann Penhallow's +winter wear Leila became ingeniously impossible about choice, and the +Squire's too lavish generosity somehow failed to materialize; but why or +how was not clear to him because of their being feminine diplomatic +ways--which attain results and leave with the male a mildly felt +resentment without apparent cause of defeat. + +As Cadet No. 3 of his class in this year's studies made the railway +journey of a warm June day, he recalled with wondering amusement his +first lonely railway travel. "I was a perfect little snob." The formal, +too old-mannered politeness of his childhood had left, if the child is +father of the man, an inheritance of pleasant courtesy which was unusual +and had varied values in the intercourse of life. Rivers said of him +later that the manner of John Penhallow's manners had the mystery of +charm. Even when younger, at Grey Pine, he liked to talk to people, with +curiosity about their lives and their work. Now, as the train moved on, +he fell into chat with the country folk who got on the train for short +travel. Soon or late they all talked politics, but 'generally guessed +things would be settled somehow'--which is the easily reached conclusion +of the American. When the old conductor, with the confidence John's +manner invited, asked what uniform he wore, John said, laughing, "Do you +not remember the boy with a cane who got out at Westways Crossing?" + +"You ain't him--?? not really? Why it's years ago! You are quite a bit +changed." + +"For the better, I hope." + +"Well, here's your station, and Miss Grey waiting." + +"Oh, John, glad to see you! I told aunt no one must go for you but me. +Get in. And Billy, look out how you drive." + +Billy, bewildered by the tall figure in cadet jacket and grey pantaloons, +needed the warning. + +Then there was the avenue, the big grey pine, home, and Aunt Ann's kiss +of welcome. The old familiar life was again his. He rode with the Squire +or Leila, swam, and talked to Rivers whenever he could induce the too +easily tired man to walk with him. He was best pleased to do so when +Leila was of the party. Then at least the talk was free and wandered from +poetry and village news to discussion of the last addition to the causes +of quarrel between the North and South. When tempted to speak at length, +Rivers sat down. + +"How can a man venture to speak, John, like Mr. Jefferson Davis? Have you +read his speech?" + +"No, sir." + +"Well, he says the importation of Africans ought to be left to the +States--and the President. He thinks that as Cuba is the only spot in the +civilized world where the African slave-trade is permitted, its cession +to us would put an end to that blot on civilization. An end to it, +indeed! Think of it!" His voice rose as he spoke. "End slavery and you +end that accursed trade. And to think that a woman like Ann Penhallow +should think it right!" Neither John nor Leila were willing to discuss +their aunt's definitely held views. + +"I think," said Leila, who had listened silently, "Aunt Ann has lost or +put aside her interest in politics." + +"I wish I could," said John. "But what do you mean, Leila? She has never +said so." + +"It's just this. Aunt Ann told me two weeks ago that Uncle Henry Grey was +talked of as a delegate to the Democratic Convention to meet next year. +Now her newspapers remain unopened. They are feeding these dissensions +North and South. No wonder she is tired of it all. I am with Uncle Jim, +but I hate to wrangle over politics like Senator Davis and this new man +Lincoln--oh, and the rest. No good comes of it. I can't see it as you do, +Mr. Rivers." + +"And yet, I am right," said Rivers gravely. "God knows. It is in His +hands." + +"What Aunt Ann thinks right," said Leila, "can't be so unpardonably +wicked." She spoke softly. "Oh, John, look at that squirrel. She is +carrying a young one on her back--how pretty! She has to do it. What a +lovely instinct. It must be heavy." + +"I suppose," said Rivers, "we all have loads we must carry, are born to +carry--" + +"Like the South, sir," said John. "We can help neither the squirrel nor +the South. You think we can throw stones at the chipmunk and make her +drop it--and--" + +"Bad logic, John," returned Rivers. "But soon there will be stones +thrown." + +"And who will cast the first stone?" rejoined Leila, rising. + +"It is an ancient crime," said Rivers. "It was once ours, and it will +be ours to end it. Now I leave you to finish your walk; I am tired." As +they moved away, he looked after them. "Beauty, intelligence, perfect +health--oh, my God!" + +In August with ever resisted temptation John Penhallow went back to West +Point to take up his work again. + +The autumn came, and in October, at night, the Squire read with dismay +and anger of the tragic attempt of John Brown at Harper's Ferry. "My poor +Ann," he exclaimed. He went at once from his library back to the hall, +where Leila was reading aloud. "Ann," he said, "have you seen the papers +to-day?" + +"I have read no paper for a month, James. They only fill me with grief +and the sense of how helpless I am--even--even--with those I love. What +is it now, James?" + +"An insane murderer named John Brown has made an attack on Harper's Perry +with a dozen or so of infatuated followers." He went on to tell briefly +the miserable story of a madman's folly. + +"The whole North is mad," said Ann, not looking up, but knitting faster +as she spoke, "mad--the abolitionists of Boston are behind it." It was +too miserably true. "Thank you, James, for wanting to make me see in this +only insanity." + +The Squire stood still, watched by the pitiful gaze of Leila. "I want +you, Ann--I wanted you to see, dear, to feel how every thoughtful man in +the North condemns the wickedness of this, and of any, attempt to cause +insurrection among the slaves." + +"Yes--yes, of course--no doubt--but it is the natural result of Northern +sentiment." + +"Oh, Aunt Ann!" + +"Keep quiet, child!" + +"You should not have talked politics to me, James." + +"But, my God, Ann, this is not politics!" He looked down at her +flushed face and with the fatal newspaper in his hand stood still a +moment, and then went back to his library. There he stayed before the +fire, distressed beyond measure. "Just so," he said, "the South will +take it--just so." + +Ann Penhallow said, "Where did you leave off, Leila? Go on, my dear, with +the book." + +"I can't. You were cruel to Uncle Jim--and he was so dear and sweet." + +"If you can't read, you had better go to bed." Leila broke into tears and +stumbled up the stairs with half-blinded eyes. + +Ann sat long, hearing Penhallow's steps as he walked to and fro. Then she +let fall her knitting, rose, and went into the library. + +"James, forgive me. I was unjust to say such things--I was--" + +"Please don't," he cried, and took her in his arms. "Oh, my love," he +said, "we have darker days than this before us. If only there was between +North and South love like ours--there is not. We at least shall love on +to the end--no matter what happens." + +The tearful face looked up, "And you do forgive me?" "Forgive! There +is no need for any such word in the dictionary of love." Between +half-hysterical laughter and ready tears, she gasped, "Where did you +get that prettiness?" + +"Read it in a book, you goosey. Go to bed." + +"No, not yet. This crime or craze will make mischief?" + +"Yes, Ann, out of all proportion to the thing. The South will be in a +frenzy, and the North filled with regret and horror. Now go to bed--we +have behaved like naughty children." + +"Oh, James, must I be put in a corner?" + +"Yes--of my heart. Now, good night." + +November passed. The man who had sinned was fairly tried, and on December +2nd went to a well-deserved death. Penhallow refused to talk of him to +Rivers, who praised the courage of his last hours. + +"Mark," he said, "have been twice or thrice sure I was to die--and I +have seen two murderers hanged, and I do assure you that neither they +nor I were visibly disturbed. The fact is, when a fellow is sure to be +put to death, he is either dramatic--as this madman was--or quietly +undemonstrative. Martyr! Nonsense! It was simply stupid. I don't want +to talk about it. Those mischief-makers in Congress will howl over it." +They did, and secession was ever in the air. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +The figure of Lincoln had been set on the by-ways of State politics by +his debate with Douglas. His address in New York in February of 1860 set +him on the highways of the nation's life. Meanwhile there were no talks +about politics at Grey Pine. The Christmas Season had again gone by with +unwonted economies. + +While Douglas defined his opinions in the Senate and Jefferson Davis made +plain that the Union would be dissolved if a radical Republican were +elected, it became clear that the Democratic party which in April was to +nominate candidates would be other than of one mind. Penhallow in +Washington heard Seward in the Senate. Of this memorable occasion he +wrote with such enthusiasm to Leila as he rarely showed: + +"I may not write to your aunt, and I am moved to write to you by the +effect Mr. Seward's speech had on me. He is not much of a man in his +make-up. His voice is husky and his gestures are awkward and have no +relation to what he says. It seemed a dried-up sort of talk, but he held +the Senate and galleries to fascinated attention for two hours, and was +so appealing, so moderate. The questions at issue were handled with what +Rivers calls and never uses--the eloquence of moderation. I suppose he +will be the nominee of the Republican party. It won't please the +abolitionists at all. I wish you could have heard it. + +"I came here to see two Southern Senators who have been counsel for us in +regard to debts owing the mills by Southern railways. I gathered easily +that my well-known Republican views made collection difficult. I was +about to say something angry--it would have done no good, and I am +opposed to useless anger. It is all pretty bad, because the South has +hardly felt the panic, or its continued effect on our trade. + +"I am wrong to trouble you with my troubles. We shall pull through. + +"Yours, + +"JAMES PENHALLOW." + +"P.S. I should have been prepared for my failure to get fair treatment. +I had learned in New York that lists of abolition houses have been +published in the South, and Southern buyers warned not to place orders +with them. I wonder if I am thus listed. Our agent in Savannah writes +that it is quite useless to solicit orders on account of the prevalent +sentiment, and he is leaving the town." + +Penhallow went home disappointed and discouraged, and called a private +meeting of his Pittsburgh partners. He set before them the state of their +affairs. There would be no debts collectible in the South. He smiled as +he added that he had collected certain vague promises, which could hardly +be used to pay notes. These could and would be met, they said, but +finally agreed with him that unless they had other orders, it might be +necessary to further reduce their small force. His partners were richer +than he, but indisposed to take risks until the fall conventions were +over. It was so agreed. As they were leaving, Penhallow said, "But there +will be our workmen--what will become of them?" They were sure times +would get better, and did not feel his nearness of responsibility for +workmen he knew so long and so well. + +He rode home at a walk. The situation of his firm was like that of many +others, and now this April of 1860 business doubts, sectional feeling and +love of country seemed to intensify the interest with which all classes +looked forward to the Charleston Democratic Convention. + +The Convention met on April 23rd. It was grave and able. There were daily +prayers in the churches of Charleston for the success of Southern +principles. Henry Grey, a delegate, wrote to his sister: + +"The Douglas platform was adopted and at once the delegations of six +cotton States withdrew. We who cannot accept Douglas meet in Richmond. It +means secession unless the Republicans are reasonable when they nominate +in Chicago. Mr. Alexander Stephens predicts a civil war, which most men I +meet here consider very unlikely." + +Ann handed this letter to her husband, saying, "This will interest you." + +He read it twice, and then said, "There is at least one man in the South +who believes the North will fight--Stephens." + +"But will it, James?" A predictive spectre of fear rose before her. + +Slowly folding the letter he said, "Yes, the South does not know us." She +walked away. + +On May 16th the Republicans met in Chicago. The news of the nomination of +Lincoln came to the Squire as riding from the mills he met Dr. McGregor +afoot. + +"What, walking!" he said. "I never before saw you afoot--away from that +saint of a mare." + +"Yes, my old mare got bit by something yesterday and kicked the gig to +smithereens, and lamed her off hind-leg." + +"I will lend you a horse and a gig," said Penhallow. + +"Thanks," said McGregor simply. "I am sweating through my coat." + +"But don't leave my horse half a day tied to a post--any animal with +horse-sense would kick." + +"As if I ever did--but when the ladies keep me waiting. Heard the good +news? No--We have nominated Lincoln--and Hamlin." + +"I preferred Seward. You surprise me. What of the platform?" + +"Oh, good! The Union, tariff, free soil. You will like it. The October +elections in Pennsylvania will tell us who will win--later you will have +to take an active part." + +"No. Come up to-morrow and get that horse--No, I'll send it." + +The Squire met Rivers on the avenue. As he walked beside the horse, he +said, "I am going to dine with you." + +"That is always good, but be on your guard about politics at Grey Pine. +Lincoln is nominated." + +"Thank God! What do you think of it, Squire?" + +"I think with you. This is definite--no more wabbling. But rest assured, +it means, if he is elected, secession, and in the end war. We will try to +avert it. We will invent compromises, at which the South will laugh; at +last, we will fight, Mark. But we are a quiet commercial people and will +not fight if we can avoid it. They believe nothing will make us fight. +The average, every-day Northerner thinks the threat of secession is +mere bluff." + +"Do you recall, Squire, what Thucydides said of the Greeks at the time of +the Peloponnesian War?" + +"I--how the deuce should I?--what did he say?" + +"He said the Greeks did not understand each other any longer, although +they spoke the same language. The same words in Boston and in Charleston +have different meanings." + +"But," said Penhallow, "we never did understand one another." + +"No, never. War--even war--is better than to keep up a partnership in +slavery--a sleeping partnership. Oh, I would let them go--or accept the +gage of battle." + +"Pretty well that, for a clergyman, Mark. As for me, having seen war, I +want never to see it again. This may please you." As he spoke, he +extracted a slip of paper from his pocket-book, where to Leila's +amusement queer bits of all kinds of matters were collected. Now it was +verse. "Read that. You might have written it. I kept it for you. There is +Ann on the porch. Don't read it now." + +Late that evening Rivers sat down to think over the sermon of the next +Sunday. The Squire had once said to him, "War brings out all that is best +and all that is worst in a nation." He read the verses, and then read +them aloud. + +"They say that war is hell, the great accursed, + The sin impossible to be forgiven; +Yet I can look beyond it at its worst + And still find blue in Heaven. + +"And as I note how nobly natures form + Under the war's red reign, I deem it true +That He who made the earthquake and the storm + Perchance makes battles too. + +"The life He loves is not the life of span + Abbreviated by each passing breath; +It is the true humanity of man + Victorious over death." + +"No great thing in the way of poetry--but--a thought--a thought. Oh, I +should like to preach of men's duty to their country just now. I envy +Grace his freedom. If I preached as he does, people would say it was none +of a preacher's business to apply Christ's creed of conduct to a question +like slavery. Mrs. Penhallow would walk out of the church. But before +long men will blame the preacher who does not say, 'Thou shalt love thy +country as thyself'--ah, and better, yes, and preach it too." + +During the early summer of 1860, James Penhallow guarded an awkward +silence about politics. Leila found that her uncle would not talk of what +the closing months of Buchanan's administration might contribute to +insure peaceful settlement. John Penhallow was as averse to answering her +eager questions. Their silence on matters which concerned a nation's +possible dismemberment and her aunt's too evident distress weighed +heavily upon Leila. The newspapers bewildered her. The _Tribune_ was for +peaceful separation, and then later was against it. Uncle Jim had said he +was too worried about the mills to talk politics, "Don't ask me, Leila." +At last, an errand to Dr. McGregor's gave her the chance she desired. + +"Yes," said the doctor, "I'll come to-day. One of the maids? Well, what +else, Leila?" seeing that she still lingered. + +"I want to know something about all this tangle of politics. There's +Breckinridge, Douglas, Bell and Lincoln--four candidates. Uncle Jim gets +almost cross when I ask him what they all stand for. Mr. Rivers told me +to be thankful I have no vote. If there is to be war, have I no interest? +There is Uncle Jim--and--and John." + +The doctor said, "Sit down, Leila. Your uncle could answer you. He won't +talk. I don't believe John Penhallow owns any politics except a soldier's +blind creed of devotion to the Flag." + +"Oh, the Flag, Doctor! But it is a symbol--it is history. I won't write +to a man any more who has no certain opinions. He never answers." + +"Well, my dear, see how hard it is to know what to think! One State after +another is seceding. The old juggle of compromises goes on in that circus +we call Congress. The audience is grimly silent. Crittenden's compromise +has failed. The President is at last against secession--and makes no +vigorous effort to reinforce Fort Sumter. The Cabinet was distinctly with +the South--the new men came in too late. You--a girl--may well call it a +tangle. It is a diabolical cat's-cradle. My only hope, my dear, is in a +new and practically untried man--Abraham Lincoln. The South is one in +opinion--we are perplexed by the fears of commerce and are split. There +you have all my wisdom. Read the news, but not the weathercock essays +called editorials. Oh! I forgot to tell the Squire that Tom, my young +doctor, has passed the Army Board and is awaiting orders in Washington. +By-bye!" + +"Tom as a doctor--and in uniform," Leila murmured, as her horse walked +away. "How these boys go on and on, and we women just wait and wait while +men dispose of our fates." + +In February the Confederacy of the South was organising, and in March of +1861 Mr. Lincoln was President. Penhallow groaned over Cameron as +Secretary of War, smiled approval of the Cabinet with Seward and Chase +and anxiously waited to see what Lincoln would do. + +Events followed fast in those eventful days. On the thirteenth of April +Ann Penhallow sat in the spring sunshine on the porch, while Leila read +aloud to her with entranced attention "The Marble Faun." The advent of an +early spring in the uplands was to be seen in the ruddy colour of the +maples. Bees were busy among the young flowers. There was noiseless peace +in the moveless infant foliage. + +"How still it is!" said Leila looking up from the book. They were far +from the madding crowd. "What is it, Billy?" + +He was red, breathless, excited, and suddenly broke out in his thin +boy-like voice, "Hurrah! They've fired on the flag." + +"Who--what flag?" + +"Don't know." He had no least idea of what his words meant. "Don't know," +and crying "Hurrah! They've fired on the flag," fled away. + +Ann said, "Go to the village and find out what that idiot meant." + +In a half hour Leila came back. "Well, what is it?" + +"The Charleston troops have fired on Fort Sumter--My God! Aunt Ann--on +the flag--our flag!" + +Ann rose, gathered up her work, hesitated a moment, and saying, "That is +bad news, indeed," went into the house. + +Leila sat down on the step of the porch and broke into a passion of +tears, as James Penhallow coming through the woods dismounted at her +side. "What is the matter, my dear child?" + +"They have fired on the flag at Sumter--it is an insult!" + +"Yes, my child, that--and much more. A blunder too! Mr. Lincoln should +thank God to-day. He will have with him now the North as one man. Colonel +Anderson must surrender; he will be helpless. Alas for his wife, a +Georgia woman!--and my Ann, my dear Ann." + +There are few alive to-day who recall the effect caused in the States of +the North by what thousands of men and women, rich and poor, felt to be +an insult, and for the hour, far more to them than the material +consequences which were to follow. + +When Rivers saw the working people of the little town passionately +enraged, the women in tears, he read in this outbreak of a class not +given to sentimental emotion what was felt when the fatal news came home +to lonely farms or great cities over all the North and West. + +Memorable events followed in bewildering succession during the early +spring and summer of 1861. John wrote that Beauregard and all but a score +of Southern cadets had left the Point. Robert Lee's decision to resign +from the army was to the Squire far more sorrowfully important. + +When Lincoln's call to arms was followed in July by the defeat of Bull +Run, James Penhallow wrote to his nephew: + +"My Dear John: Your aunt is beyond measure disturbed. I have been more at +ease now that this terrible decision as to whether we are to be one or +God knows how many is to be settled by the ordeal of battle. I am amazed +that no one has dwelt upon what would have followed accepted secession. +We should have had a long frontier of custom houses, endless rows over +escaping slaves, and the outlet of the Mississippi in the possession of a +foreign country. Within ten years war would have followed; better let it +come now. + +"I am offered a regiment by Governor Curtin. To accept would be fatal to +our interests in the mills. It may become an imperative duty to accept; +but this war will last long, or I much underestimate the difficulties of +overcoming a gallant people waging a defensive war in a country where +every road and creek is familiar. + +"Yours, in haste, + +"JAMES PENHALLOW." + +John wrote later: + +"MY DEAR UNCLE: Here is news for you! All of my class are ordered to +Washington. I shall be in the engineer corps. I see General McClellan is +put in command of the army. I will write again from Washington." + +Ann Penhallow heard the letter, and saying merely, "It had to come!" made +the bitter forecast that it would be James Penhallow's turn next. + +John wrote again as he had promised, but now to Leila: + +"At last we are in this crowded city. We get our uniforms in a day or +two. I am a lieutenant of engineers. We are now in tents. On arrival we +were marched to General Scott's headquarters, and while drawn up in line +Mr. Lincoln came out. He said a few words to us. His appearance was +strange to me. A tall stooping figure, in what our village calls 'store +clothes,' but very neat; the face big, homely, with a look of sadness in +the eyes. He shook hands with each of us in turn, saying a word of +encouragement. Why he spoke specially to me, I do not know. He asked my +name. I said 'Penhallow.' 'Oh,' he said, 'a Cornish name--the great +iron-works. Do you know the Cornish rhyme? It rings right true.' I said, +'No, sir.' 'Well, it is good. Do your duty. There is a whole creed in the +word--man needs no other. God bless you, boys.' It was great, Leila. What +is the Cornish rhyme? Ask Uncle Jim. Write me care of the Engineer Camp. + +"I put this on a separate slip for you. In Baltimore we were delayed and +I had an hour's leave. I called on your uncle, Charles Grey. He is Union +through and through. His brother Henry has gone South. While I was +walking with Mr. Charles Grey, a lady went by us, drawing away her skirts +with quite unmistakable contempt and staring at your uncle in a way which +was so singular that I asked what it all meant. He replied, 'It is your +United States cadet uniform--and the lady is Mrs. Henry Grey. I am not of +their acquaintance.' This, Leila, was my first taste of the bitterness of +feeling here. It is the worse for the uprising of union feeling all over +Maryland. + +"My class-mates are rather jolly about their commissions and the prospect +of active war. I have myself a certain sense of being a mere cipher, a +dread too of failure. I can say so to you and to no one else. I am going +where death is in the air--and there are things which make me eager to +live--and--to be able to live to feel that I have done my duty. Thinking +of how intensely you feel and how you grieve over being unable to do more +than pray, I mean to pet a little the idea that I am your substitute." + +At this point she sat a while with the letter on her lap. Then +she read on: + +"I hoped for a brief furlough, but got none, and so I shall apply to +memory and imagination for frequent leave of absence,--from duty. + +"Yours, + +"JOHN PENHALLOW." + +"To pet a little the idea! That is so like John. Well, yes--I don't mind +being petted as a substitute and at a distance. It's rather confusing." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +It was late in October and ten at night, when Leila with her uncle was +endeavouring to discover on one of the large maps, then so much in +demand, the situation of the many small conflicts which local feeling +brought about. + +"It all wants a head--one head, Leila. Now it is here, there and +everywhere, useless gain or loss--and no large scheme. John left +Washington two weeks ago. You saw his letter?" + +"No." + +"Then I may have told you--I am sure I did. Damn it, Leila! I am so +bothered. I did tell Ann, I suppose." + +"Why, of course, Uncle Jim. I wish I could help you. Is it the mills?" + +"Yes. Your little property, part of John's--your aunt's--are all in the +family business. Ann says, 'What's the difference? Nothing matters now.' +It isn't like her." + +"I'm sure I don't care, Uncle Jim." + +"Don't talk nonsense. In a month we shall know if we are bankrupt. I did +not mean to trouble you. I did mean to tell you that to my relief John is +out of Washington and ordered to report to General Grant at Cairo. See, +dear, there is a pin marking it on the map." + +"Do you know this General?" + +"Yes. He took no special rank at the Point, but--who can tell! Generals +are born, not made. I saw a beautiful water-colour by him at the Point. +That's all I know of him. Now, go to bed--and don't take with you my +worries and fight battles in your dreams." + +There was in fact no one on whom he could willingly unload all of his +burdens. The need to relieve the hands out of work--two-thirds of his +force--was growing less of late, as men drifted off into the State force +which the able Governor Curtin was sending to McClellan. Penhallow's +friends in Pittsburgh had been able to secure a mortgage on Grey Pine, +and thus aided by his partners he won a little relief, while Rivers +watched him with increasing anxiety. + +On the 17th of January, 1862, he walked into McGregor's office and said +to his stout friend, "McGregor, I am in the utmost distress about my +wife. Inside my home and at the mills I am beset with enough difficulties +to drive a man wild. We have a meeting in half an hour to decide what we +shall do. I used to talk to Ann of my affairs. No one has or had a +clearer head. Now, I can't." + +"Why not, my friend?" + +"She will not talk. Henry Grey is in the Confederate service; Charles is +out and out for the Union; we have no later news of John. We miserably +sit and eat and manufacture feeble talk at table. It is pitiful. Her +duties she does, as you may know, but comes home worn out and goes to bed +at nine. Even the village people see it and ask me about her. If it were +not for Leila, I should have no one to talk to." + +A boy came in. "You are wanted, sir, at the mill office." + +"Say I will come at once. I'll see you after the meeting, McGregor." + +"One moment, Squire. Here's a bit of good news for you. Cameron has +resigned, and Edwin Stanton is Secretary of War." + +"Stanton! Indeed! Thank Heaven for that. Now things will move, I am +sure." + +The Squire found in his office Sibley, one of his partners, a heavy old +man, who carried the indifferent manners of a farmer's son into a middle +age of successful business. He sat with his chair tilted back, a huge +Cabana cigar hanging unlighted from the corner of his mouth. He made no +movement towards rising, but gave his hand as he sat, and said: "There, +Penhallow, just read that!" + +As the Squire took the telegram, Sibley scratched a match on the back of +his pantaloons and waiting for the sulphur to burn out lit his cigar. +Ever after the smell of sulphur brought to the Squire of Grey Pine the +sense of some pleasant association and then a less agreeable remembrance. + +"Read it--read it out loud, Penhallow! It was a near thing. Wardlow +couldn't meet us--be here at noon. Read it--I've read it about ten +times--want to hear it again. I've been as near broke as you--but that's +an old story. When you're at your last dollar, buy a fast pair of +trotters--one thousand-dollar pair--and drive them. Up goes your credit! +Told you that once." + +Penhallow looked up from the telegram. "Is this certain?" + +"Yes, it has been repeated--you can rely on it." + +"WASHINGTON, Willard's Hotel. + +"Mr. Stanton has given contract for field artillery to the Penhallow +Mills. + +"RICHARD AINSELEY." + +Penhallow had read it aloud as he stood. Then he sat down. + +"Don't speak to me for a moment, Sibley. Thank God!" he murmured, while +the care-wrinkled face of the veteran speculator looked at him with a +faint smile of affectionate regard. + +"Well," said Penhallow, "is this all?" + +"No. While Cameron was in office the contract was drawn in favour of the +Lancaster Works. We have been urging our own claims, and their Washington +agent, your very particular friend, Mr. Swallow, would have had the job +in a week more. When Stanton saw our bid and that it was really a more +advantageous offer, he sent first for Swallow and then for Ainseley +and settled it at once. I believe your name and well-known character did +the business. Do you know--do you realize what it means to us?" + +"Hardly. I had no hope while Cameron was in office. I left it to you and +Ainseley." + +"Well, you will see the contract to-morrow." He wriggled on to one leg of +the frail office chair and came down with a crash. He gathered up his two +hundred pounds and laughing said, as he looked at the wreck, "That's what +we would have been tomorrow but for that bit of yellow paper. In six +months you will be a rich man, my friend. Cannon--shells--the whole +outfit. We must get to work at once. An ordnance officer will be here +to-morrow with specifications, and your own knowledge will be invaluable. +I'd like to see Swallow again. He was so darned sure!" + +Wardlow turned up by the noon train, and they worked until dusk, when his +partners left him to secure hands in Pittsburgh, while the good news +spread among the men still at work. Penhallow rode home through the woods +humming his old army songs--a relieved and happy man. + +The Doctor waited a half-hour in vain, and after his noonday dinner was +about to go out when Mrs. Penhallow was driven to his door. Somewhat +surprised, he went back with her. + +"Sit down," he said. "What can I do for you?" + +"Oh, for me nothing! I want to talk about my husband. He is ill, I am +sure--he is ill. He eats little, he sleeps badly, he has lost--oh, +altogether lost--his natural gaiety. He hardly speaks at all." + +The Doctor was silent. + +"Well," she said. + +"Can you bear a little frank talk?" he asked. + +"Yes--why not?" + +"Do you know that he is on the verge of complete financial ruin?" + +"What does that matter? I can--I can bear anything--give up anything--" + +"You have the woman's--the good woman's--indifference about money. Do you +talk to him about it?" + +"No. We get on at once to the causes of trouble--this unrighteous +war--that I can't stand." + +"Ah, Mrs. Penhallow, there must be in the North and South many families +divided in opinion; what do you suppose they do? This absolute silence is +fatal. You two are drifting apart--" + +"Oh, not that! Surely not that!" + +"Yes! The man is worried past endurance. If he really were to fall ill--a +serious typhoid, for instance, the South and your brother and John, +everything would be forgotten--there would be only James Penhallow. It +would be better to talk of the war--to quarrel over it--to make him talk +business--oh, anything rather than to live as you are living. He is not +ill. Go home and comfort him. He needs it. He has become a lonely man, +and it is your fault. He was here to-day in the utmost distress about +you--" + +"About me?" + +"Yes." + +"There is nothing the matter with me!" + +"Yes, there is--oh, with both of you. This war will last for years--and +so will you. All I have to say is that my friend, James Penhallow, is +worth all the South, and that soon or late he will stand it no longer and +will go where he ought to be--into the army." + +"You are talking nonsense--he will never leave the mills." He had called +up her constant fear. + +"It is not nonsense. When he is a broken man and you and he are become +irritable over a war you did not make and cannot end, he will choose +absence and imperative duty as his only relief." + +As she stood up, red and angry, she said, "You have only hurt and not +helped me." She said no other word as he went with her to the wagon. He +looked after her a moment. + +"Well, well! There are many kinds of fools--an intelligent fool is the +worst. I didn't help her any, and by George! I am sorry." + +When at twilight the doctor came home from distant visits to farms, he +met Leila near to his door. "I want to see you a minute," she said, as +she slipped out of her saddle. + +"A woman's minute or a man's minute?" + +"A man's." + +She secured her mare as he said, "Well, come in. It's rather amusing, +Leila. Sit down. I've had James Penhallow here to say his wife's breaking +down. I've had Mrs. Penhallow here to say James Penhallow is ill. Except +the maids and the cats and you, all Grey Pine is diagnosing one another. +And now, you come! Don't tell me you're ill--I won't have it." + +"Please don't joke, Doctor. I am troubled about these dear people. I +talked to Mr. Rivers about it, and he is troubled and says it is the +mills and money. I know that, but at the bottom of it all is the war. Now +Aunt Ann is reading the papers again--I think it is very strange; it's +confusing, Doctor." + +"Here," reflected the doctor, "is at least one person with some sense." + +She went on, speaking slowly, "Uncle Jim comes home tired. Aunt Ann eats +her dinner and reads, and is in bed by nine. The house is as melancholy +as--I feel as if I were in a mousetrap--" + +"Why mouse-trap, my dear?" + +"It sounds all right. The mouse is waiting for something awful to +happen--and so am I. Uncle Jim talked of asking people to stay with us. +It's just to please Aunt Ann. She said, 'No, James, I don't want any +one.' He wished to please her. She really thinks of nothing but the war +and Uncle Jim, and when Uncle Jim is away she will spend an hour alone +over his maps. She has--what do you call it--?" + +"Is obsession the word you want?" + +"Yes--that's it." + +"Now, Leila, neither you nor I nor Mark Rivers can help those two people +we love. Don't cry, Leila; or cry if it will help you. When you marry, be +sure to ask, 'what are your politics, Jeremiah?'" His diversion answered +his purpose. + +"I never would marry a man named Jeremiah." + +"I recommend a well-trained widower." + +"I prefer to attend to my husband's education myself. I should like a man +who is single-minded when I marry him." + +"Well, for perversion of English you are quite unequalled. Go and flirt a +bit for relief of mind with Mark Rivers." + +"I would as soon flirt with an undertaker. Why not with Dr. McGregor?" + +"It would be comparable, Leila, to a flirtation between a June rose and a +frost-bitten cabbage. Now, go away. These people's fates are on the lap +of the gods." + +"Of the god of war, I fear," said Leila. + +"Yes, more or less." He sent her away mysteriously relieved, she knew not +why. "A little humour," he reflected, "is as the Indians say, _big +medicine_." + +Whether the good doctor's advisory prescription would have served +as useful a purpose in the case of Ann Penhallow, he doubted. That +heart-sick little lady was driven swiftly homeward, the sleigh-runners +creaking on the frozen snow: "Walk the horses," she said to Billy, as +they entered the long avenue, "and quit talking." + +While with the doctor and when angrily leaving him, she was the easy +victim of a storm of emotions. As she felt the healthy sting of the dry +cold, she began the process of re-adjustment we are wise to practise +after a time of passion when by degrees facts and motives begin to +reassume more just proportions. He had said, the war would last long. +That she had not believed. Could she and James live for years afraid to +speak of what was going on? The fact that her much-loved Maryland did not +rise as one man and join the Confederacy had disturbed her with her first +doubt as to the final result of the great conflict. She thought it over +with lessening anger at the terrible thing McGregor had said, "You two +are drifting apart." This sentence kept saying itself over and over. + +"Stop, Billy." She was back again in the world of everyday. "Get in, Mr. +Rivers. We are both late for our Dante." As she spoke, an oppressed pine +below which he stood under a big umbrella was of a mind to bear its load +no longer and let fall a bushel or so of snow on the clergyman's cover. +His look of bewilderment and his upward glance as if for some human +explanation routed from Ann's mind everything except amusement over this +calamity. + +"You must not mind if I laugh." She took for granted the leave to +laugh, as he said, "I don't see where the fun comes in. It is most +disagreeable." The eloquent eyes expressed calamity. It was really +felt as if it had been a personal attack. + +"It was a punishment for your utterly abominable politics." For the first +time for months she was her unfettered self. His mind was still on his +calamity. "I really staggered under it." + +"Shake it off and get in to the sleigh. My husband ought to have all the +big pines cut down." Rivers's mind had many levels. Sometimes they were +on spiritual heights, or as now--almost childlike. + +"To stay indoors would be on the whole more reasonable," he said, "or to +have these trees along the avenue shaken." + +"I'd like the job," ventured Billy. + +"Keep quiet," said Mrs. Ann. + +"It is most uncomfortable as it melts," said Rivers. + +Ann thought of John Penhallow's early adventure in the snow, and seeing +how strangely real was Mark Rivers's discomfort, remarked to herself that +he was like a cat for dislike of being wet, and was thankful for her +privilege of laughing inwardly. + +Billy, who was, as Leila said, an unexpectable person, contributed to Ann +Penhallow's sense of there being still some available fun in a world +where men were feebly imitating the vast slaughters of nature. He +considered the crushed umbrella, the felt hat awry, and the disconsolate +figure. "Parson do look crosser than a wet hen." + +Then too Rivers's laugh set free her mirth, and Ann Penhallow laughed as +she had not done for many a day. "That is about my condition," said +Rivers. "I shall go home and get into dry clothes. Billy, you're a poet." + +"Don't like nobody to call me names," grunted Billy. + +"I wish James had heard that," cried Ann, while Rivers gathered up the +remains of his umbrella. + +As Billy drove away, Mrs. Penhallow called back, "You will come to dinner +to-day?" + +"Thank you, but not to-day." + +As Ann came down the stairs to the hall, Penhallow was in the man's +attitude, with his back to the fire. Leila with a hand on the mantel and +a foot on the fender was talking to her uncle, an open letter in her +hand. Ann heard him say, "That was in October"--and then--"Why this must +be a month old!" + +"It must have been delayed. He wrote a note after the fight at Belmont, +and that was in October. He did write once since then, but it was hardly +worth sending. As a letter writer, John is rather a failure, but this is +longer." She laughed gaily as she spread open the letter. + +"He has got a new hero, uncle--General Grant. John is strong on +heroes--he began with you." + +"Stuff and nonsense," said the Squire. "Read it." + +Leila hesitated. + +"Oh, let's hear it," cried her aunt. + +"Go on, dear," said the Squire. + +Leila still hesitated. Usually Ann Penhallow carried away John's rare +letters to be read when alone. Now she said, with unnatural deliberation. +"Read it; one may as well hear his news; we can't always just ignore what +goes on." + +Leila a little puzzled glanced at her aunt. The Squire pleased and +astonished said, "Go on, my dear." + +Turning to the candles on the hall table, Leila read the letter:--"Why +how long it has been! It is dated November 20th." + +"DEAR LEILA: We have been moving from place to place, and although I know +or guess why, it is best left out of letters. At Belmont General Grant +had a narrow escape from capture. He was the last man on board the boat. +He is a slightly built, grave, tired-looking man, middle-aged, carelessly +dressed and eternally smoking. I was in the thick of the row--a sort of +aide, as there was no engineer work. He was as cool as a cucumber--" + +"Why are cucumbers cool?" asked Leila, looking up. "Oh, bother! Go on!" +said Penhallow. + +"We shall move soon. Good-bye. + +"JOHN PENHALLOW." + +Ann made no comment. The Squire said, "It might have been longer. Come, +there's dinner, and I am hungry." + +Ann looked at him. He was gay, and laughed at her account of Rivers's +disaster. + +"I have some good news for you, Ann. I shall keep it until after dinner. +Then we can talk it over at leisure. It concerns all of us, even John." + +"I don't see how I am to wait," said Leila. + +"You will have to." + +Ann made an effort to meet the tone of gaiety in her husband's talk, and +when the wine was set before him, he said, "Now, Ann, a glass--and Leila, +'To our good news and good luck--and to John.'" + +They followed him into the library, and being in sacrificial mood, Ann +filled a pipe, lighted a match, and said, "I want you to smoke, James." + +"Not yet, dear. Sit down." + +"No, I want to stand." She stood beside the fire, a little lady, with an +arm around the waist of her niece. The Squire seated was enjoying the +suspense of his eager audience. + +"You know, dear Ann, that for two years or more the mills have been +without large orders. We have been in the most embarrassing situation. +Our debts"--he was about to say, 'in the South'--"unpaid. I had to ask +you to help us." + +This was news to Leila. "Why mention that, James?" said her aunt. + +"Well, we long ago lessened our force. To shut down entirely was ruin, +but when we met to-day we were to decide whether it was honest to borrow +more money and stagger on, or as I thought, honourable to close the mills +and realize for our creditors all we could." + +Ann sat down with some feeling of remorse. Why had she not known all +this? Was it her fault? He had borne it for the most part without her +knowledge--alone. "My God! It is true," she reflected, "we have drifted +apart." He had hopefully waited, not wanting to trouble a woman already +so obviously sorrow-laden. He seemed to echo her thought. + +"You see, dear," and the strong face grew tender, "I did not mean to +disturb you until it became inevitable. I am glad I waited." + +Ann, about to speak, was checked by his lifted hand. "Now, dear, all my +troubles are over. Mr. Stanton, the new Secretary of War, has signed a +contract with our firm for field artillery. It is a fortune. Our bid was +low. A year's work--shot, shell--and so on. Congratulate me, Ann." + +"My God!" he cried, "what is the matter?" + +Ann Penhallow turned quickly, a hand on the table staying herself. "And +you--you are to make cannon--you--and I--and with my money!" she laughed +hysterical laughter--"to kill my people the North has robbed and driven +into war and insulted for years--I--I--" her voice broke--she stood +speechless, pale and more pale. + +Penhallow was appalled. He ran to catch her as she swayed. + +"Don't touch me," she cried. "I feared for--you--the army--but never +this--this!" Despite her resistance, he laid her on the lounge. + +"Leila," she said, "I want to go upstairs to bed." The face became white; +she had fainted. + +"Is she dead?" he said hoarsely, looking down at her pale face. + +"No--no. Carry her upstairs, uncle." He picked up the slight form and +presently laid her on her bed. "Leave her to me, Uncle Jim. I have seen +girls in hysterics. Send up a maid--the doctor! No, I will come down when +she is undressed. See, her colour is better." + +He went downstairs, reluctant to leave her. In the library he sat down +and waited. An hour passed by, and at last Leila reappeared. She kissed +him with more than her usual tenderness, saying, "She is quiet now. I +will lie down on her lounge to-night. Don't worry, Uncle Jim." + +This advice so often given was felt by him to be out of his power to +follow. He knew very well that this he would have now to consider was not +only a mere business affair. It ceased to be that when he heard with the +shock of bewilderment his wife's outburst of angry protest. He loved her +as few men love after many years of married life, and his affection was +still singularly young. His desire to content her had made him unwisely +avoid talk about differences of opinion. In fact his normal attitude was +dictated by such gentle solicitude as is not uncommon in very virile men, +who have long memory for the careless or casual sharp word. To the end of +his days he never suspected that to have been less the lover and more the +clear-sighted outspoken friend would have been better for her and for +him. He sat into the night smoking pipe after pipe, grappling with a +situation which would have presented no difficulties to a coarser nature. +At last he went upstairs, listened a moment at Ann's chamber door, and +having smoked too much spent a thought-tormented night, out of which he +won one conclusion--the need to discuss his trouble with some friend. At +six he rose and dressed, asked the astonished cook for an egg and coffee, +went to the stables, and ordered a groom to saddle horses and follow him. + +A wild gallop over perilously slippery roads brought him to McGregor's +door, a quarter of a mile from the mills. The doctor was at breakfast, +and rose up astonished. "What's wrong now, Penhallow?" he said. + +"Oh, everything--everything." + +"Then sit down and let us talk. What is it?" + +The Squire took himself in hand and quietly related his story of the +contract and his wife's reception of what had been to him so agreeable +until she had spoken. + +"Can you bear--I said it yesterday to Mrs. Penhallow--a frank opinion?" + +"Yes, from you--anything." + +"Have no alarm about her health, my friend. It is only the hysteria of a +woman a little spoiled by too tender indulgence." + +The Squire did not like it, but said, "Oh, perhaps! But now--the +rest--the rest--what am I to do?" The doctor sat still a while in +perplexed thought. "Take your time," said Penhallow. "I have sent the +horses to the stable at the mills, where my partners are to meet me +early to-day." + +The doctor said, "Mrs. Penhallow will be more or less herself to-day. I +will see her early. There are several ways of dealing with this matter. +You can take out of the business her share of the stock." + +"That would be simple. My partners would take it now and gladly." + +"What else you do depends on her condition of mind and the extent to +which you are willing to give way before the persistency of a woman who +feels and does not or can not reason." + +"Then I am not now to do anything but tell her that I will take her stock +out of the business." + +"That may relieve her. So far I can go with you. But, my dear Penhallow, +she may be utterly unreasonable about your manufacture of cannon, and +what then you may do I cannot say. How long will it be before you begin +to turn out cannon?" + +"Oh, two months or more. Many changes will be needed, but we have +meanwhile an order for rails from the Baltimore and Ohio." + +"Then we can wait. Now I am off for Grey Pine. See me about noon. Don't +go back home now. That's all." + +While the Squire walked away to the mills, McGregor was uneasily moving +his ponderous bulk to and fro in the room. + +"It's his damn tender, soft-hearted ways that will win in the end. My old +Indian guide used to say, 'Much stick, good squaw.' Ann Penhallow has +never in her whole life had any stick. Damn these sugar plum husbands! +I'd like to know what Miss Leila Grey thinks of this performance. Now, +there's a woman!" + +When after a night of deep sleep Ann woke to find Leila standing by her +bed, she rose on an elbow saying, "What time is it? Why are you here?" + +"It is eight, aunt. You were ill last night; I stayed on your lounge." + +Now her aunt sat up. "I was ill, you say--something happened." The thing +pieced itself together--ragged bits of memories storm-scattered by +emotion were reassembled, vague at first, then quickly more clear. She +broke into unnaturally rapid speech, reddening darkly, with ominous +dilatation of the pupils of her large blue eyes. "And so James Penhallow +is to be made rich by making cannon to kill my people--oh, I remember!" +It seemed absurdly childlike to Leila, who heard her with amazement. "And +with my money--it is easy to stay at home and murder--and be paid for it. +Let him go and--fight. That's bad enough--I--" + +"God of Heaven, Aunt Ann!" the girl broke in, "don't dare to say that to +Uncle Jim. Are you crazy--to say such things." + +"I don't know what I am. Oh, those cannon! I hear them. He shall not do +it--do you hear me? Now send me up a cup of tea--and don't come in again. +I want James--tell him--tell him." + +"He went away to the mills at six o'clock." + +"I know. He is afraid to talk to me--I want to see him--send for him at +once. I said at once--do you hear! Now go." + +As Leila turned to leave, she heard a knock at the door, said "Come in," +and to her relief saw enter large and smiling the trusted doctor. As he +neared the bed, Ann fell back speechless and rigid. + +"Ah, Leila! That makes it all plain. There is no danger. Close the +blinds; I want the room darkened. So! Come into the back room--leave the +door ajar." He selected a trustworthy chair and sat down with deliberate +care. "Now listen to me, my dear. This is pure hysteria. It may last for +days or weeks--it will get well. It is the natural result of birth, +education, worry, etc.--and a lot of darned et ceteras. When you let +loose a mob of emotions, you get into trouble--they smash things, and +this is what has become of one of God's sweetest, purest souls." + +"It is most dreadful, Doctor; but what shall we do with Uncle Jim. If she +has a mere cold in the head, he is troubled." + +"Yes--yes." The doctor took counsel with himself. "I will send up old +Mrs. Lamb to help you--she is wise in the ways of sick women. Take your +rides--and don't fret over this suicide of reason." He was pleased with +his phrase. "Let her see Penhallow if she asks for him, but not if you +can help it. It is all as plain as day. She has been living of late a +life of unwholesome suppression. She has been alarmed by Penhallow's +looks, hurt by her brothers' quarrels, and heart-sick about the war and +John. Then your uncle springs on her this contract business and there is +an explosion." + +After giving careful orders, he went away. To Penhallow he said, "When +you are at home keep out of her room. If you have to see her, tell her +nothing has been done or will be for months. The time will come when you +will have to discuss matters." + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +Leila Grey never forgot the month which followed. Penhallow was +mercifully spared the sight of the drama of hysteria, and when not at +the mills went about the house and farm like a lost dog; or, if Leila +was busy, took refuge with Rivers. Even the war maps claimed no present +interest until a letter came from John after the capture of Port +Donaldson. At evening they found the place on the map. + +"Well, now let's hear it. Ann is better, McGregor says," He was as +readily elated as depressed. "Does she ask for me?" + +"No," said Leila, "at first she did, but not now." + +"Read the letter, my dear." + +"DEAR LEILA: I wrote to Aunt Ann and Uncle Jim a fortnight ago--" + +"Never came," said Penhallow. + +"I am called an engineer, but there is no engineering required, so I am +any General's nigger. I have been frozen and thawed over and over. No +camp fires allowed, and our frozen 15,000 besieged 21,000 men. General +S.T. Smith picked me up as an aide, and on the 15th personally led a +charge on the Rebel lines, walking quietly in front of our men to keep +them from firing. It did not prevent the Rebs from abusing our +neutrality. It was not very agreeable, but we stormed their lines and I +got off with a bit out of my left shoulder--nothing of moment. Now we +have them. If this war goes on, Grant will be the man who will end it. I +am too cold to write more. Love to all. + +"General Smith desires to be remembered to Uncle Jim, and told me he was +more than satisfied with + +"Yours, + +"JOHN PENHALLOW." + +"Isn't that delightful, Uncle Jim? But every night I think of it--this +facing of death. I see battles and storming parties. Don't you see things +before you fall asleep? I can see whatever I want to see--or don't want +to." + +"Never saw anything of the kind--I just go to sleep." + +"I thought everybody could see things as I do." + +"See John too, Leila? Wish I could." + +"Yes," she said, "sometimes." In fact, she could see at will the man who +was so near and so dear and a friend to-day--and in that very lonely time +when the house was still and the mind going off guard, the something +indefinitely more. + +The Squire, who had been studying the map, was now standing before the +fire looking up where hung over the mantel his sword and the heavy army +pistols. He turned away as he said, "Life is pretty hard, Leila. I ought +to be here--here making guns. I want to be where my class-mates are in +the field. I can't see my way, Leila. When I see a duty clearly, I can do +it. Now here I have to decide what is my duty. There is no devil like +indecision. What would you do?" + +"It is a question as to what you will do, not I--and--oh, dear Uncle Jim, +it is, you know, what we call in that horrid algebra the X of the +equation." + +"I must see your Aunt Ann. Is she"--and he hesitated--"is she +herself?"--he would not say, quite, sane. + +"She is not at all times." + +"How far must I consider her, or be guided by the effect my decision will +have on her? There are my partners to consider. The money does not +influence me--it is Ann--Ann." Then she knew that he would make any +sacrifice necessary to set Ann Penhallow at ease. "I think," she said as +she rose, "that we had better go to bed." + +"I suppose so," he said. "Wait a moment. Your aunt told me that I had +better go where there was war--she could not have guessed that I have +lived for months with that temptation. I shall end by accepting a +command. Now since her reproach I shall feel that war offers the bribe of +ease and relief from care." + +"I know, the call of duty--you will have to go. But, oh, my God! it is +very terrible." + +"The fact is, this sudden good fortune for a time so set me at ease that +I lost sight of my honest craving for action. Now I ought to thank Ann +for making me see what I ought to do--must do. But how--how? It will +clear up somehow. Goodnight." + +It was the end of March before McGregor told Penhallow that Mrs. +Penhallow insisted on seeing him. "Now, Squire," he said, "you will be +shocked at her appearance, but she is really well in body, and this thing +has got to be set at rest. She talks of it incessantly." + +Penhallow entered the dimly lighted room and passed his old nurse, Mrs. +Lamb, as she whispered, "Don't stay long, sir." He was shocked as he won +clearer vision in the dim light. + +"Oh, James!" she said, "they wouldn't let me see you. Open the shutters." +He obeyed, and kneeling kissed the wasted face he loved so well. The +commonplaces of life came to his aid as he kissed her again, and she +said, "Dear me, James, you haven't shaved to-day." + +"No, I am going to stop at the barber's--but I miss Josiah." + +She smiled. "Yes, poor Josiah." + +Then he took courage, fearfully timid as men are when they confront the +illness of women. "I want to say to you, Ann, that having your power of +attorney I have withdrawn your fifty thousand dollars you had lent to the +mills. My partners were glad to take it." He said nothing of their +surprise at the offer. + +"Thank you," she returned feebly. "And you are going on with the +business?" her voice rising as she spoke. + +"We will talk of that later, Ann. I was told not to let you talk long. +I shall endeavour to invest your money so as to give you a reasonable +return--it will take time." + +He did not succeed in diverting her attention. She put out a thin hand +and caught his sleeve. "Do you think me unreasonable, James?" + +"Yes," he said, and it needed courage. + +"I was sure you would say so." The great blue eyes, larger for the wasted +setting of nature's wonderful jewels, looked up at him in dumb appeal. +"Won't you think a little of how I feel--and--and shall feel?" + +"Think a little--a little?" he returned; "I have done nothing else but +think." + +"You don't answer me, James." There was the old quiet, persistent way +he had known in many happy days, reinforced by hysteric incapacity to +comprehend the maze of difficulties in which he was caught. + +"It is a pity I did not die," she said, "that would have saved you all +this trouble." + +He felt the cruelty of her words as he broke away and left the room. +McGregor had waited, and hearing his story said, "It will pass. You must +not mind it--she is hardly sane." + +James Penhallow mounted and rode to the village, was duly shaved, and +went on to the post-office. Mrs. Crocker rotund and rosy came out and +handed him as he sat in the saddle a sheaf of letters. "Yes, Mrs. +Penhallow is better, thank you." As he rode away the reins on Dixy's +neck, he read his letters and stuffed them in his pocket until he came +to one, over which he lingered long. It ran thus: + +"MY DEAR SIR: Will you not reconsider the offer of the colonelcy of a +regiment? It will not require your presence until July. There is no need +to reply at once. There is no one else so entirely fit for such a charge, +and the Attorney-General, your friend Meredith, unites with me in my +appeal to you. The State and the country need you. + +"Yours truly, + +"ANDREW CURTIN." + +He reached but one conclusion as he turned the tempting offer over in +his mind, and acting on it wrote the Governor from his office that his +wife was at present too ill for him to consider the offer of a command. + +As day by day he sat with Ann, to his relief she ceased to dwell on the +matter which had so disturbed her, and rapidly regaining health, flesh +and strength, began to ask about the house and the village people. It was +a happy day when in May he carried her down to a hammock on the porch. A +week later she spoke again, "What conclusion have you reached?" she said. + +"About the mills?" + +"Yes." + +"Ask me in a week, Ann. Do you want to read John's letters? There are +several--one about a battle at Pittsburgh Landing in Tennessee." + +"I want to hear nothing of the war. Is he well?" + +"Yes, thank God." The news of McClellan's army was anything but +satisfactory, and more and more the soldier longed to be in the field. + +Early in June, Penhallow on his way to meet his partners paused at +McGregor's house to ask his opinion of his wife. "How do I find her? +Better every day--more herself. But what of you?" + +"Of me? I can stand it no longer, Doctor. I cannot see this war +in Virginia go on to the end without taking part in it. I must--do +anything--anything--make any sacrifice." + +"But your wife--the mills--" + +"I have but one answer--my country! I told you I had refused Governor +Curtin's offer--what to do about our contract I do not yet know. They +are reorganizing the artillery service." + +"And you would like that best?" + +"Yes. What amuses you?" + +The doctor smiled often, but as Mrs. Crocker said, when he did laugh it +was as good as a Fourth of July celebration and the house shook. As the +Squire watched him, the smile broadened out in circles from the mouth +like the ripples cast by a stone on still water; then the eyes grew +merrily busy and the big frame shook with laughter. + +"Well, now, Squire! To give up making guns and go in for using +them--well--well!" + +"Don't chaff me, McGregor; I mean to be in it, cost what it may. I am to +meet my partners--good-bye." + +The doctor wondered what Ann Penhallow would do or say. It was past +guessing but he saw clearly that Penhallow was glad of any excuse to get +into the field. + +"Glad to see you, Ainseley," said Penhallow. "Good morning, Sibley. You +will find things moving. Many casting moulds will be ready by this day +week." + +"Last night," said Sibley, the richer member of the firm, "I had a +telegram from Austin, the iron-man. He asks what we would take to +transfer our contract. I replied that we did not deal that way with +Government contracts. To-day I got this other--read it." + +"On what terms will you take me in? My ore, as you know, is not hematite +and is better than yours." + +Penhallow sat still reading the telegram again and again. Here was an +unlooked-for way out of his troubles. At last he looked up, and to their +surprise said, "My capital in the business is one hundred and fifty +thousand dollars, and you--the firm--pay me a rental of ten thousand." + +"Not last year," said Ainseley; "we could not, as you know." + +"Yes. Our partnership ends this July 1st. Wire Austin that I will sell +him my share and go out. You may ask him what bonus you please--I mean, +I will sell to you at one hundred and fifty thousand dollars--the rental +will go on, of course." + +"My heavens!" cried Sibley, "what do you mean? It is throwing away a +fortune, man--a fortune." + +Penhallow laughed. "And yet I mean to do it. The work is ready to go on. +You will have ordnance officers here--you won't miss me." + +They argued with him in vain. Waldron not altogether dissatisfied sat +still, wondering how much bonus Austin would stand, while Ainseley and +Sibley troubled for their friend and not well pleased, fought his +decision. "Are you fully resolved on this, Penhallow?" said Sibley. + +"I am. I cannot take out the small amount of money John Penhallow owns. +It must remain, at least for a time, and will be a convenience to you. +My wife's money is already out. It was only a loan." + +"But why should not you sell out to Austin," said Sibley, "if you mean +to leave us, and get out of him a profit--and why after all this act of +supreme folly? Pardon me, it is that--really that" + +Penhallow smiled. "I go out of this business because I simply cannot stay +out of the army. I could not be a soldier and accept continuous profits +from a Government contract. Imagine what would be said! For the same +reason I cannot sell to Austin at an advance. That is clear--is it not?" + +"Yes," said Ainseley, "and I am sorry. Think it over." + +"I have done my thinking. It will take the lawyers and you at least two +months to settle it and make out the papers. After July 1st I shall not +come to the mills. I mean to leave no occasion for unpleasant comment +when I re-enter the service. Of course, you will advertise your new +partnership and make plain my position. I am sorry to leave you, but +most glad to leave you prosperous. I will put it all on paper, with a +condition that at the close of the war--I give it three years--I shall be +free to replace Austin--that is, if the Rebs don't kill me." + +As he mounted at evening to ride home, he was aware of Leila. "Halloa, +Uncle Jim! As Mr. Rivers was reading Dante to Aunt Ann, I begged off, and +so here I am--thought I would catch you. I haven't been on a horse for a +week. The mare knows it and enjoyed the holiday. She kicked Pole's bull +terrier into the middle of next week." + +"A notable feat. I wish some one would kick me into the middle of +August." + +"What's wrong, Uncle Jim? Aunt Ann is every day better; John is well; you +don't look unhappy. Oh, I know when anything really is the matter." + +"No, I am happier than I have been for many a day. You know what Rivers +says, 'In the Inn of Decision there is rest,'--some oriental nonsense. +Well, I am a guest in the Inn of Decision, but I've got to pay the bill." + +"Please not to talk riddles, uncle. I have gone through so much this +spring--what with aunt and this terrible war--and where John is we don't +know. I heard from Aunt Margaret. She says that we escape the endless +reminders of war--the extras called at night, heard in church, great +battle on the Potomac, lists of killed and wounded. It must be awful. You +buy a paper--and find there was no battle." + +"Yes, we escape that at least. I have made arrangements to close my +partnership on July 1st." + +"Oh, Uncle Jim!" + +"The President, I hear, will call for three hundred thousand men--I can +stand it no longer--I am eating my heart out. I refused a regiment some +time ago; now I shall ask for one. I wrote at once to the Governor." + +She leaned over, laid a hand on his arm and said, "Is not one dear life +enough?" + +"My child, John had to go. I could, of course, find some excuse for not +going. I set myself free to-day. But now I am to settle with Ann. Except +for that I would be supremely contented. You would not keep me here if +you had the power, nor would you bring home John if you could, dear." + +"No," she said faintly. Some quickly dismissed suspicion rose to +consciousness as he stole a glance at her face. "I understand," she +added, "it is a question of honour--you must go." + +"It is a question of duty, dear; but what Ann will say I do not know--but +I shall go." + +She turned. "Uncle Jim, if you did not go and the war went on to--God +alone knows what end--she would be sick with shame. I know. You see I am +a woman and I know. She will suffer, but she will not break down again +and she will not try to hold you back. But this house without you and +John will be rather lonely. How did you get out of the mills, uncle?" + +He answered her at length as they rode homeward with more to think of +than was pleasant. At the avenue gate she said earnestly, "Don't wait +too long before telling Aunt Ann." + +"Upon my word, I am sorry," returned the Squire, "for the unfortunate +man who may become your husband. If you undertake to offer advice at +your tender years, what will you do when you are older?" + +"My husband-that-is-to-be sends you his compliments," laughed Leila, +"and says--I don't know what he says, but it is exactly the right thing, +Captain Penhallow. But really, don't wait, uncle." + +"You are quite right, my dear." Nevertheless he waited. Decisiveness +in affairs and in moments of peril he had, but where Ann was concerned +he became easily unsure, and as McGregor said, "wabbled awful." This +was to Leila. "What gets the matter with men? The finer they are, the +braver--the more can a woman bother their judgment. He wires for a +regimental command--gets it; and, by George, throws away a fortune to +get the privilege of firing a cannon at Mrs. Ann's beloved Rebels. He +mustn't make guns it seems--he tries not to believe her hysterics at +all affected by his tossing away this big contract." + +"Now, Doctor, you are in one of your cynical moods. I hate you to talk +this way about the finest gentleman I ever knew, or ever shall know. You +delight to tease me." + +"Yes--you are so real. No one could get hysterics out of you. Now why do +you suppose James Penhallow wants to plunge into this chaotic war?" + +"Or your son, Tom? Why do you get up of a winter night to ride miles to +see some poor woman who will never pay you a penny?" + +"Pure habit." + +"Nonsense. You go--and Uncle Jim goes--because to go is duty." + +"Then I think duty is a woman--that accounts for it, Leila. I retire +beaten." + +"You are very bad to-day--but make Uncle Jim talk it all out to Aunt +Ann." + +"He will, and soon. He has been routed by a dozen excuses. I told him at +last that the mill business has leaked out and the village is saying +things. I told him it must not come to her except through him, and that +he could not now use her health as an excuse for delay. It is strange a +man should be so timid." + +And still Penhallow lingered, finding more or less of reason in the +delays created by the lawyers. Meanwhile he had accepted the command of +the 129th Pennsylvania infantry which was being drilled at Harrisburg, so +that he was told there was no occasion for haste in assuming charge. But +at last he felt that he must no longer delay. + +The sun was setting on an afternoon in July when Penhallow, seeing as she +sat on the porch how the roses of the spring of health were blooming on +his wife's cheeks, said, "I want to talk to you alone, Ann. Can you walk +to the river?" + +"Yes, I was there yesterday." + +The cat-birds, most delightful of the love-poets of summer, were singing +in the hedges, and as they walked through the garden Penhallow said, "The +rose crop is promising, Ann." + +"Yes." She was silent until they sat on the bank above the little river. +Then she said, "You are keeping something from me, James. No news can +trouble me as much as--as to be sure that I am kept in the dark about +your affairs." + +"I meant to be frank, Ann, but I have felt so alarmed about your +health--" + +"You need not be--I can bear anything but not to know--" + +"That is why I brought you here, my dear. You are aware that I took out +of the business the money you loaned to us." + +"Yes--yes--I know." + +"I have given up my partnership and withdrawn my capital. The business +will go on without me." + +"Was this because--I?--but no matter. Go on, please." + +He was incapable of concealing the truth from her, however much he +might have disguised it from others. "You had your share in causing me +to give up, but for a year since this war has gone on from one disaster +to another, I have known that as a soldier I must be in it." + +She was perfectly calm. "I have long known it would come, James. To have +you and John and my brother Henry--all in it, is a hard fate." + +"My dear, Charles writes me that Henry has left the army and gone to +Europe on business for the Confederates." + +"Indeed." Some feeling of annoyance troubled her. "Then he at least is in +no danger." + +"None, my dear." + +"When do you go?" + +"I am to command the 129th Infantry, and I shall leave about August 1st." + +"So soon!" She sat still, thinking over what Grey Pine would be without +him. He explained as she sat that all details of his affairs would be put +for her clearly on paper. He ended by saying, "Ask me any questions you +want answered." + +"Then, James, there will be no income from the mills--from--from that +contract?" + +"None, except my rental. With that you may do as you please. There +will be also, of course, at your disposal the income from my re-invested +capital." + +"Thank you, James." She was by far the less moved of the two. + +"Have I greatly troubled you?" he asked. He was distressed for her. + +"No, James. I knew it would come." As the shadows darkened on the forest +floor and gathered overhead, she rose to her feet. "Whatever happens, +James--whoever wins--I am the loser. I want you to be sorry for me." + +"And, my dear Ann, whichever way this contest ends, I too lose." + +She returned with tender sadness, "Yes, I did not think of that. Give +me your arm, James--I am--tired." + +He wondered that she had said nothing of the immense sacrifice few men +would have made; nor did she seem to have realized what urgency of added +motives she had contributed to bring about his decision. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +Through the great heat of July, 1862, the war went on its inconclusive +way. In Westways, as elsewhere, the call of the people's President for +three hundred thousand men was felt the more thoughtfully because now it +was, of course, known that Penhallow was Colonel of the 129th Infantry; +that he had made a great sacrifice of money was also known, but not +understood, and Ann Penhallow's half-forgotten politics were again +discussed when the village evening parliament met in front of the +post-office. + +Mrs. Crocker, off duty, stood framed in the door, cooling her round +face with a palmetto fan and listening with interest to the talk or +taking part in the discussion in so positive a way as was felt to be +indiscreetly feminine, but respected on account of her official +representation of a husband too deaf to fulfil his duties. + +The Doctor got out of his gig. "Any letters from my boy?" + +"Yes, two. Wanted to send them by Billy, but he's war-wild and wouldn't +go." The Doctor looked over his letters. + +"All right, I hope," said Mrs. Crocker. + +Pole in his shirt sleeves listening said, "Of course, he is all +right--doctors don't fight none." + +"Send your son, Pole, before you talk nonsense," said McGregor. "My boy +got a ball in his leg at Malvern Hill." + +"My son's going along with the Squire," returned Pole, "leaves me short +of help, and my wife's about crazy over it." + +"What about Mrs. Penhallow?" said Mrs. Crocker. "I guess she's the kind +that don't show what she feels." + +"Oh, money's a great comforter," returned the butcher. "What I'm to do, I +don't know." + +"Well, I'm going too," said Joe Grace, "and father says I'm right." + +"Oh, here's the parson," said Pole, as Rivers approached. "He's like the +rest of them--all for war." + +"Well, Pole," said Rivers, "how are you and Mrs. Crocker? I think you are +getting thin this hot weather." + +"Am I? No such good luck. We are talking war, Mr. Rivers. I do hear that +what with the mill-boys and country fellows there's some thirty going +into the Colonel's regiment." + +"So I hear. On Sunday I mean to talk to them after service. You might say +so." + +"I will. If I had a boy, he should go," said Mrs. Crocker. + +"It's easy talking when you haven't none," said Pole. "We are gettin' +licked, and some day Lee will be over the border. It's just useless to +spend money and cripple men." + +There was a moment of silence, when Mrs. Crocker spoke. "Pole, you +aren't ever sure of your legs. You were all for Buchanan, and then all +for Lincoln. Now you're uneasy on the top rail of the fence and the rail +ain't round." The parliament broke into laughter, and with more talk +dissolved after some critical wisdom about the war. + + * * * * * + +It was July 30th, after ten at night, the day before the final Sunday of +the month. The Colonel of the 129th stood with Leila before a big war +map. "This fight at Malvern Hill"--he put a pin on the place--"was a +mistake on the part of Lee, and yet he is a master of the game. He was +terribly beaten--an aggressive general would have attacked at once." + +"Would he have won, uncle?" + +"I think so--but after a defeat these armies are as dangerous as a +cornered cat." + +"But, dear Uncle Jim, what is the matter with us?--We have men, money and +courage." + +"Well, this is how I see it. Neither side has a broad-minded General in +command of the whole field of war. Every day sees bits of fights, +skirmishes, useless loss of life. There is on neither side any connected +scheme of war. God knows how it will end. I do not yet see the man. If +Robert Lee were in absolute command of all the effective force of the +South, we would have trouble." + +"But if he is so good a soldier, why did he make what you call a frontal +attack on entrenched troops at Malvern?" + +"My dear, when two men spar and neither can quite end the fight, one +gets angry or over-confident and loses his head, then he does something +wild--and pays for it." + +"I see. You leave on Monday?" + +"Yes--early." + +"Mr. Rivers means to talk after service to the men who are enlisting." + +"So he told me. I begged him to be moderate." + +"He asked me for a text, uncle." + +"Well!" + +"I gave him the one about Caesar and God." + +"What put that into your head--it does not seem suitable?" + +"Oh, do you think so? Some one once mentioned it to me. I could preach on +it myself, but texts grow wonderfully in his hands. They glow--oh, they +get halos about them. He ought to be in a great city." + +"Oh, my dear, Mark Rivers has his limitations like all of us. He would +die. Even here he has to be watched. McGregor told him last year that he +was suffering from the contagion of other people's wickedness with +occasional acute fits of over-conscientiousness. Rivers said it was +incomprehensible nonsense; he was almost angry." + +"And yet it is true, Uncle Jim." + +"I'm glad I haven't the disease. I told McGregor as much. By George! he +said my variety of the disorder was about other folk's stupidity. Then, +when I said that I didn't understand him, he laughed. He makes me furious +when he only laughs and won't answer--and won't explain." + +"Why, uncle! I love to see him laugh. He laughs all over--he shakes. I +told him it was a mirthquake. That set him off again. Was Tom McGregor +badly hurt?" + +"No, not badly." + +"Will aunt go to church to-morrow?" + +"No." + +"I thought she would not. I should love to see you in uniform." + +"Not here, my dear, but I will send you a daguerreotype." + + * * * * * + +When on this Sunday long remembered in Westways, the tall figure of Mark +Rivers rose to open the service, he saw the little church crowded, the +aisles filled, and in the front pews Penhallow, his niece, and behind +them the young men who were to join his regiment. Grace had asked his own +people to be present, and here and there were the mothers and sisters of +the recruits, and a few men on crutches or wasted by the fevers of the +Virginia marshes. Mark Rivers read the morning service as few men know +how to read it. He rarely needed the prayer-book--he knew it all. He gave +to it the freshness of a new message of love and helpfulness. More than +ever on this Sunday Leila felt a sense of spiritual soaring, of +personally sharing the praises of the angel choir when, looking upwards, +he said: "Therefore with angels and archangels and all the company of +heaven we laud and magnify Thy glorious name." She recalled that John had +said, "When Mark Rivers says 'angels and archangels' it is like the clash +of silver cymbals." + +He gave out at the close his favourite hymn, "Lead, Kindly Light." It was +well and sweetly sung by the girl-choir. As the music closed he rose--a +figure of command, his spare frame looking larger for his robes. For a +silent moment his eloquent eyes wandered over the crowd, gathering the +attentive gaze of young and old, then he said: "I want to talk on this +unusual occasion for a little while, to you who are answering the call of +a man who is like a father calling his sons to a task of danger. My text +is: 'Render, therefore, unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's and unto +God the things that are God's.' The wonder of the great texts is that +they have many applications as time runs on. You know the familiar story. +Payment of the tax meant obedience to the Government, to law, to order. I +would that I had the power to make you see with me the scene. It is to me +so very distinct. The Pharisees desire to tempt him, a Jew, into a +statement treasonable to the Roman rule they had accepted. Was it right +for the Jew to pay the tax which sustained this Government? He had, as +you may remember, already paid it for Peter and himself. He asks for the +penny bearing Caesar's head and answers them in the words of the text, +'Render unto Caesar, therefore, the things which are Caesar's.' He +returns the penny. I wonder where that little coin is to-day? It has +gone, but the lesson it read remains forever; nor even today is the +Pharisee gone with his invidious temptations. _You_ are to-day obeying a +greater than Caesar. _You_ are meeting the material obligations of a day +of discouragement--and for some a day of doubt. + +"The nobler applications which lie within the meaning of the latter part +of the text He answers more fully than was asked: 'Render unto God the +things which are God's.' What are these things which are at need to be +rendered to Him? What larger tax? Ease--comfort--home--the strong bodies +which make work safe and pleasant. He asks of you the exercise of unusual +qualities--the courage which looks death in the face and will not take +the bribe of safety, of life, at the cost of dishonour. Ah! not in battle +is my fear for you. In the long idleness of camps will come your hours of +temptation. Think then of those at home who believe in you. It is a great +thing to have an outside conscience--wife, mother, sister. Those are +hours when it is hard to render unto God what he gave. + +"We are now, as I said, at a time of discouragement. There are cowards +who would yield--who would compromise--men who want peace at any cost. +You answer them nobly. Here, in this sacred cause, if He asks it, we +render life or the easy competencies of youth in its day of vigour." + +The man paused. The strange power of the eyes spoke to them in this +moment of silence. "Oh! I said the cause was sacred--an unbroken land. +_He_ gave you that, just for wide-world uses. Keep it! Guard it!--with +all that Union of the States meant and still means to-day. _You_ are not +to blame for this necessity--war. The man who bends unpaid over the +master's cotton-field is the innocent cause of all this bloodshed. If +there were no slavery, there would have been no war. But let there be +no hatred in the brave hearts you carry. God did not slay Saul, the +earnest--I might say--the honest persecutor. He made him blind for a +time. The awful charity of God is nowhere else so wonderful. These +gallant people you are going to meet will some day see that God was +opening their eyes to better days and nobler ways. They too are honest +in the belief that God is on their side. Therefore, let there be no +bitterness. + +"Some of you are what we call religious. Do not be ashamed of it. +The hardest fighters the world has known were men who went to battle +with arms invisible to man. A word more and I have done. I have the +hope--indeed the certainty--that I shall be sent to the field on errands +of mercy and helpfulness. We may meet again. And now, take with you the +earnest will to render unto God what things He gave for His highest uses. +Now let us offer the prayer for the volunteers our great Bishop desires +the Church to use. Let us pray." + +In unusual silence the congregation moved away, a silence shared by Leila +and her uncle. At last she said, "Uncle Jim, I wish Aunt Ann could have +heard that sermon--it could not have hurt her." + +"Perhaps not." + +"I wonder why she has so great a respect for him, so real a friendship. +He thinks slavery the sin of sins. He has very little charity about +it--oh, none--and Aunt Ann is as sure it is a divinely appointed +relation." + +"They fought it out, my dear, in his early days at Westways, and when +they both found that they were clad in the armour of changeless beliefs +no arguments could penetrate, they gave up and took of two fine natures +what was left for life's uses and became friends. At least, that is how +McGregor put it. He sometimes states things well." + +"I see," said Leila thoughtfully, and set herself to thinking whether if +she had radical differences of opinion with some one, she could settle +into a condition of armed neutrality. Then she wondered if war made +changes in the character of a man. + +Presently she asked, "Why, Uncle Jim, are you suddenly in such haste to +go?" + +"There is need of haste. I could not tell Ann; I can tell you. We were +never worse off since the war began. The Governor asks me to meet him +in Harrisburg. What he fears is that in September Lee will cross the +Potomac, with the hope of Maryland rising. Our Governor will call out +fifty thousand militia. He wants me to take a command; I shall take it, +but Lee's veterans would brush our militia away like summer flies. If he +finds the Army of the Potomac before him, there may be a different story. +I hope, please God, to be with it. There you have all I know, but it is +for you alone. My regiment will go to the front before the end of the +month." + +"You will write to me, uncle." + +"Yes, when I can. Your aunt asks me to write often, but not to write +about the war, as if--well, no matter. But I can write to you. Good +night--and be brave, dear--and Ann! You will watch over her?" + +"Yes, surely." + + * * * * * + +Ann Penhallow having sorrowfully made up her mind that her husband's +honour required his return to the army saw to it with her usual +efficiency that everything he might need was carefully provided. At +bed-time of that Sunday she said quietly, "Good night and good-bye, +James. I do not want to be called to-morrow to say good-bye. You will be +off by six. Leila will give you your breakfast. Write often." She was to +appearance cheerful and even gay, as she paused on the stairs laughing. +"These men," she cried, "I wonder how they do without women orderlies. +At the last moment I found you had left your razors--good-night!" + +The Colonel's eyes followed her slight form a little puzzled and not +entirely pleased at this easy dismissal of sentiment, when he knew what +he himself would have done if she had flown the least signal of distress. +He turned to Leila. "I am very much relieved, my dear, to see that your +aunt is taking my departure quietly. I was afraid of another breakdown, +and I could not have stayed a day longer." + +Leila who had watched this parting with some anxiety said, "I was a +little uneasy myself, but really Aunt Ann was great." She could have +made the well-loved Colonel miserable by translating for him into the +tongue of man the language of the actress on the stairs. "I wonder," +she reflected, "if all men are that blind, or only the heroic or +unimaginative." + + * * * * * + +Colonel Penhallow was detained by consultations with the Governor and by +regimental work until near the close of August, when his command was +hurried forward to join McClellan's army. He followed it a day later. He +wrote long notes to his wife almost daily and then in September after the +battle of Antietam more freely to Leila:-- + +"DEAR LEILA: You will be surprised to hear from me as at Washington on +this September 19th. I overtook my command at noon, in Philadelphia, +where the regiment was being well fed in the big building known as the +Cooper Shop. I was pleased with the look of the men, who have been long +drilled in camp. After the meal I went outside and mounted Dixy, who was +as rebellious as if he knew he was on the side to which his name did +not belong. A soldier was vainly trying to mount my mare. He lost his +temper and struck her. I saw a black man interfering, and rode forward +seeing there was some trouble. By George! it was Josiah. I shook hands +with him and said, 'Where did you come from? He said, 'Saw your name, +sir, in the paper and just quit my work. I'm goin' along with you--I'm +your servant. I've been thinkin' this long while I'd go back to Westways, +but I've been doin' well here, and I just kep' a puttin' it off. I'm +goin' with you.' I said, 'All right, get on that horse.' He patted the +uneasy mare and in a moment was in the saddle and I a well pleased man. +Tell your aunt I am well cared for. + +"We were hurried forward, and I had the pleasure of seeing my men behave +well when we stormed South Mountain--a very gallant affair. Joe Grace was +hurt, but not badly, and was left behind. As to the killed, none are from +Westways. At Antietam we were with the reserve, which I thought should +have been used and was not. It was an attack on an interior line as seems +always to be our luck. McClellan will follow Lee, of course. My regiment +is to be with the Sixth Corps, but I was ordered by the Secretary of War +to report to him in Washington. It is disgusting! But orders are orders. +The Lieutenant-Colonel will have my place, and I hope to get back soon. +Josiah was caught in the thick of the fight at Fox Gap. He was scared a +sort of green. He will get over it--I know the signs. It was pure +nervousness. His explanation was very perfect, 'I just laid down flat +because I was afraid of gittin' this servant of yours killed.' We grinned +mutual approval of the excuse. + +"Yours ever, + +"JAMES PENHALLOW." + +"P.S. You will have found this letter very unsatisfactory, but the fact +is that only people of ample leisure make good correspondents. But now +to sum up: Yesterday I saw Stanton, had a glimpse of Swallow, saw Mr. +Lincoln, and had an adventure so out of the common that it was like +one of the stories of adventure in which Jack used to delight. Now I +cannot--should not tell it--but some day--yes. Send this P.S., bit of +good news, on its way. Read it first." + +"Well, that is exasperating? Surely men are most unsatisfactory letter +writers. No woman with an interesting subject could be so uninteresting. +John is as bad or worse." + +She found enclosed a postscript slip for Mr. Grace. + +"DEAR SIR: That boy of yours is not badly hurt. He behaved with +intelligent courage when for a moment a part of our charging line +hesitated. I was proud of him; I have made him a Corporal. + +"Yours truly, + +"JAMES PENHALLOW." + +The order to report to the former counsel of his firm, Secretary Stanton, +brought an unhappy Colonel to the War Department. He sent in his card, +and was asked to follow an orderly. As he was about to enter the private +office of the War Minister, to his amazement Swallow came out. With a +curt good morning, Penhallow went by him. The great Secretary rose to +greet him, saying, "You are very welcome, Penhallow--never more welcome." + +"You look worn out, Stanton," said the Colonel. + +"No, not yet; but, my God! Penhallow, my life is one to kill the +toughest. What with army mishaps, inefficiency, contractors backed by +Congressmen--all the scum that war brings to the top. Do you know why +I sent for you?" + +"No. It was an order--I ask no questions. I am at your service." + +"You were disappointed, of course." + +"Yes, I was." + +"Well, there were two reasons. One is frankly this. Your firm has a +contract for field artillery--and now you are in the service." + +"I see! It is not now my firm. I gave up my partnership." + +"So I saw, but who of these hungry contractors will believe that you gave +up--a fortune--to enter the army! The facts are either not well known or +have been misstated." + +"Very likely. I gave up what you speak of as a fortune as you gave up a +great income at the bar, and for the same reason I withdrew all my +capital. Even the rental of my mills will go to the Sanitary Commission. +I could not leave a doubt or the least cause for suspicion." + +"I was sure of you, but this has been a well-nursed scandal, due to an +influential lot of disappointed contractors who would have controlled the +giving of that contract had I not come into office. I shall kill it dead. +Trust that to me." + +"Thank you, Stanton, I could have stood it." + +"Yes, but you do not know, my dear Penhallow, what Washington is at +present. Well, let it go. It is now my business. Do you know this Mr. +Swallow?" + +"Know him? Yes--a usurious scamp of a lawyer, who to our relief has left +Westways. Do not trust him. I presume that I owe this talk about me to +him." + +"Well, yes, to him and his associates." + +"What does he want now?" + +"What he will not get. Let him go. I said I had two reasons for ordering +you here. One I have stated. I want some one I can entirely trust, not +merely for honesty and loyalty, but also because of business competence. +All manner of work for the Government is going on here and elsewhere. I +want some one to report on it from time to time. It will keep you here +this winter. You do not like it?" + +"No, but it was an order." + +"Yes, I am sorry to take you for a time out of active service, but +trust me this war will last long. This winter I want you for a variety +of inspection work here or elsewhere. It will be mere business, dull, +unexciting, with unending watchfulness, and advisory technical help +and advice. I want not only personal character--I can get that, but +not easily the combination of technical training and business capacity." +He unrolled a bundle of papers. "There for example, Colonel, are plans +for a new form of ambulance and pontoon wagons ready for approval. I +want a report on both." He went on to speak of the ambulances with +amazing knowledge of the details of their build. Penhallow watched +this earnest, overtasked man, and began to comprehend the vastness of +his daily toil, the weight of his mighty load of care. As he talked, +cards were brought in, messages sent or received, telegrams--the talk +was dropped--resumed--and the Colonel simply listened. At last the +Secretary said, "That will do for to-day. You have room No. 27, and such +clerks and orderlies as you may need. You will find on your table these +specifications--and more--others. And now, how is your beautiful Grey +Pine and its mistress and Leila? You will assure them of my undiminished +affection. And John--where is he?" + +"With General Grant, but where just now I cannot say." + +As he spoke, the door opened and an officer announced--"The President." +The ungainly length of Lincoln appeared. A quiet smile lingered on the +large-featured face, with some humorous appreciation of the War +Secretary's evident annoyance at this abrupt visit. Mr. Stanton's +greeting as he rose was as the Colonel thought coldly civil. + +"My friend, Colonel Penhallow, sir." + +"Glad to see you," said Lincoln, and then with a certain simplicity +explained, "You see, Colonel, sometimes I run away out of the back of +the White House--just to get free of the guards. Don't look so bothered, +Stanton. I'm too fine a failure for any one to want to kill me. Any +news?" + +"None," said the secretary, as he stood not too well pleased; "Colonel +Penhallow is to be in my office on inspection duty." + +"Indeed! Glad to see you." The huge hand closed on Penhallow's with +innocent use of its power. "Name sounds familiar. Yes--there was a cadet +of your name last year. Your son, I suppose?" + +"No, my nephew--in the engineers with General Grant." + +"Tell him I asked for him--handsome fellow. Anything I can do for him?" + +"Nothing, sir." + +"Anything I can do for you?" + +"Nothing, sir." + +"Don't let Stanton kill you. He ought to have a brevet, Stanton. He is +the only man in Washington don't want anything." Even the weary face of +the Secretary smiled under his heavy beard. "Just stepped in to divide +growls with you. Come with me, Colonel, or Stanton will have a brigade of +officers to escort me. Wait for me at the outer door--I'll join you." + +Penhallow pleased and amused, went out taking with him the sense of +puzzle felt by so many over this unusual personage. At the main entrance +the Colonel came on Swallow. + +"A word with you," he said very quietly. "You have been lying about me to +the Secretary and elsewhere. Be careful. I am sometimes short of temper. +You have hurt yourself, not me, and you will get no contracts here." + +"Well, we will see about that," said Swallow, and was about to say more +when the President appeared. + +"Come, Colonel," he said. Swallow fell back and Penhallow walked away as +men touched their hats. For a block or more Lincoln did not speak, and +respecting his silence the soldier was as silent. Then, with his amazing +frankness, Lincoln spoke. + +"Does the Emancipation Proclamation please you?" + +"As a war measure, yes." + +"And not otherwise?" + +"It is none of my business to criticize my Commander-in-Chief." + +"Well, I won't make it an order, but I wish McClellan was of your way of +thinking." Again there was silence. Penhallow was astonished at this +outspoken statement, being aware as few men were of the fact that the +General in question had been disinclined to announce the emancipation +message to the army until he found that his corps commanders were not +cordially with him in opinion. + +As they stopped at the gate of the railing around the White House, +Lincoln said, "When you don't want anything, come and see me--or if you +do." Then, becoming grave, he asked, "What effect will my proclamation of +emancipation have in the South? It takes effect in January, you know." It +was like Lincoln. He asked this question of all manner of people. "I want +to know," he added, as Penhallow hesitated. + +"I am not in a position, sir, to have any opinion about how the Rebels +will be affected by it." + +"Oh, Confederates! Colonel--not Rebels. Calling names only hurts, and +don't ever help. Better to be amiable about labels." + +"It was a slip of the tongue, Mr. President. I usually say Confederates." + +"Quite right--tongue very slippery organ. Reckon my small truant +holiday's over. Everybody generally is letting me know what effect that +emancipation-thunder will have." A strangely tender smile grew upon the +large features. "You see, Colonel, you and I are the only ignorant people +in Washington. Good-bye." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +Saluting the Commander-in-Chief, Penhallow turned away in absent mood +thinking of the burdened man who had passed from sight into the White +House. As he crossed Lafayette Square, he suddenly remembered that the +President's request for his company had caused him to forget to look over +the papers in his office of which the Secretary had spoken. It was +desirable to revisit the War Department. As he walked around the statue +of Andrew Jackson, he came suddenly face to face with his wife's brother, +Henry Grey. For a moment he was in doubt. The man was in United States +uniform, with an army cloak over his shoulders--but it was Grey. +Something like consternation possessed the Federal officer. The +Confederate faced him smiling, as Penhallow said, "My God! Grey, you +here! a spy in our uniform! Many people know you--detection and arrest +would mean--" + +"Don't talk so loud, James. You are excited, and there is really no +reason." + +Penhallow said quietly, "I have good reason to be excited. You will walk +on in front of me to Willard's Hotel. I will go with you to my rooms, +where we can talk freely. Now, sir." + +Grey stood still. "And suppose I decline to obey my rather positive +brother-in-law." + +"You are not a fool. If you were to try to escape me, and you are +thinking of it, I would set on you at once any half dozen of the soldiers +within call." + +"In that case my revolver would settle my earthly accounts--and +pleasantly relieve you." + +"Don't talk. Go on ahead of me." He would not walk beside him. + +"As you please." No more words passed. They moved up Pennsylvania Avenue, +now at mid-day crowded with officers, soldiers, and clerks going to +lunch. Grey was courteously saluting the officers he passed. This +particularly enraged the man who was following him and was hopelessly +trying to see how with regard to his own honour he could save this +easy-going and well-loved brother of Ann Penhallow. If the Confederate +had made his escape, he would have been relieved, but he gave him no +least chance, nor was Grey at all meaning to take any risks. He knew or +believed that his captor could not give him up to justice. He had never +much liked the steady, self-controlled business man, the master of Grey +Pine. Himself a light-hearted, thoughtless character, he quite failed to +comprehend the agony of indecision which was harassing the federal +officer. In fact, then and later in their talk, he found something +amusing in the personal embarrassment Penhallow's recognition had brought +upon him. + +As they approached the hotel, the Confederate had become certain that +he was in no kind of danger. The trapper less at ease than the trapped +was after his habit becoming cool, competent and intensely watchful. +The one man was more and more his careless, rather egotistic self; the +other was of a sudden the rare self of an hour of peril--in a word, +dangerous. As they reached the second floor, Penhallow said, "This way." +Josiah in the dimly lighted corridor was putting the last shine on a +pair of riding-boots. As he rose, his master said, "Stay here--I am not +at home--to anybody--to any one." + +He led the way into his sitting-room; Grey following said, "Excuse me," +as he locked the door. + +"You are quite safe," remarked his host, rather annoyed. + +"Oh, that I take for granted." + +James Penhallow said, "Sit down. There are cigars." + +"A match please. Cigars are rare luxuries with us." + +As the Confederate waited for the sulphur of the match to pass away, +Penhallow took note of the slight, delicate figure, the blue eyes like +Ann's, the well-bred face. Filling his own pipe he sat down with his back +to the window, facing his brother-in-law. + +"You are very comfortable here, James. How is my sister, and your beauty, +Leila?" + +"Well--very well. But let us talk a little. You are a spy in our +uniform." + +"That is obvious enough. I am one of many in your Departments and outside +of them. What do you propose? I am sorry we met." + +"My duty is to turn you over to the Provost-marshal." + +"Of course, but alas! my dear James, there is my sister--you won't do +it--no one would under the circumstances. What the deuce made you speak +to me? You put us both in an awkward position. You became responsible for +a duty you can't fulfil. I am really most sorry for you. It was a bit of +bad luck." + +Penhallow rose to get a match and moved about the room uneasily as Henry +Grey went on talking lightly of the situation which involved for him +possibilities of death as a spy, and for Penhallow a dilemma in which +Grey saw his own safety. + +"Rather disagreeable all round, James. But I trust you won't let it worry +you. I always think a man must be worried when he lets his pipe go out. +There is no need to worry, and after all"--he added smiling--"you created +a situation which might have been avoided. No one would have known--in a +day or two we would have been talking to General Lee. An excellent cigar, +James." + +While his brother-in-law chatted lightly, apparently unconcerned, the +Union officer was considering this way or that out of the toils woven of +duty, affection and honour; but as he kept on seeking a mode of escape, +he was also hearing and watching the man before him with attention which +missed no word. He was barely conscious that the younger man appeared +enough at ease to dare to use language which the Federal officer felt to +be meant to annoy. A single word used by Grey stopped the Colonel's +mental mechanism as if a forceful brake had been applied. The man before +him had said carelessly, "_We_--_we_ would have been talking to General +Lee." The word "we" repeated itself in his mind like an echo. He too +lightly despised Grey's capacity as a spy, but he had said "we." There +were, it seemed, others; how many?--what had they done? This terribly +simplified the game. To arrest Grey would or might be useless. Who were +his companions and where were they? Once missing this confident +Confederate they might escape. To question Grey would be in vain. To give +him any hint that he had been imprudent would be to lose an advantage. He +was so intent on the question of how to carry out a decisive purpose that +he missed for the moment Grey's easy-minded talk, and then was suddenly +aware that Grey was really amusing himself with a cat-and-mouse game. +But now he too was at ease and became quietly civil as he filled another +pipe, and with an air of despair which altogether deceived Grey said, "I +see that I can do nothing, Henry. There is no reason to protract an +unpleasant matter." + +"I supposed you would reach this very obvious conclusion." Then unable to +resist a chance to annoy a man who had given him a needless half hour not +free from unpleasant possibilities, Grey rose and remarked, smiling, "I +hope when we occupy this town to meet you under more agreeable +circumstances." + +"Sir," said Penhallow, "the painful situation in which I am placed does +not give you the freedom to insult me." + +The Confederate was quite unaware that the Colonel was becoming more and +more a man to fear, "I beg pardon, James," he said, "I was only +anticipating history." As he spoke, he stood securing a neglected button +of his neat uniform. This act strangely exasperated the Colonel. "I will +see you out," he said. "The buttons of the Massachusetts Third might +attract attention." + +"Oh, my cloak covers it," and he threw it carelessly over his shoulders. + +Penhallow said, "I have confessed defeat--you may thank Ann Penhallow." + +"Yes--an unfortunate situation, James. May I have another cigar? Thanks." + +"Sorry I have no whisky, Grey." + +"And I--How it pours! What a downfall!" + +The Colonel was becoming more and more outwardly polite. + +"Good-bye, Henry." + +"_Au revoir_," said the younger man. + +Penhallow went with his brother-in-law down the long corridor, neither +man speaking again. As they passed Josiah, Penhallow said, "I shall want +my horse at five, and shall want you with me." At the head of the stairs +he dismissed his visitor without a further word. Then he turned back +quickly to Josiah and said in a low voice, "Follow that man--don't lose +him. Take your time. It is important--a matter of life and death to +me--to know where he lives. Quick now--I trust you." + +"Yes, sir." He was gone. + +Grey feeling entirely safe walked away in the heavy rain with a mind +at ease and a little sorry as a soldier for the hapless situation with +which Penhallow had had to struggle. When we have known men only in the +every-day business of life or in ordinary social relations, we may quite +fail to credit them with qualities which are never called into activity +except by unusual circumstances. Grey, an able engineer, regarded +Penhallow as a rather slow thinker, a good man of business, and now as a +commonplace, well-mannered officer. He smiled as he thought how his +sister had made her husband in this present predicament what algebraists +call a "negligible quantity." He would have been less easy had he known +that the man he left felt keenly a sense of imperilled honour and of +insult which his relation to Grey forbade him to avenge. He had become a +man alert, observant, and quick to see his way and to act. + +Josiah, with all his hunting instincts aroused, loitered idly after Grey +in the rain, one of the scores of lazy, unnoticeable negroes. He was gone +all the afternoon, and at eight o'clock found Penhallow in his room. "Did +you find where he lives?" asked the Colonel. + +"That man, he lives at 229 Sixteenth Street. Two more live there. They +was in and out all day--and he went to shops and carried things away--" + +"What kind of shops?" + +"Where they sell paper and pens--and 'pothecaries." + +"Sit down--you look tired." It was plain that they were soon about to +move and were buying what was needed in the South--quinine, of course. +But what had been their errand? He said, "Get some supper and come back +soon." + +Then he sat down to think. An engineer of competence lately back from +Europe! His errand--their errand--must be of moment. He took a small +revolver out of a drawer, put in shells, placed it in his breast pocket, +and secured a box of matches. About nine, in a summer thunder-shower of +wind and rain, he followed Josiah and walked to No. 229 Sixteenth Street. +As he stood he asked, + +"How did those men get in, Josiah?" + +"All had keys. Want to get in, Colonel?" + +"Yes, I want to get in. Are there any others in the house--servants--any +one?" + +"No, sir," Josiah said. "I went round to an alley at the back of the +house. There are lights on the second storey. You can get in easy at the +back, sir." + +Seeing a policeman on the opposite pavement, Penhallow at once changed +his plan of entrance, and crossing the street said to the policeman, "Is +this your beat?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Very good! You see I am in uniform. Here is my card. I am on duty at the +War Department. Here is my general pass from the Provost-marshal General. +Come to the gas lamp and read it. Here are ten dollars. I have to get +into No. 229 on Government business. If I do not come out in thirty +minutes, give the alarm, call others and go in. Who lives there?" + +"It is a gambling house--or was--not now." + +"Very good. This is my servant, Josiah. If I get out safely, come to +Willard's to-morrow at nine--use my card--ask for me--and you will not be +sorry to have helped me." + +"You want to get in!" + +"Yes." + +"No use to ring, sir," said Josiah. "There ain't any servants and the +gentlemen, they ate outside. Lord, how it rains!" + +The policeman hesitated. Another ten dollar note changed owners. "Well, +it isn't police duty--and you're not a burglar--" + +The Colonel laughed. "If I were, I'd have been in that house without your +aid." + +"Well, yes, sir. Burglars don't usually take the police into their +confidence. There are no lights except in the second storey. If your +man's not afraid and it's an honest Government job, let him go through +that side alley, get over the fence--I'll help him--and either through a +window or by the cellar he can get in and open the front door for you." + +Josiah laughed low laughter as he crossed the street with the officer and +was lost to view. The Colonel waited at the door. In a few minutes the +man returning said, "Want me with you? He got in easily." + +"No, but take the time when I enter and keep near." They waited. + +"Nine-thirty now, sir." + +"Give me the full time." + +Penhallow went up the steps and knocked at the door. It was opened and he +went in. "Shut the door quietly, Josiah--open if the policeman knocks. +Now, be quiet, and if you hear a shot, or a big row call the police." + +The house below-stairs was in darkness. He took off his shoes and went +into a room on the first floor. Striking a match, he saw only ordinary +furniture. The room back of it revealed to his failing match a roulette +table. He went out into the hall and up the stairs with the utmost +caution to avoid noise. On the second floor the door of the front room +was ajar. They must be careless and confident, he reflected as he +entered. A lighted candle on a pine table dimly illuminated a room in +some confusion. On the floor were two small bags half full of clothes +which he swiftly searched, without revealing anything of moment. A third, +smaller bag lay open on the table. It contained a number of small rolls +of very thin paper, and on the table there were spread out two others. +As he looked, he knew they were admirably drawn sketches of the forts and +the lines of connecting works which defended the city. Making sure no +more papers were to be found, he thrust all of them within his waistcoat, +buttoned it securely, felt for his revolver, and listened. + +In the closed back room there was much mirth and the clink of glasses. +He drew near the door and felt certain that Grey was relating with comic +additions his interview of the morning. Without hesitation he threw open +the door as three men sprang to their feet and Grey covered him with a +revolver. He said quietly, "Sorry to disturb you, gentlemen. Put down +that toy, Grey." + +"No, by Heaven!--not till--" + +"My dear Grey, between me and that pistol stands a woman--as she stood +for your safety this morning. Men who talk, don't shoot. You are all +three in deadly peril--you had better hear me. I could have covered you +all with my revolver. Put down that thing!" + +"Put it down," said the older of the three. Grey laid the weapon on the +table. + +"This is not war," said Penhallow, "and you are three to one. Sit down." +He set the example. "It is clear that you are all Confederate officers +and spies. Let us talk a little. I came on Mr. Grey to-day by accident. +It was my duty to have him arrested; but he is my wife's brother. If a +pistol is heard or I am not out of this, safe, in a few minutes, the +police now on guard will enter--and you are doomed men. I am presumably +on Government business. Now, gentlemen, will you leave at once or in an +hour or less?" + +"I for one accept," said the man who had been silent. + +"And I," said the elder of the party. + +"On your honour?" + +"Yes." + +Grey laughed lightly, "Oh, of course. Our work is done. Speed the parting +guest!" + +"I wish," said the Colonel, rising, "to leave no misapprehension on your +minds--or on that of Mr. Grey. Those admirable sketches left carelessly +on the table are in my pocket. Were they not, you would all three be lost +men. Did you think, Grey, that to save your life or my own I would permit +you to escape with your work? Had I not these papers, your chance of +death would not weigh with me a moment." + +Grey started up. "Don't be foolish, Grey," said the older man. "We have +played and lost. There has been much carelessness--and we have suffered +for it. I accept defeat, Colonel." + +Penhallow looked at the watch in his hand. "You have ten minutes +grace--no, rather less. May I ask of you one thing? You are every hour +in danger, but I too am aware that if this interview be talked about in +Richmond or you are caught, my name may be so used as to make trouble +for me, for how could I explain that to save my wife's brother I connived +at the escape of Confederate officers acting as spies? I ask no pledge, +gentlemen. I merely leave my honour as a soldier in your hands. +Good-night, and don't delay." + +Grey was silent. The older man said, "I permit myself to hope we may meet +some time under more pleasant circumstances--for me, I mean,"--he added, +laughing. "Good-night." + +Penhallow withdrew quickly and found Josiah on guard. He said, "It is all +right--but for sport it beats possum-hunting. Open the door." The rain +was still falling in torrents. "All right," he said to the policeman, +"come and see me to-morrow early." + +"What was the matter, sir? I've got to make my report." + +Then Penhallow saw the possibility of trouble and as quickly that to +bribe further might only make mischief. "Do not come to the hotel, but at +eleven sharp call on me at the War Department on Seventeenth Street. You +have my card. By that time I shall have talked the matter over with the +Secretary. I am not at liberty to talk of it now--and you had better not. +It is a Government affair. You go off duty, when?" + +"At six. You said eleven, sir?" + +"Yes, good-night. Go home, Josiah." + +The Colonel was so wet that the added contributions of water were of no +moment. The soldier in uniform may not carry an umbrella--for reasons +unknown to me. + +Before breakfast next morning Josiah brought him a letter, left at the +hotel too late in the night for delivery. He read it with some amusement +and with an uncertain amount of satisfaction: + +"MY DEAR J: When by evil luck I encountered you, I was sure of three +things. First, that I was safe; then, that we had secured what we wanted; +and last, that our way home was assured. If in my satisfaction I played +the bluff game rather lightly--well, in a way to annoy you--I beg now to +apologize. That I should so stupidly have given away a game already won +is sufficiently humiliating, and the dog on top may readily forgive. You +spoilt a gallant venture, but, by Jove, you did it well! I can't imagine +how you found me! Accept my congratulations. + +"Yours sincerely, + +"G." + +"Confound him! What I suffered don't count. He's just the man he always +was--brave, of course, quixotically chivalrous, a light weight. Ann used +to say he was a grown-up boy and small for his age. Well, he has had his +spanking. Confound him!" He went on thinking of this gay, clever, +inconsiderate, not unlovable man. "If by mishap he were captured while +trying to escape, what then? He would be fool enough to make the venture +in our uniform. There would be swift justice; and only the final appeal +to Caesar. He was with good reason ill at ease. I might indeed have to +ask the President for something." + +He reconsidered his own relation to the adventure as he sat at breakfast, +and saw in it some remainder of danger. At ten o'clock he was with the +Secretary. + +"I want," he said, "to talk to you as my old friend. You are my official +superior and may order me to the North Pole, but now may I re-assume the +other position for a minute and make a confidential statement?" + +"Certainly, Penhallow. I am always free to advise you." + +"I want to say something and to be asked no questions. Am I clear?" + +"Certainly." + +"Thank you. I had an extraordinary adventure yesterday. I am not at +liberty to do more than say that it put me in possession of these plans." +He spread on the table well-drawn sketches of the forts around +Washington. + +Stanton's grim, bearded face grew stern. "You have my word, Penhallow. If +I had not too easily given it we would have been placed in a disagreeable +position. I am debarred from asking you how you came into possession of +these papers. The spies who made them would have been in my power early +this morning--and not even the President's weakness would have saved +their necks." + +Penhallow was silent, but was anxiously watching the angry Secretary, +who swept the papers aside with an impatient gesture, feeling that he +had been so dealt with as to be left without even the relief he too +often found in outbursts of violent language. Penhallow's quiet attitude +reminded him that he could not now take advantage of his official +position to say what was on his mind. + +"Colonel," he said, "I want a report on some better method of getting +remounts for the cavalry." + +"I will consider it, sir." + +"What about that contract for ambulances?" + +"I shall have my report ready to-morrow." + +"That is all." It is to be feared that the next visitor suffered what +Penhallow escaped. + +With no other orders the Colonel left, rewarded the punctual policeman +and went home to write to his wife, infinitely disgusted with the life +before him and behind him, and desiring no more adventures. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +The winter of 1862-63 went by with Sherman's defeat at Vicksburg and +Rosecrans's inconclusive battle of Stone River. The unpopular +Conscription Act in February, 1863, and last of all the discreditable +defeat of Hooker in May at Chancellorsville, disheartened the most +hopeful. + +Meanwhile, Penhallow wrote to his wife with no word of the war, and +poured out his annoyance to Leila with less restraint. + +"DEAR LEILA: I get brief notes from John, who is with the one General +(Grant) who has any luck. The list of discredited commanders good and bad +increases. I am weary beyond measure of the kind of life I lead. I learn +to-day, May 18th, of the progress of the investment of Vicksburg, and of +John as busy at last with his proper work of bridges, corduroy roads and +the siege approaches. + +"The drift homeward of our crippled men, you tell of, is indeed sad. I am +glad that Grace's boy is well; and so Rivers has gone to the army again. +Pole's lad, with the lost arm, must have some work at the mills. Say I +ask it. Good-bye. + +"Yours, JAMES PENHALLOW." + +On the 16th of June the Secretary said to Penhallow, "You know that Lee +has crossed the Potomac. General Hunt has asked to have you put in charge +of the reserve artillery of the Potomac army. I shall relieve you here +and give the order, but I want you for a week longer to clear up +matters." + +Penhallow worked hard up to the time set by Stanton, and meanwhile made +his arrangements to leave for the field. "Now that you are going away," +said Stanton, "I wish to express my warm thanks for admirable service. I +may say to you that Hooker has been removed and Meade put in command." + +"That is good news, indeed, sir. Now the Potomac army will be handled by +a soldier." + +The Secretary had risen to say his parting words, and Penhallow as he +held his hand saw how reluctant he was to let him go. They had long been +friends, and now the Colonel observing his worn face felt for him the +utmost anxiety. A stern, grave man, passionately devoted to his country, +he was the impatient slave of duty. Sometimes hasty, unjust, or even +ungenerous, he was indifferent to the enemies he too needlessly created, +and was hated by many and not loved even by those who respected his +devotion and competence. He spared neither his subordinates nor, least of +all, Edwin Stanton, and spendthrift of vital force and energy went his +way, one of the great war ministers like Carnot and Pitt. Now, as they +stood about to part, he showed feeling with which few would have given +him credit, and for which Penhallow was unprepared. + +"Well," he said, "you are going. I shall miss your help in a life +sometimes lonely, and overcrowded with work. You have been far more +useful here than you could have been in the field. Living and working as +you have done, you have made enemies. The more enemies an honest +gentleman collects the richer he is. You are glad to go--well, don't +think this town a mere great gambling place. It is a focal point--all +that is bad in war seems to be represented here--spies, cheating +contractors, political generals, generals as meek as missionaries. You +have seen the worst of it--the worst. But my dear Penhallow, there is one +comfort, Richmond is just as foul with thieving contractors, +extravagance, intrigue, and spies who report to us with almost the +regularity of the post; and, as with us, there is also honour, honesty, +religion, belief in their cause." The Secretary had spoken at unusual +length and in an unusual mood. When once, before the war, he had spent +a few happy days at Grey Pine, Mrs. Crocker characterized him as "a +yes-and-no kind of man." Now as he walked with his friend to the door, he +said, "Does Mrs. Penhallow know of your change of duty? I am aware of her +feeling about this unhappy strife." + +"No. There will be a battle--time enough--soon enough to write +afterwards, if there should be any earthly afterwards." + +"You are quite right," said the Secretary. "Good-bye. I envy you your +active share in this game." + +Penhallow, as for the last time he went down the outer steps, looked +back at the old brick war-office on Seventeenth Street. He felt the +satisfaction of disagreeable duty well done. Then he recalled with some +sense of it as being rather ridiculous his adventure with Henry Grey. In +a far distant day he would tell Ann. As he halted at the foot of the +steps, he thought of his only interview with Lincoln. The tall figure +with the sombre face left in his memory that haunting sense of the +unusual of which others had spoken and which was apt to disappear upon +more familiar acquaintance. + +On the morning of June 28 in this year 1863, Leila riding from the +mills paused a minute to take note of the hillside burial-ground, +dotted here and there with pitiful little linen flags, sole memorials +of son or father--the victims of war. "One never can get away from it," +she murmured, and rode on into Westways. Sitting in the saddle she waited +patiently at the door of the post-office. Mrs. Crocker was distributing +letters and newspapers. An old Quaker farmer was reading aloud on the +pavement the latest news. + +"There ain't no list of killed and wounded," he said. Forgetful of the +creed of his sect, his son was with the army. He read, "The Rebels have +got York--that's sure--and Carlisle too. They are near Harrisburg." + +"Oh, but we have burned the bridge over the Susquehanna," said some one. + +Another and younger man with his arm in a sling asked, "Are they only +cavalry?" + +"No, General Ewell is in command. There are infantry." + +"Where is Lee?" + +"I don't make that out." They went away one by one, sharing the +uneasiness felt in the great cities. + +Leila called out, "Any letters, Mrs. Crocker? This is bad news." + +"Here's one for you--it came in a letter to me. I was to give it to you +alone." + +Leila tore it open and read it. "Any bad news, Leila?" + +"Yes, Uncle James is with the army. I should not have told you. +General Meade is in command. Aunt Ann is not to know. There will be +a battle--after that he will write--after it. Please not to mention +where Uncle Jim is. When is your nephew to be buried--at the mills?" + +"At eleven to-morrow." + +"I shall be there. Aunt Ann will send flowers. Poor boy! he has lingered +long." + +"And he did so want to go back to the army. You see, he was that weak he +cried. He was in the colour-guard and asked to have the flag hung on the +wall. Any news of our John? I dreamed about him last night, only he had +long curly locks--like he used to have." + +"No, not a word." + +"Has Mr. Rivers got back?" + +"No, he is still with the army. You know, aunt sends him with money for +the Sanitary." + +"Yes, the Sanitary Commission--we all know." + +Leila turned homeward seeing the curly locks. "Oh, to be a man now!" she +murmured. She was bearing the woman's burden. + +Mrs. Crocker called after her, "You forgot the papers." + +"Burn them," said Leila. "I have heard enough--and more than enough, and +Aunt Ann never reads them." + +Penhallow had found time to visit his home twice in the winter, but found +there little to please him. His wife was obviously feeling the varied +strain of war, and Leila showed plainly that she too was suffering. He +returned to his work unhappy, a discontented and resolutely dutiful man, +hard driven by a relentless superior. Now, at last, the relief of action +had come. + +No one who has not lived through those years of war can imagine the +variety of suffering which darkened countless homes throughout the +land. At Grey Pine, Ann Penhallow living in a neighbourhood which was +hostile to her own political creed was deeply distressed by the fact +that on both sides were men dear to her. It must have been a too common +addition to the misery of war and was not in some cases without +passionate resentment. There were Northern men in the service of the +Confederacy, and of the Southern graduates from West Point nearly fifty +per cent, had remained loyal to the flag, as they elected to understand +loyalty. The student of human motives may well be puzzled, for example, +to explain why two of the most eminent soldiers of the war, both being +men of the highest character and both Virginians should have decided to +take different sides. + +Some such reflection occupied Leila Grey's mind as she rode away. Many +of the officers now in one of the two armies had dined or stayed a few +pleasant days at Grey Pine. For one of them, Robert Lee, Penhallow had +a warm regard. She remembered too General Scott, a Virginian, and her +aunt's Southern friend Drayton, the man whom a poet has since described +when with Farragut as "courtly, gallant and wise." "Ah, me!" she +murmured, "duty must be at times a costly luxury.--A costly necessity," +she concluded, was better--that left no privilege of choice. She smiled, +dismissing the mental problem, and rode on full of anxiety for those she +loved and her unfortunate country. Our most profound emotions are for the +greater souls dumb and have no language if it be not that of prayer, or +the tearful overflow which means so much and is so mysteriously helpful. +She found both forms of expression when she knelt that night. + +In the afternoon the refreshing upland coolness of evening followed on +the humid heat of a hot June day. Towards sunset Ann Penhallow, to her +niece's surprise, drew on her shawl and said she would like to walk +down to the little river. Any proposal to break the routine of a life +unwholesome in its monotony was agreeable to Leila. No talk of the war +was possible. When Ann Penhallow now more and more rarely and with effort +went on her too frequently needed errands of relief or consolation, the +village people understood her silence about the war, and accepting her +bounty somewhat resented an attitude of mind which forbade the pleasant +old familiarity of approach. + +The life was unhealthy for Leila, and McGregor watched its influence with +affection and some professional apprehension. Glad of any change, Leila +walked with her aunt through the garden among the roses in which now her +aunt took no interest. They heard the catbirds carolling in the hedges, +and Ann thought of the day a year ago when she listened to them with +James Penhallow at her side. They reached in silence an open space above +the broad quiet backwater. Beyond a low beach the river flowed by, wide +and smooth, a swift stream. From the western side the sunset light fell +in widening shafts of scarlet across the water. + +"Let us sit here," said the elder woman. "I am too weak to walk +further"--for her a strange confession. As they sat down on the mossy +carpet, Leila caught the passive hand of her aunt. + +"I suppose you still swim here, every morning, Leila? I used to like +it--I have now no heart for anything." + +Leila could only say, "Why not, aunt?" + +"How can you ask me! I think--I dream of nothing but this unnatural war." + +"Is that wise, aunt? or as Dr. McGregor would say, 'wholesome'?" + +"It is not; but I cannot help it--it darkens my whole life. Billy was up +at the house this morning talking in his wild way. I did not even try to +understand, but"--and she hesitated--"I suppose I had better know." + +This was strange to Leila, who too hesitated, and then concluding to be +frank returned, "It might have been better, aunt, if you had known all +along what was going on--" + +"What would have been the use?" said her aunt in a tone of languid +indifference. "It can end in but one way." + +A sensation of anger rose dominant in the mind of the girl. It was hard +to bear. She broke out into words of passionate resentment--the first +revolt. "You think only of your dear South--of your friends--your +brother--" + +"Leila!" + +She was past self-control or other control. "Well, then, be glad Lee is +in Pennsylvania--General Ewell has taken York and Hagerstown--there will +be a great battle. May God help the right--my country!" + +"General Lee," cried Ann; "Lee in Pennsylvania! Then that will +end the war. I am glad James is safe in Washington." Leila already +self-reproachful, was silent. + +To tell her he was with the army of the North would be cruel and was what +James Penhallow had forbidden. + +"He is in Washington?" asked Ann anxiously. + +"When last I heard, he was in Washington, aunt, and as you know, John is +before Vicksburg with General Grant." + +"They will never take it--never." + +"Perhaps not, Aunt Ann," said Leila, penitent. The younger woman was +disinclined to talk and sat quiet, one of the millions who were wondering +what the next few days would bring. + +The light to westward was slowly fading as she remained with hands +clasped about her knees and put aside the useless longing to know what +none could know. Her anger was gone as she caught with a side glance +the frail look of Ann Penhallow. She felt too the soothing benediction +of the day's most sacred hour. + +Of a sudden Ann Penhallow bounded to her feet. A thunderous roar +broke on the evening stillness. The smooth backwater shivered and the +cat-tails and reeds swayed, as the sound struck echoes from the hills and +died away. Leila caught and stayed the swaying figure. "It is only the +first of the great new siege guns they are trying on the lower meadows. +Sit down, dear, for a moment. Do be careful--you are getting"--she +hesitated--"hysterical. There will be another presently. Do sit down, +dear aunt. Don't be nervous." She was alarmed by her aunt's silent +statuesque position. She could have applied no wiser remedy than her +warning advice. No woman likes to be told she is nervous or hysterical +and now it acted with the certainty of a charm. + +"I am not nervous--it was so sudden. I was startled." She turned away +with a quick movement of annoyance, releasing herself from Leila's arm. +"Let's go home. Oh, my God!" she cried, as once again the cannon-roar +shook the leaves on the upward slope before them. "It is the voice of +war. Can I never get away from it--never--never?" + +"You will not be troubled again to-day," said the girl, "and the smaller +guns on the further meadow we hardly notice at the house." + +Ann's steps quickened. She had been scared at her own realization of +her want of self-government and was once more in command of her emotions. +"Do not talk to me, Leila. I was quite upset--I am all right now." + +The great guns were sent away next day on their errands of destruction. +Then the two lonely women waited as the whole country waited for news +which whatever it might be would carry grief to countless homes. + +On the second day of July, 1863, under a heavy cloud of dust which hung +high in air over the approach of the Baltimore Pike to Gettysburg, the +long column of the reserve artillery of the Potomac army rumbled along +the road, and more and more clearly the weary men heard the sound of +cannon. About ten in the morning the advance guard was checked and the +line came to a halt. James Penhallow, who since dawn had been urging on +his command, rode in haste along the side of the cumbered road to where a +hurrying brigade of infantry crossing his way explained why his guns were +thus brought to a standstill. He saw that he must wait for the foot +soldiers to go by. The cannoneers dismounted from the horses or dropped +off the caissons, and glad of a rest lit their pipes and lay down or +wandered about in search of water. + +The Colonel, pleased to be on time, was in gay good-humour as he talked +to the men or listened to the musketry fire far to the left. He said to a +group of men, "We are all as grey as the Rebs, boys, but it is good +Pennsylvania dust." As he spoke a roar of laughter was heard from the +neighbourhood of the village cemetery on his right. He rode near it and +saw the men gathered before an old notice board. He read: "Any person +found using fire arms in this vicinity will be prosecuted according to +law." Penhallow shook with laughter. "Guess we'll have to be right +careful, Colonel," said a sergeant. + +"You will, indeed." + +"It's an awful warning, boys," said a private. "Shouldn't wonder if Bob +Lee set it up to scare us." + +"I'd like to take it home." They chaffed the passing infantry, and were +answered in kind. Penhallow impatient saw that the road would soon be +clear. As he issued quick orders and men mounted in haste, a young aide +rode up, saluted, and said, "I have orders, Colonel, from General Hunt +to guide you to where he desires your guns to be parked." + +"One moment," said Penhallow; "the road is a tangle of wagons:" and to +a captain, "Ride on and side-track those wagons; be quick too." Then he +said to the aide, "We have a few minutes--how are things going? I heard +of General Reynold's death, and little more." + +"Yes, we were outnumbered yesterday and--well licked. Why they did not +rush us, the Lord knows!" + +"Give me some idea of our position." + +"Well, sir, here to our right is Cemetery Hill, strongly held; to your +left the line turns east and then south in a loop to wooded hills--one +Culp's, they call it. That is our right. There is a row on there as you +can hear. Before us as we stand our position runs south along a low ridge +and ends on two pretty high-wooded hills they call Round Tops. That's +our left. From our front the ground slopes down some forty feet or so, +and about a mile away the Rebs hold the town seminary and a long low rise +facing us." + +"Thank you, that seems pretty clear. There is firing over beyond the +cemetery?" + +"Yes, the skirmishers get cross now and then. The road seems clear, sir." + +Orders rang out and the guns rattled up the pike like some monstrous +articulated insect, all encumbering wagons being swept aside to make way +for the privileged guns. + +"You are to park here, sir, on the open between this and the Taneytown +road. There is a brook--a creek." + +"Thanks, that is clear." + +The ground thus chosen lay some hundred yards behind the low crest held +midway of our line by the Second Corps, whence the ground fell away in a +gentle slope. The space back of our line was in what to a layman's eye +would have seemed the wildest confusion of wagons, ambulances, ammunition +mules, cattle, and wandering men. It was slowly assuming some order as +the Provost Guard, dusty, despotic and cross, ranged the wagons, drove +back stragglers, and left wide lanes for the artillery to move at need to +the front. + +The colonel spent some hours in getting his guns placed and in seeing +that no least detail was lacking. With orders about instant readiness, +with a word of praise here, of sharp criticism there, he turned away a +well-contented man and walked up the slope in search of the headquarters. +As he approached the front, he saw the bushy ridge in which, or back of +which, the men lay at rest. Behind them were surgeons selecting partially +protected places for immediate aid, stretcher-bearers, ambulances and all +the mechanism of help for the wounded. Officers were making sure that men +had at hand one hundred rounds of ammunition. + +Some three hundred yards behind the mid-centre of the Second Corps, on +the Taneytown road, Penhallow was directed to a small, rather shabby +one-storey farm-house. "By George," he murmured, "here is one general who +means to be near the front." He was met at the door by the tall handsome +figure of General Hancock, a blue-eyed man with a slight moustache over a +square expressively firm jaw. + +"Glad to see you, Penhallow. Meade was anxious--I knew you would be on +time. Come in." + +Penhallow saw before him a mean little room, on one side a wide bed with +a gaudy coverlet, on a pine table in the centre a bucket of water, a tin +cup, and a candle-stick. Five rickety rush-covered chairs completed the +furnishings. + +Meade rose from study of the map an engineer officer was explaining. He +was unknown to Penhallow, who observed him with interest--a tall spare +man with grey-sprinkled dark hair a large Roman nose and spectacles over +wide blue eyes; a gentleman of the best, modest, unassuming, and now +carelessly clad. + +"Colonel Penhallow," said Hancock. + +"Glad to see you." He turned to receive with evident pleasure a report of +the morning's fight on the right wing, glanced without obvious interest +at the captured flag of the Stonewall Brigade, and greeted the colonel +warmly. "I can only offer you water," he said. "Sit down. You may like to +look over this map." + +While the Commander wrote orders and despatched aide after aide, +Penhallow bent over the map. "You see," said Hancock, "we have unusual +luck for us in a short interior line. I judge from the moving guidons +that Lee is extending his front--it may be six miles long." + +"And ours?" + +"Well, from wing to wing across the loop to right, not half of that." + +"I see," said Penhallow, and accepting a drink of tepid water he went out +to find and report to the chief of artillery, General Hunt. + +He met him with General John Gibbon and two aides a few yards from the +door, and making his brief report learned as he moved away that there +was some trouble on the left wing. Meade coming out with Hancock, they +mounted and rode away in haste, too late to correct General Sickles' +unfortunate decision to improve General Meade's battle-line. It was +not Penhallow's business, nor did he then fully understand that costly +blunder. Returning to his guns, he sent, as Hunt had ordered, two of +his reserve batteries up to the back of the line of the Second Corps, +and finding General Gibbon temporarily in command walked with him to +what is now called the "Crest" and stood among Cushing's guns. Alertly +interested, Penhallow saw to the left, half hidden by bushes and a +clump of trees, a long line of infantry lying at ease, their muskets in +glittering stacks behind them. To the right the ground was more open. A +broken stone fence lay in front of the Second Corps. It was patched with +fence rails and added stone, and where the clump of trees projected in +advance of the line made a right angle and extended thence in front of +the batteries on the Crest about thirty yards. Then it met a like right +angle of stone fencing and followed the line far to the right. Behind +these rude walls lay the Pennsylvania and New York men, three small +regiments. Further back on a little higher ground was the silent array of +cannon, thus able at need to fire over the heads of the guarding +infantry, now idly lying at rest in the baking heat of a July morning. +The men about the cannon lounged at ease on the ground in the forty foot +interspaces between the batteries, some eighteen pieces in all. + +Suddenly an aide rode up, and saying, "See you again, Penhallow," Gibbon +rode away in haste. Penhallow, who was carefully gathering in all that +could then be seen from the locality, moved over to where a young battery +captain was leaning against a cannon wheel wiping the sweat from his face +or gazing over the vale below him, apparently lost in thought. "Captain +Cushing, I believe," said the colonel. "I am Colonel Penhallow, in +command of the reserve artillery." + +"Indeed!" said the young officer. "These are some of your guns--" + +"Not mine--I was out of it long ago. They still carry the brand of my old +iron-mills." + +"We shall see, sir, that they do honour to your name." + +"I am sure of that," returned the colonel, looking at the face of the +officer, who as he spoke patted the gun beside him in an affectionate +way. + +"It seems very peaceful," he said. + +"Yes, yes," returned Penhallow, "very." + +They looked for a moment of silence down the vale before them, where a +mile away the ground rose to a low ridge, beyond which in woody shelters +lay the hostile lines. + +"What road is that?" asked Penhallow. "It leaves our right and crosses to +enter Lee's right." + +"The Emmitsburg Pike, sir." + +The Colonel's glass searched the space before him. "I see some fine +farm-houses--deserted, of course, and wheat fields no man will reap this +year." He spoke thoughtfully, and as Woodruff of the nearer battery +joined them, the roar of cannon broke the stillness. + +"Far on our left," said Woodruff. At the sound, the men sprang to their +feet and took their stations. Smoke rose and clouded their view of the +distant field where on our left a fury of battle raged, while the rattle +of infantry volleys became continuous. No more words were spoken. Through +the long afternoon the unseen fight went on in front of the Round Tops. +As it came nearer and the grey lines were visible, the guns on the Crest +opened a lively fire and kept up their destructive business until the +approach of the enemy ceased to extend towards our centre and fell away +in death or disorderly flight. About sunset this varied noise subsided +and the remote sound of cheering was heard. + +"We must have won," said General Webb, the brigade commander. "It was a +flanking movement. How little any one man knows of a battle!" + +"By George! I am glad of a let up," said the young Captain. "I am vilely +dirty." He wiped the grime and sweat from his face and threw himself on +the ground as Generals Hunt and Gibbon rode up. + +"No great damage here, I see, Webb. They got awfully licked, but it was +near to something else." + +Questioned by Penhallow, they heard the news of our needless loss and +final triumphant repulse of the enemy. Hunt said emphatic things about +political generals and their ways. "He lost a leg," said Gibbon, "and I +think to have lost his life would have been, fortunate. They are at it +still on the right, but the Twelfth Corps has gone back to Culp's Hill +and Ewell will get his share of pounding--if it be his corps." + +"Then we may get some sleep," said Penhallow, as he moved away. "I have +had very little for two nights." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +It was near to seven when he went down to his parked guns, seeing as he +went that the ways were kept clear, and finding ready hot coffee and +broiled chicken. + +"Where did you get this, Josiah?" he asked. + +"Kind of came in, sir--know'd he was wanted--laid two eggs." The colonel +laughed and asked no further questions. + +"Pull off my boots. Horses all right?" + +"Yes, sir." + +Without-undressing he fell on his camp-bed and, towards dusk thinking +with grim humour of his wife and the Penhallow guns, fell asleep. About +four in the morning the mad clamour of battle awakened him. He got up and +went out of the tent. The night air was hot and oppressive. Far to our +right there was the rattle of musketry and the occasional upward flare of +cannon flashes against low-lying clouds. From the farthest side of the +Taneytown road at the rear he heard the rattle of ambulances arriving +from the field of fight to leave the wounded in tent hospitals. They came +slowly, marked by their flickering lanterns, and were away again more +swiftly. He gave some vague thought to the wounded and to the surgeons, +for whom the night was as the day. At sunrise he went up past the already +busy headquarters and came to the bush-hidden lines, where six thousand +men of the Second Corps along a half mile of the irregular far-stretched +Crest were up and busy. Fires were lighted, coffee boiled and biscuits +munched. An air of confidence and gaiety among the men pleased him as he +paused to give a sergeant a pipe light and divided his tobacco among a +thankful group of ragged soldiers. All was quiet. An outpost skirmish on +the right, as a man said, "was petering out." He paused here and there to +talk to the men, and was interested to hear them discussing with +intelligence the advantage of our short line. Now and then the guns far +to left or right quarrelled, but at eleven in the morning this third of +July all was quiet except the murmurous noise of thousands of men who +talked or lay at rest in the bushes or contrived a refuge from the sun +under shelter of a canvas hung on ramrods. + +Generals Gibbon and Webb, coming near, promised him a late breakfast, +and he went with them to the little peach orchard near the headquarters +on the Taneytown road. They sat down on mess-chests or cracker-boxes, +and to Penhallow's amusement Josiah appeared with John, the servant +of Gibbon, for Josiah was, as he said, on easy terms with every black +servant in the line. Presently Hancock rode up with Meade. Generals +Newton and Pleasanton also appeared, and with their aides joined them. +These men were officially Penhallow's superiors, and although Hancock +and Gibbon were his friends, he made no effort to take part in the +discussion in regard to what the passing day would bring. He had his +own opinion, but no one asked for it and he smoked in an undisturbed +private council of war. + +At last, as he rose, Newton said, "You knew John Reynolds well, +Penhallow. A moment before he fell, his aide had begged him to fall +back to a less dangerous position." + +"He was my friend--a soldier of the best." + +"The Pennsylvanians are in force to-day--you and I and--" + +"Oh, colonels don't count," laughed Penhallow; "but there are Meade, +Hancock, Gregg, Humphreys, Hays, Gibbon, Geary, Crawford--" + +Hancock said, "We Pennsylvanians hold the lowest and weakest point of our +line--all Pennsylvanians on their own soil." + +"Yes, but they will not attack here," said Newton. + +"Oh, do you think so?" said Hancock. "Wait a little." + +The headquarters' ambulance drove up with further supplies. The chickens +were of mature age, but every one was hungry. Cigars and pipes were +lighted, and Newton chaffed Gibbon as the arrogant young brigadier in +command for the time of Hancock's Corps. The talk soon fell again upon +the probabilities of the day. Penhallow listened. Meade grave and silent +sat on a cracker-box and ate in an absent way, or scribbled orders, and +at last directed that the picked body of men, the provost's guards, +should join their regimental commands. About a quarter to noon the +generals one by one rode away. + +Having no especial duty, Penhallow walked to where on the Crest the +eighteen guns were drawn up. The sky was clear as yet, a windless, hot +day. Gibbon joined him. + +"What next?" said Gibbon, as Penhallow clambered up and stood a tall +figure on the limber of one of Cushing's guns, his field glass searching +the valley and the enemy's position. "Isn't it like a big chess-board?" + +"Yes--their skirmishers look like grey posts, and our own blue. They seem +uneasy." + +"Aren't they just like pawns in the game!" remarked Captain Haskell of +the Staff. + +Penhallow, intent, hardly heard them, but said presently, "There are +guidons moving fast to their right." + +"Oh, artillery taking position. We shall hear from them," returned +Gibbon. "Hancock thinks that being beaten on both flanks, Lee will attack +our centre, and this is the lowest point." + +"Well," said Haskell, "it would be madness--can Lee remember Malvern +Hill?" + +"I wonder what Grant is doing?" remarked Gibbon. At that time, seated +under an oak, watched at a distance by John Penhallow and a group of +officers, he was dictating to unlucky Pemberton the terms of Vicksburg's +surrender. + +Penhallow got down from his perch and wandered among the other guns, +talking to the men who were lying on the sod, or interested in the +battery horses behind the shelter of trees quietly munching the thin +grasses. He returned to Cushing's guns, and being in the mental attitude +of intense attention to things he would not usually have noticed, he was +struck with the young captain's manly build, and then with his delicacy +of feature, something girl-like and gentle in his ways. + +Penhallow remarked that the guns so hot already from the sun would be too +easily overheated when they were put to use. "Ah," returned Cushing, "but +will they be asked to talk today?" The innocent looking smile and the +quick flash of wide-opened eyes told of his wish to send messages across +the vale. + +"Yes, I think so," said the colonel; "I think so,"--and again observant +he saw the slight figure straighten and a quite other look of tender +sadness come upon his face. + +"How quiet they are--how very quiet!" Then he laughed merrily. "See that +dog on the Emmitsburg road. He doesn't know which side he's on." + +Penhallow looked at his watch. "It is one o'clock." Then his glass was +up. "Ah!" he exclaimed, as he closed it, "now we shall catch it. I +thought as much." + +A mile away, far on Lee's right, on the low ridge in front of his +position, a flash of light was seen. As the round ring of smoke shot +out from the cannon, the colonel remembered the little Leila's delight +when he blew smoke rings as they sat on the porch. Instantly a second +gun spoke. The two shells flew over our line and lit far to the rear, +while at once along Lee's position a hundred and fifty guns rang out and +were instantly answered by our own artillery from Round Top to Cemetery +Hill. General Hunt beside him replying to the quick questions he put, +said, "We could not place over seventy-five guns--not room enough." + +"Is that all? They are distributing their favours along our whole front." + +At once a vast shroud of smoke rose and hid both lines, while out of it +flew countless shell and roundshot. At first most of the Confederate +missiles flew high and fell far behind our Crest. The two officers were +coolly critical as they stood between the batteries. + +"He must think our men are back of the guns like his own. The wall and +bushes hide them." + +"The fuses are too long," said Hunt quietly. "That's better and worse," +he added, as a shell exploded near by and one of Woodruff's guns went out +of action and the ground was strewn with the dead and wounded. "We shall +want some of your guns." + +Penhallow went in haste to the rear. What he saw was terrible. The iron +hail of shells fell fast around him on the wide open space or even as far +away as the hospital tents. On or near the Taneytown road terror-stricken +wagon-drivers were flying, ammunition mules were torn to pieces or lying +mangled; a shell exploded in a wagon,--driver, horses and a load of bread +were gone. Horses lay about, dead or horribly torn; one horse hitched to +a tree went on cropping grass. Penhallow missed nothing. He was in the +mood peril always brought. Men said he was a slow, sure thinker, and +missed seeing things which did not interest him. Now he was gay, tuned to +the highest pitch of automatic watchfulness, as this far-sent storm of +bursting shells went over and past the troops it was meant to destroy. +Hurrying through it he saw the wide slope clear rapidly of what was left +of active life. He laughed as a round shot knocked a knapsack off a man's +back. The man unhurt did not stay to look for it. Once the colonel +dropped as a shell lit near him. It did not explode. He ejaculated, +"Pshaw," and went on. He came near the Taneytown road to find that his +artillery had suffered. A score of harnessed horses lay dead or horribly +mangled. His quick orders sent up to the front a dozen guns. Some were +horsed, some were pulled with ropes by the cheering, eager cannoneers. +Their way was up the deserted slope, "well cleared by the enemy," thought +Penhallow with a smile. Once he looked back and saw the far flight of a +shell end in or near an ambulance of the wounded beyond the Taneytown +road. + +During his absence gun after gun had been disabled and a caisson +exploded; the gun crews lay dead or wounded. What more horribly disturbed +Penhallow was the hideous screams of the battery horses. "Ah! the pity of +it. They had no cause to die for--no duty--no choice." As he assisted in +replacing the wreckage of the guns, he still heard the cries of the +animals who so dumb in peace found in torture voices of anguish unheard +before--unnatural, strange. The appalling tempest of shells screamed on +and on, while the most of them fell beyond the Crest. Penhallow looked up +to note their flight. They darted overhead shrill-voiced or hissing. +There was a white puff of smoke, a red flash, and an explosion. + +General Gibbon, coming back from the long line of his corps, said, "My +men have suffered very little, but the headquarters behind them are in +ruin. Meade has moved back." As he spoke the shells began to fall on the +Crest. + +"They seem to be more attentive to us," said the battery Captain +Woodruff. "Thought we'd catch it!" + +"Horrible!--Those horses, Gibbon," said Penhallow. + +At last there seemed to be more concentrated firing on the Crest. Many +shells fell near the imperfect wall-shelter of the crouching men, while +others exploded among the lines to left or right in the bushes. + +"They are doing better now, confound them!" said the young general +coolly. "Our men at the wall seem disturbed. + +"Come with me," he said to Penhallow and Haskell of the Staff, who had +just joined them. + +They went down in front of the guns to where behind the low wall lay the +two thin lines of the Pennsylvania regiments. He spoke to the Colonel of +the 71st, who with other officers was afoot encouraging the men. + +"Keep cool, boys," said Gibbon. + +The men laughed. "Oh, we're all right, General, but we ain't cool." + +Gibbon laughed. "Let us go over the wall and try to see a little better," +said Penhallow. + +A hundred yards beyond the lines they sat down. The ceaseless rain of +shot and shell from both sides went over them, the canopy of smoke being +so high above that the interspace between the lines was now more or less +visible. Far beyond them our skirmish outposts were still motionless on +guard; and yet further farms and houses, some smoking in ruin, lay among +the green fields along the Emmitsburg Pike. + +"It is pretty safe here," said the Corps Commander, while far above them +the shells sang their war notes. + +Penhallow looked back. "They've got the range--there goes one of the +guns--oh! and another." + +"Let's go back," said Gibbon, rising, "we are too safe here." + +They laughed at his reason and followed him, Haskell remarking on the +lessening of the fire. As they moved about the forty-foot spaces between +the disabled batteries, the last cannon-ball rolled by them and bounded +down the slope harmless. At once there was movement,--quick orders, +officers busy, as fresh cannon replaced the wrecked pieces. Many of +the unhurt cannoneers lay down utterly exhausted. The dead were drawn +aside, while the wounded crawled away or were cared for by the +stretcher-bearers and surgeons. Meanwhile the dense, hot, smoke-pall +rose slowly and drifted away. The field-glasses were at once in use. + +"It is half-past two," said General Hunt; "what next? Oh! our skirmishers +are falling back." + +"They are going to attack," said Haskell, "and can they mean our whole +line--or where?" + +The cannoneers were called to their pieces, and silently expectant the +little group waited on the fateful hour, while the orderly quiet of +discipline was to be seen on the Crest. The field-glasses of the officers +were searching with intense interest the more and more visible vale. + +"Pretty plain now, Gibbon," said Hunt. + +"Yes, we are in for it." + +"They are forming," said Penhallow. A line appeared from the low swell of +ground in front of Lee's position--then a second and a third. Muskets and +bayonets flashed in the sun. + +"Can you make out their flags?" asked Gibbon, "or their numbers?" + +"Not the flags." He waited intent, watchful. No one spoke--minute after +minute went by. At last Penhallow answered. "A long line--a good half +mile--quite twelve thousand--oh, more--more. Now they are advancing _en +echelon_." + +To left, to right, along our lines was heard the thud, thud, of the +ramrods, and percussion-cap boxes were slid around the waist to be handy. +Penhallow and others drew their pistols. The cannon were now fully +replaced, the regimental flags unrolled, and on the front line, long +motionless, the trefoil guidons of the two divisions of the Second Corps +fluttered feebly. The long row of skirmishers firing fell back more and +more rapidly, and came at last into our lines. + +Penhallow said, turning to Gibbon, "They have--I think--they have no +supporting batteries--that is strange." Haskell and Gibbon had gone as he +spoke and the low crest was free at this point of all but the artillery +force. To left, the projecting clump of trees and the lines of the Second +Corps--all he could see--were ominously quiet. + +Gibbon came back to the crest. He said, "We may need backing if they +concentrate on us; here our line is too thin." And still the orderly grey +columns came on silently, without their usual charging-yell. + +"Ah!" exclaimed Penhallow without lowering his glass, as he gazed to our +left. The clamour of cannon broke out from little Round Top. + +"Rifles!" exclaimed Gibbon. "Good!" Their left made no reply, but seemed +to draw away from the fire. + +"I can see no more," said the Colonel, "but they stopped at the +Emmitsburg road." + +The acrid odour of musketry drifted across the field as he turned to +gaze at the left wing of the fast coming onset. Far to our right they +came under the fire of Cemetery Hill and of an advanced Massachusetts +regiment. He saw the blue flags of Virginia sway, fall, and rise no +more, while scattered and broken the Confederates fled or fell under +the fury of the death messages from above the long-buried dead of the +village graves. "Now then, Cushing!" cried Hunt, and the guns on the +Crest opened fire. + +It was plain that the long Confederate lines, frayed on each flank, had +crowded together making a vast wedge of attack. Then all along our miles +of troops a crackle of musketry broke out, the big guns bellowing. The +field was mostly lost to view in the dense smoke, under which the +charging-force halted and steadily returned the fire. + +"I can't see," cried Cushing near by. + +"Quite three hundred yards or more," said the colonel, "and you are hurt, +Cushing. Go to the rear." The blood was streaming down his leg. + +"Not I--it is nothing. Hang those fellows!" A New York battery gallantly +run in between disabled guns crowded Cushing's cannon. He cried, "Section +one to the front, by hand!" + +He was instantly obeyed. As he went with it to the front near to the +wall, followed by Penhallow, he said, "It is my last canister, colonel. I +can't see well." + +Dimly seen figures in the dense smoke were visible here and there some +two hundred yards away, with flutter of reeling battle-flags in the +smoke, while more and more swiftly the wedge of men came on, losing +terribly by the fire of the men at the wall along the lines. + +Cushing stood with the lanyard of the percussion trigger in his hand. +It seems inconceivable, but the two men smiled. Then he cried, "My +God!"--his figure swayed, he held his left hand over a ghastly wound +in his side, and as he reeled pulled the lanyard. He may have seen +the red flash, and then with a bullet through the open mouth fell dead +across the trail of his gun. + +For a moment Penhallow was the only officer of rank near the silent +battery. Where Cushing's two guns came too near the wall, the men moved +away to the sides leaving an unguarded space. Checked everywhere to +right and left, the assailants crowded on to the clump of trees and to +where the Pennsylvania line held the stone wall. Ignorant of the ruin +behind them, the grey mass came on with a rush through the smoke. The +men in blue, losing terribly, fell back from a part of the wall in +confusion--a mere mob--sweeping Webb, Penhallow and others with them, +swearing and furious. Two or three hundred feet back they stopped, a +confused mass. General Webb, Haskell and other officers rallied them. The +red flags gathered thicker, where the small units of many commands stood +fast under the shelter of a portion of the lost wall. Penhallow looked +back and saw the Massachusetts flags--our centre alone had given way. +The flanks of the broken regiments still held the wall and poured in a +murderous fire where the splendid courage of the onset halted, unwilling +to fly, unable to go on. + +Webb, furious, rallied his men, while Penhallow, Haskell and Gibbon +vainly urged an advance. A colour-sergeant ran forward and fell dead. A +corporal caught up the flag and dropped. A Confederate general leaped +over the deserted wall and laid a hand on Cushing's gun. He fell +instantly at the side of the dead captain, as with a sudden roar of fury +the broken Pennsylvanians rolled in a disordered mass of men and officers +against the disorganized valour which held the wall. + +The smoke held--still holds, the secret of how many met the Northern men +at the wall; how long they fought among Cushing's guns, on and over the +wall, no man who came out of it could tell. Penhallow emptied his +revolver and seizing a musket fought the brute battle with the men who +used fists, stones, gun-rammers--a howling mob of blue and grey. And so +the swaying flags fell down under trampling men and the lost wall was +won. The fight was over. Men fell in scores, asking quarter. The flanking +fires had been merciless, and the slope was populous with dead and +wounded men, while far away the smoke half hid the sullen retreat of the +survivors. The prearranged mechanism of war became active. Thousands of +prisoners were being ordered to the rear. Men stood still, gasping, +breathless or dazed. As Penhallow stood breathing hard, from the right +wing, among the long silent dead of Cemetery Hill, arose a wild hurrah. +It gathered volume, rolled down the long line of corps after corps, and +died away among the echoes of the Pennsylvania hills. He looked about him +trying to recover interest. Some one said that Hancock and Gibbon were +wounded. The rush of the _melee_ had carried him far down the track of +the charge, and having no instant duty he sat down, his clothes in +tatters. As he recovered strength, he was aware of General Meade on +horseback with an aide. The general, white and grave, said to Haskell, +"How has it gone here?" + +An officer cried, "They are beaten," showing two flags he held. + +Meade said sharply: "Damn the flags! Are the men gone?" + +"Yes, sir, the attack is over." + +He uncovered, said only, "Thank God!" gave some rapid orders and rode +away beside the death-swath, careful, as Penhallow saw, to keep his horse +off of the thirty scattered flags, many lying under or over the brave who +had fought and lost in this memorable charge. + +Penhallow could have known of the battle only what he had seen, but a few +words from an officer told him that nowhere except at this part of the +line of the Second Corps had the attack been at all fortunate. + +On the wide field of attack our ambulance corps was rescuing the hundreds +of wounded Confederates, many of them buried, helpless, beneath the +bodies of the motionless dead. Two soldiers stood near him derisively +flaunting flags. + +"Quit that," cried the Colonel, "drop them!" The men obeyed. + +"Death captured them--not we," said Penhallow, and saw that he was +speaking to a boyish Confederate lieutenant, who had just dragged himself +limping out of the ghastly heap of dead. + +Touching his forehead in salute, he said, "Thank you, sir. Where shall I +go?" + +"Up there," replied the colonel. "You will be cared for." + +The man limped away followed by Penhallow, who glanced at the torn +Confederate banners lying blood-stained about the wall and beyond it. He +read their labels--Manassas, Chancellorsville, Sharpsburg. One marked +Fredericksburg lay gripped in the hand of a dead sergeant. He crossed the +wall to look for the body of the captain of the battery; men were lifting +it. "My God!--Poor boy!" murmured the colonel, as he looked on the white +face of death. He asked who was the Rebel general who had fallen beside +Cushing. + +"General Armistead," said an officer--"mortally wounded, they say." + +Penhallow turned and went down the slope again. Far away, widely +scattered, he caught glimpses of this rash and gallant attack. He was +aware of that strange complex odour which rises from a battlefield. It +affected him as horrible and as unlike any other unpleasant smell. +Feeling better, he busied himself directing those who were aiding the +wounded. A general officer he did not know said to him, "Stop the +firing from that regiment." + +A number of still excited men of one of the flanking brigades on our +right were firing uselessly at the dimly seen and remote mass of the +enemy. Penhallow went quickly to the right, and as he drew near shouted, +"Stop those men--quit firing!" He raised his hand to call attention to +his order. The firing lessened, and seeing that he was understood he +turned away. At the moment he was not fifty feet from the flanking line, +and had moved far down the slope as one of the final shots rang out. +He felt something like a blow on his right temple, and as he staggered +was aware of the gush of blood down his face. "What fool did that?" he +exclaimed as he reeled and fell. He rose, fell, rose again, and managed +to tie a handkerchief around his head. He stumbled to the wall and lay +down, his head aching. He could go no further. "Queer, that," he +murmured; "they might have seen." He sat up; things around him were +doubled to his view. + +"Are you hit?" said Haskell, who was directing stretcher-bearers and +sending prisoners to the rear. + +"Not badly." He was giddy and in great pain. Then he was aware of the +anxious face of Josiah. + +"My God! you hurt, sir? Come to look for you--can you ride? I fetched +Dixy--mare's killed." + +"I am not badly hurt. Tighten this handkerchief and give me your +arm--I can't ride," + +He arose, and amazed at his weakness, dragged himself down the slope, +through the reforming lines, the thousands of prisoners, the reinforcing +cannon and the wreckage of the hillside. He fell on his couch, and more +at ease began to think, with some difficulty in controlling his thoughts. +At last he said, "I shall be up to-morrow," and lay still, seeing, as the +late afternoon went by, Grey Pine and Ann Penhallow. Then he was aware of +Captain Haskell and a surgeon, who dressed his wound and said, "It was +mere shock--there is no fracture. The ball cut the artery and tore the +scalp. You'll be all right in a day or two." + +Penhallow said, "Please to direct my servant to the Sanitary Commission. +I think my friend, the Rev. Mark Rivers, is with them." + +He slept none. It was early dawn when Rivers came in anxious and +troubled. For the first time in years of acquaintance he found Penhallow +depressed, and amazed because so small a wound made him weak and unable +to think clearly or to give orders. "And it was some stupid boy from our +line," he said. + +His incapacity made Rivers uneasy, and although Penhallow broke out to +his surprise in angry remonstrance, he convinced him at last that he must +return to Grey Pine on sick leave. He asked no question about the army. +Insisting that he was too well to give up his command, nevertheless he +talked much of headache and lack of bodily power. He was, as Rivers saw, +no longer the good-humoured, quiet gentleman, with no thought of self. In +a week he was stronger, but as his watchful friend realized, there was +something mysteriously wrong with his mental and moral mechanism. + +On the day after the battle Penhallow asked to have his wife telegraphed +that he was slightly wounded, and that she must not come to him. Rivers +wrote also a brief and guarded letter to Leila of their early return to +Grey Pine. + +In a vain effort to interest the colonel, he told him of the surrender of +Vicksburg.--He asked where it was and wasn't John there, but somewhat +later became more clear-minded and eager to go home. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +Rivers gathered no comfort from a consultation of surgeons, who talked of +the long-lasting effects of concussion of the brain. Made careful by the +sad change he had observed in Ann Penhallow when last seen, he sent his +telegram for Leila to the care of the post-mistress, and a day later a +brief letter. + +Understanding the mode of address, Mrs. Crocker walked at once to Grey +Pine, and found Leila in the garden. "Where is your aunt?" she asked. + +"Lying down in her room. I got your kind note about the fight last +evening. Is it true? Is the news confirmed?" + +"Yes. There was a terrible battle at Gettysburg. The Rebels were defeated +by General Meade and are retreating." + +"I did not tell Aunt Ann anything. I waited to hear, as I was sure I +would from Uncle James. Is there evil news?" + +"I don't know. Here is a telegram to my care for you from Mr. Rivers. It +must have been delayed--and then came this letter to Mrs. Penhallow from +him." + +"Then--then--there is bad news," she cried as she tore open the telegram +and stood still. + +"What is it?--you know how we all love him." + +"Uncle Jim is wounded--not seriously--and will be here shortly." + +"Oh, but I am sorry--and glad." + +"Yes--yes--I must tell aunt at once. She has not left her room for +two days, and I forbade the maids to talk of the victory until it was +sure--now she must know all. I must tell her at once." + +"Why not get Dr. McGregor?" + +"No--no," she returned with decision. "I shall know best how to +tell--it wants a woman." + +The ruddy, stout post-mistress looked at the tall young woman with sudden +appreciation of her self-command and mental growth. "Maybe you're about +right, but I thought--well, fact is, I've seen of late so many people +just tear open a letter--and go all to pieces." + +Leila smiled. "You don't know my aunt. Now I must go. Oh, this war--this +war! To-morrow will scatter joy and grief over all the land." + +"Yes, I've been near about mobbed to-day. Good-bye." + +The messenger of evil news went straight from the garden path, where the +roses were in unusual abundance. To her surprise she saw her aunt on the +back porch. As Leila hesitated, she said, "I saw Mrs. Crocker from my +window, Leila. She gave you something--a letter--or a telegram. What is +it? I suppose after what I have heard of the Confederates at York and +Carlisle, they may be in Harrisburg by this time and the railroad to the +west cut off. It may be well to know." She spoke rapidly as she came down +the steps to meet her niece. "It is as well James Penhallow is not in +it." + +The two women stood facing one another in one of those immeasurably brief +silences which are to timeless thought as are ages. Her husband safe, +General Lee victorious--some slight look of satisfaction could be seen in +her face--a faint smile, too easily read--and then-- + +"Well, dear, your news?" + +Anger, tenderness, love, pity--all dictated answers. "Aunt Ann, I have +bad news." + +"Of course, dear. It was to be expected. You won't believe me, but I am +sorry for you and for James." + +The face of the tall young woman flushed hot. She had meant to spare +her--to be tender. She said, "General Lee is retreating after losing a +great battle at Gettysburg." + +Her aunt said quickly, "But James Penhallow--he is in Washington?" + +"No, he was in the army--he is wounded--not seriously--and he is coming +home." + +"I might have known it." A great illumination came over her face not +understood by Leila. She was strangely glad for him that he had been in +the field and not in peaceful safety at Washington. With abrupt change of +expression, she added, "Wounded? Not seriously. That isn't like him to +come home for a slight wound. You or Mark Rivers are hiding something." + +"Not I, aunt; but any wound that kept him off duty would be better cared +for here. Lee's defeat leaves him free for a time--I mean at ease--" + +"Don't talk nonsense!" she cried. "What do I care for Lee--or +Meade--or battles! James Penhallow is all the world to me. +Victory!"--she flamed with mounting colour--"it is I am the victor! He +comes back with honour--I have no duties--no country--I have only my +love. Oh, my God! if he had died--if--if--I should have hated!--" She +spoke with harsh vehemence, and of a sudden stopped, and breathing fast +gasped in low-voiced broken tones, "Don't stare at me--I am not a +fool--I am--I am--only the fool of a great love. You don't know what it +means. My God! I have no child--James Penhallow is to me children, +husband--all--everything." She stood still, wide-eyed, staring down the +garden paths, a wonder of yearning tenderness in her face, with Rivers's +letter in her hand. + +"Read your letter, Aunt." + +"Yes--yes--I forgot it." She read it, and said, "It only confirms the +telegram." + +The storm of passionate emotion was over. Leila amazed and fearful of +results--twice seen before--watched her. "You have seen," she said in a +low voice, "the soul of a great love laid bare. May you too some day, my +child, love as I do! Have no fear for me--I see it in your looks. Come +in--I have to see to things--I have to give some orders--there will be +much to do." She was at once quiet, and composedly led the way into the +house, the astonished girl following her. + +In the hall Mrs. Penhallow said, "I fear, dear, I have left too much of +the management of the house to you--of late, I mean. What with the farms +and stables, I am not surprised that things have not been quite as James +would desire. I am going to relieve you a little. I suppose the stables +are all right." + +"They are," returned Leila, feeling hurt. Her aunt had not been in the +kitchen or given an order for nearly a month, and house, farm and +stables, had been by degrees allowed to slip into Leila's well-trained +and competent hands. Meanwhile Ann Penhallow had gradually failed in +health and lost interest in duties which had been to her, as Rivers said, +what social pleasures were to some women. She yielded by degrees and not +without resistance to mere physical weakness, and under the emotional +stress of war, and above all the absence of the man on whom she depended, +had lapsed to McGregor's dismay into a state of mind and body for which +he had no remedy. + +Every physician of large experience must have seen cases of self-created, +unresisted invalidism end with mysterious abruptness and the return of +mental, moral and physical competence, under the influence of some call +upon their sense of duty made by calamity, such as an acute illness in +the household, financial ruin, or the death of a husband. The return of a +wounded man and the need to care for him acted thus upon Ann Penhallow. + +Leila looked on in surprise. Her aunt's astounding indifference to the +results of defeat for her beloved South when she learned of her husband's +injury left the younger woman utterly bewildered. Nothing in her own +nature, as she thought it all over, enabled her to understand it, nor was +her aunt's rapid gain in health and cheerfulness during the next few days +more easy to explain. At first with effort, but very soon with increase +of ability, she gradually became more and more her old self. + +Ann Penhallow spent the remainder of the next day in one of those +household inspections which let no failure in neatness or order escape +attention. James Penhallow's library was to be cleaned and cared for in +a way to distress any man-minded man, while Leila looked on. Had her +aunt's recent look of ill-health represented nothing but the depressing +influence of a year of anxiety? And, if so, why under the distress of a +nearer and more material disaster should she grow so quickly active, +and apparently strong in place of becoming more feeble. She followed +her aunt about the house trying to be helpful, and a little amused at +her return to some of the ways which at times annoyed Penhallow into +positive revolt. As she thought of it, Ann was standing over a battered +army-chest, open and half full of well-worn cavalry uniforms. + +"Really, Leila," she said, "these old army clothes had better be disposed +of--and that shabby smoking-jacket--I have not seen it for years. Why do +men keep their useless, shabby clothes?" + +"I think Uncle Jim wouldn't like those old army uniforms given away, +aunt; and don't you remember how he looked like an old Van Dyke portrait +in that lovely brown velvet jacket?" + +Ann, standing with the much used garment in her hand, let it drop into +the chest, saying, "I really cannot see the use of keeping things as men +love to do--" + +"And women never!" cried Leila, closing the lid of the box, and remarking +that he would like to find things as he left them; and had Aunt Ann +noticed that there were moths about the bear skins. Now a moth has the +power of singularly exciting some women--the diversion proved effectual. + +And still as the week went by Ann seemed to be gaining in strength. + +At lunch, a telegram from Charles Grey, Baltimore, said, "Penhallow here, +doing well. Will return on the 14th, by afternoon train, with Rivers and +servant." + +"Read that, dear--I want you, Leila, to ride to the mills and tell Dr. +McGregor that I will send the carriage for him in time for him to meet +your uncle at the station. I had better not meet him--and there will be +Mark Rivers and Josiah and--but you will see to all that." + +"Certainly, aunt." + +"It will be the day after to-morrow. Be sure that the doctor makes no +mistake. There are two trains--he will be on the four o'clock express." +This was in the manner of her Aunt Ann of former days. "Shall I write it +down?" + +Leila cried, "No," and fled, laughing. + +The next day to Leila's surprise and pleasure her aunt came down to +breakfast and quietly took her place as mistress of the tea-urn. The +talent of common sense as applicable to the lesser social commerce of +life was one of Leila's gifts, and she made no comment on her aunt's +amazing resumption of her old habits. Ann herself felt some inclination +to explain her rapid recovery of health, and said as she took the +long-vacant seat at the breakfast table, "I think, Leila, the doctor's +last tonic has been of use to me--I feel quite like myself." Having thus +anticipated her too sharp-eyed niece's congratulations, Leila's +expression of pleasure came in accordant place. Whereupon they both +smiled across the table, having that delicate appreciation of the needs +of the situation which is rarely at the service of the blundering mind +of man. + +The moment of gentle hypocrisy passed, the mistress of Grey Pine took up +her memoranda for the day, and said with some attempt at being just her +usual self, "I shall walk to Westways after breakfast--Pole needs to be +talked to. The meats have been of his worst lately." Then with a glance +at the paper, "Your uncle's books must be dusted; I quite forgot it; I +will set Susan to work this morning." + +"But," said Leila, "he does hate that, Aunt Ann. The last time she +succeeded in setting together 'Don Juan' and 'St. Thomas a Kempis.'" + +Ann laughed, and said with some of her old sense of humour, "It might do +them both good--dust them yourself." + +"I will," said Leila, liking the task. + +"And when you ride this afternoon, see Mrs. Lamb. The cook tells me +that she hears of that scamp, her son, as in the army--a nice kind of +soldier." A half-dozen other errands were mentioned, and they parted, +Ann adding, "There is no mail to-day." + +They met again at lunch. "It is too bad, Leila, Billy was given the +letters and forgot them and went a-fishing. There was a letter for you +from Mark Rivers about your uncle. Does he think me a child? I read it." + +"You read it, Aunt!" exclaimed Leila astonished at this infraction of +their household law. + +"Of course I read it. I knew it must be about James." Leila made no +reply, but did not like it. + +"Here it is, my dear. I fear James is in a more serious state than I was +led to believe by their first letters. There is also a letter from John +to you." She did not ask to see it, and Leila took both missives and +presently went away to the stables. Even John, as was plain, was +forgotten in her aunt's anxiety in regard to her husband. + +Her many errands over, Leila riding slowly through the lonely wood-roads +read the letters: + +"My Dear Leila," wrote Rivers, "you had better let your aunt know that +the Colonel's wound must have so shocked the brain, though there is no +fracture, as to have left him in a mental state which gives me the utmost +anxiety. You will sadly realize my meaning when you see him. Be careful +how you tell your aunt. + +"Yours truly, + +"MARK RIVERS." + +Here indeed was trouble. Leila's eyes filled and tears fell on the paper. +She rode on deep in thought, and at last securing the message of calamity +in her belt opened John's letter. + +"I write you, dear Leila, from my tent near Vicksburg, this 5th of July. +The prisoners from Pemberton's army are passing as I write. Our men are +giving them bread and tobacco, and there is no least sign of enmity or +triumph. I am pretty well worn out, as the few engineers have been worked +hard and the constant nearness of death in the trenches within five to +one hundred feet of the Rebel lines was a situation to make a man +think--not of course while in immediate danger, but afterwards. I had +some narrow escapes--we all had. But, dear Leila, it has been a splendid +thing to see how this man Grant, with the expressionless face, struck +swiftly one army after another and returned to secure his prey. + +"I cannot even now get a leave of absence, and I am beyond words anxious +to hear about dear Uncle Jim. Just a line from him makes me think he was +to be with General Meade and in that great battle we won. A telegram to +the Engineers' Camp, Vicksburg, will relieve me. + +"It is unlikely, if we go South, that I shall see you for many a day. All +leaves are, I find, denied. War--intense war like this--seems to me to +change men in wonderful ways. It makes some men bad or reckless or +drunkards or hard and cruel; it makes others thoughtful, dutiful and +religious. This is more often the case among the men than you may think +it would be. Certainly it does age a fellow fast. I seem to have passed +many years since I sat with you at West Point and you made me feel how +young I was and how little I had seen of life. It was true, but now I +have seen life at its worst and its best. I have had too the education +of battle, the lessons read by thousands of deaths and all the many +temptations of camp life. I believe, and I can say it to you, I am the +better for it all, and think less and less of the man who was fool enough +to do what with more humility he will surely do once more, if it please +God that he come out of this terrible war alive. + +"When you see me again, you will at least respect my years, for one lives +fast here, and the months seem years and the family Bible a vain record, +as I remember that the statement of births comes after the Apocrypha +which leaves room for doubt."-- + +Leila smiled. "How like him," she murmured. + +"I said months. There are (there were once last week) minutes when one +felt an insolent contempt of death, although the bullets were singing by +like our brave hornets. Is that courage? I used as a boy to wonder how I +would feel in danger. Don't tell, but on going under fire I shiver, and +then am at once in quiet possession of all my capacities, whatever they +be worth. A man drops by my side--and I am surprised; then another--and I +am sure I won't be hit. But I _was_ three weeks ago in my leg! It made me +furious, and I still limp a bit. It was only a nip--a spent bullet. I +wanted to get at that anonymous rascal who did it. + +"Do wire me, and write fully. + +"Yours, +JOHN. + +"P.S. I wonder where Tom McGregor is, and Pole's boy and Joe Grace, and +those Greys who went diverse ways. As you never talk of yourself when you +write those brief letters on notepaper the size of a postage stamp, you +might at least tell me all about these good people in Westways." + +She telegraphed him, "Uncle Jim slightly wounded, is coming home. Will +write. Leila Grey." + +About four in the afternoon of this July 14th Ann Penhallow kissed her +husband as he came up the porch steps. He was leaning heavily on Mark +Rivers's arm. He said, "It is quite a long time, Ann. How long is it?" +Then he shook off Rivers, saying, "I am quite well," and going by his +wife went through the open door, moving like one dazed. He stood still a +moment looking about him, turned back and speaking to his wife said, "I +understand now. At first it seemed strange to me and as if I had never +been here before. Ever feel that way, Ann?" + +"Oh, often, James." No signal of her anguish showed on the gallantly +carried face of the little woman. + +"Quiet, isn't it? When was it I was hit? It was--wasn't it in May? Rivers +says it was July--I do not like contradiction." His appreciation of time +and recognition of locality were alike disordered, as Rivers had observed +with distress and a too constant desire to set him right. With better +appreciation of his condition, Ann accepted his statement. + +"Yes--yes, of course, dear--it is just so." + +"I knew you would understand me. I should like to go to bed--I want +Josiah--no one else." + +"Yes, dear," and this above all else made clear to the unhappy little +lady how far was the sturdy soldier who had left her from the broken man +in undress uniform who clung to the rail, as he went slowly up the +stairway with his servant. In the hall he had seen Leila, but gave her no +word, not even his habitual smile of recognition. + +Ann stared after them a moment, motioned Rivers away with uplifted hand, +and hastening into the library sat down and wept like a child. She had +been unprepared for the change in his appearance and ways. More closely +observant, Leila saw that the lines of decisiveness were gone, the +humorous circles about the mouth and eyes, as it were, flattened out, and +that the whole face, with the lips a little languidly parted, had become +expressionless. It was many days before she could see the altered visage +without emotion, or talk of him to her aunt with any of the amazing +hopefulness with which the older woman dwelt on her husband's intervals +of resemblance to his former self. + +He would not ride or enter the stables, but his life was otherwise a +childlike resumption of his ordinary habits, except that when annoyed by +Ann's too obvious anxiety or excess of carefulness, he became irritable +at times and even violent in language. He so plainly preferred Leila's +company in his short walks as to make the wife jealous and vexed that she +was not wanted during every minute of his altered life. He read no books +as of old, but would have Leila read to him the war news until he fell +asleep, when she quietly slipped away. + +Mark Rivers resumed his duties for a time, unwilling to abandon these +dear friends for whom McGregor, puzzled and perplexed, had no word of +consolation, except the assurance that his condition did not grow worse. + +At times Penhallow was dimly aware of his state; at others he resented +any effort to control him and was so angry when the doctor proposed a +consultation that the idea was too easily given up, for always in this +as in everything his wife agreed with him and indulged him as women +indulge a sick child. The village grieved for the Colonel who rode no +more through Westways with a gay word of greeting for all he met. The +iron-mills were busy. The great guns tested on the meadows now and then +shook the panes in the western windows of Grey Pine. They no longer +disturbed Ann Penhallow. The war went its thunderous way unheeded by her. +Unendingly hopeful, the oppression of disaster seemed only to confirm and +strengthen her finest qualities. Like the pine-tree winning vigour from +its rock-clasped roots, she gathered such hardening strength of soul and +body from his condition as the more happy years had never put at her +command. + +"No letters to-day, Miss Leila," said the post-mistress standing beside +the younger woman's horse. "Just only them papers with their lists of +killed and wounded." + +"I must always be Leila, not Miss Leila," said the horsewoman. + +"Well--well--I like that better. How's the Colonel?" + +"Much the same--certainly no worse. It is wonderful how my aunt stands +it." + +"Don't you notice, Leila, how she has kind of softened? Me and Joe was +talking of it yesterday. She always was good, but folks did use to say +she was sort of hard and--positive. Now, she's kind of gentled--noticed +that?" + +"Yes, I have noticed it; but I must go. Give me the papers. You love a +talk." + +"There's no news of John?" + +"None of late. He is with General Grant--but where we do not know." + +"It's right pleasant to have Josiah back. Lord! but he's strong on war +stories--ought to hear him. He was always good at stories." + +"Yes, I suppose so. Good-bye." + +James Penhallow sat on the back porch in the after luncheon hour to get +with the freshness of October what sunshine the westerning sun was +sifting through the red and gold of the maples beyond the garden walls. +He was in the undress uniform of the artillery, and still wore the +trefoil of the Second Corps. An effort by Ann to remove his soiled army +garb and substitute his lay dress caused an outbreak of anger which left +him speechless and feeble, and her in an agony of regretful penitence. +Josiah, wiser than she, ventured to tell her what had happened once +before when his badge of the glorious Second Corps had been missing. +"After all, what does it matter?" she said to herself, and made no effort +to repair the ragged bullet tear South Mountain left in his jacket, and +in which he had at his worst times such childlike pride as in another and +well-known general had once amused him. + +He was just now in one of his best conditions and was clearly enjoying +the pipe he used but rarely. Ann at his feet on the porch-step read aloud +to him with indifference to all but the man she now and then looked up to +with the loving tenderness his brief betterment fed with illusory hope. + +"What's that, Ann?" he exclaimed; "Grant at Chattanooga! That's John's +ideal General. Didn't he write about him at--where was it? Oh! Belmont." + +"Yes, after Belmont, James." + +"When does Mark Rivers go back?" + +"To-morrow. He is always so out of spirits here that I am really relieved +when he returns to the Sanitary Commission." He made no reply, and she +continued her reading. + +"Isn't that Leila with Rivers, Ann?" + +"Yes. He likes to walk with her." + +"So would any man." A faint smile--very rare of late--showed in her +pleased upward look at the face--the changed face--she loved. + +The pair of whom they spoke were lost to view in the forest. + +"And you are glad to go?" said Leila to Rivers. + +"Yes, I am. I can hardly say glad, but now that your uncle is, so to +speak, lost to me and your aunt absorbed in her one task and the duties +she has taken up again, our pleasant Dante lessons are set aside, and +what is there left of the old intellectual life which is gone--gone?" + +"But," said Leila gaily, "you have the church and my humble society. Why, +you are really learning to walk, as you did not until of late." + +Making no reply to her personal remark, he was silent for a moment, and +then said with slow articulation and to her surprise, for he rarely spoke +of himself, "Nine years ago I came here, a man broken in mind and body. +This life and these dear friends have made me as strong as I can ever +hope to be. But the rest--the rest. I know what power God has given me +to bring souls to him. I can influence men--the lowly and--well, others, +as few can. I cannot live in cities--I dare not risk the failure in +health; and yet, I want--I want a larger field. I found it when your +aunt's liberality sent me to the army. There in my poor way I can serve +my country--and that is much to me." He was silent. + +"But," she said, "is there not work enough here? and the war cannot last +much longer. Don't think you must ever leave us." + +"I shall--I must. There are limitations I cannot talk of even--above all +to you. Your aunt knows this--and your uncle did--long ago." + +"What limitations?" she asked rashly. + +"You are the last person, Leila Grey, to whom I could speak of them. I +have said too much, but"--and he paused--"I am tired--I will leave you to +finish your walk." The great beautiful eyes turned on him for a moment. +"Oh, my God!" he exclaimed, and reproaching his brief human weakness left +her abruptly, walking slowly away through the drifting red and gold of +leaves rocking in air as they sauntered to earth, and was at last lost to +view in the woodland. + +Leila stood still, puzzled and sorrowful, as she watched the tall +stooping form. "How old he looks," she murmured. "What did he mean? I +must ask Aunt Ann." But she never did, feeling that what he had said was +something like a cautiously hinted confession. In the early morning he +was gone again to the field of war. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +Through the winter of 1863-4 at Grey Pine things remained unaltered, and +McGregor concluded that there was no hope for happier change. Rare +letters came from John Penhallow to his aunt, who sent no replies, and to +Leila, who wrote impersonal letters, as did John. Once he wrote that his +uncle might like to know, that after that pontoon business in the night +at Chattanooga and General Farrar Smith's brilliant action, he, John +Penhallow, was to be addressed as _Captain_. As the war went on, he was +across the Rapidan with Grant in May. + +At Grey Pine after breakfast the windows and both doors of the hall were +open to let the western breezes enter. They lingered in the garden to +stir the mothers of unborn flowers and swept through the hall, bearing as +they passed some gentle intimation of the ending of a cold spring. + +The mail had been given to the colonel, as he insisted it should be. With +some appearance of interest he said, "From Mark, for you, Ann." + +"None for me, Uncle?" asked Leila, as she went around the table. "Let me +help you. How many there are." She captured her own share, and for a +moment stood curious as she sorted the mail. "Army trash, Uncle! What a +lot of paper is needed to carry on war! Here is one--I have seen him +before--he is marked 'Respectfully referred.'" + +The colonel released a smile, which stirred Ann like a pleasant memory, +and fed one of the little hopes she was ever on the watch to find. "What +is your letter, Ann?" he asked. + +Looking up she replied, "It is only to acknowledge receipt of my draft. +He is in Washington. I gather that he does not mean to come back until +the war is over." "Over!" she thought; "Lee is not Pemberton, as Grant +will learn." It was of more moment to her that Penhallow was easier to +interest, and ate as he used to do. + +"Is your letter from John, Leila?" he said. "I don't like concealments." + +"But, I didn't conceal anything!" + +"Don't contradict me!" + +"No, sir." + +Ann's face grew watchful, fearing one of the outbreaks which left him +weak and querulous. + +"Well," said the colonel, "read us John's letter. There is as much fuss +about it as if it were a love-letter." + +There is no way as yet discovered to victoriously suppress a blush, but +time--a little fraction of time--is helpful, and there are ways of hiding +what cannot be conquered. The letter fell on the floor, and being +recovered was opened and read with a certain something in the voice which +caused Ann critically to use her eyes. + +"DEAR LEILA: I am just now with the Second Corps, but where you will know +in a week; now I must not say.--" + +"What's the date?" asked Penhallow. + +"There is none." + +"Look at the envelope." + +"I tore it up, sir." + +"Never throw away an envelope until you have read the letter." Ann looked +pleased--that was James Penhallow, his old self. Leila read on. + +"I am glad to be under canvas, and you know my faith in General Grant. + +"Tell Aunt Ann I have had three servants in two weeks. These newly freed +blacks are like mere children and quite useless, or else--well--one was +brutal to my horse. I sometimes wish Josiah was twins and I had one of +him.--" + +"What's that?" asked Penhallow. "Twins--I don't understand." + +"He wishes he had a servant like Josiah, Uncle." + +"Well, let him go to John," said the Colonel, with something of his old +positive manner. + +"But you would miss him, James." + +"I will not," he returned, and then--"What else is there?" + +"Oh--nothing--except that he will write again soon, and that he met Mr. +Rivers in Washington. That is all--a very unsatisfactory letter." + +For a day or two the colonel said no more of Josiah, and then asked if +he had gone, and was so obviously annoyed that Ann gave way as usual +and talked of her husband's wish to Josiah. The old life of Westways +and Grey Pine was over, and Josiah was allowed by Ann to do so little +for Penhallow that the black was not ill-pleased to leave home again for +the army life and to be with the man whom as a lad he had trusted and +who had helped him in a day of peril. + +No one thought of any need for a pass. He was amply supplied with money +and bade them good-bye. He put what he required in a knapsack, and +leaving Westways for the second time and with a lighter heart, set off +afoot to catch the train at Westways Crossing. The old slave was thus +put upon a way which was to lead to renewed and unpleasant acquaintance +with one of the minor characters of my story. + +Tired of unaccustomed idleness Josiah grinned as he went across country +thinking of the directions he had received from Leila of how he was to +find John Penhallow. + +"You know he is captain of engineers, Josiah. Now how are you going to +find him? An army is as big as a great city, and in motion, too." + +"Well, missy," said Josiah, "the way I'll find him is the way dog Caesar +finds you in the woods." He would hear no more and left her. + +Josiah knew many people in Washington, black and white, and after some +disappointments went with a lot of remounts for cavalry to join the +army in the Wilderness, where he served variously with the army teams. +On an afternoon late in May, 1864, he strode on, passing by the long +lines of marching men who filled the roadways on their way to the +crossing of the North Anna River. He had been chaffed, misdirected, +laughed at or civilly treated, as he questioned men about the engineers. +He took it all with good-humour. About three, he came near to a house +on the wayside, where a halt had been ordered to give the men a brief +rest. The soldiers dust-grey and thirsty scattered over the clearing or +lay in the shadow of the scrub oaks. Some thronged about a well or a +wayside spring, or draining their canteens caught a brief joy from the +lighted pipe so dear to the soldier. Josiah looked about him, and knew +the log-cabins some distance away from the better house to have been the +slave-quarters. Beyond them was a better built log-house. Apparently all +were deserted--men, cattle and horses, were gone. He lay down a little +way from the road and listened to the talk of the men seated in front of +him. He heard a private say, "A halt is as bad as a march, the dust is a +foot deep, and what between flies and mosquitoes, they're as bad as the +Rebs." + +"Ah!" said an old corporal, "just you wait a bit. These are only a +skirmish line. July and Chickahominy mosquitoes will get you when your +baccy's out." + +"It's out now." + +Josiah was eager to question some one and was aware of the value of +tobacco as a social solvent. He said, "I've got some baccy, corporal." + +The men in front of him turned. "For sale--how much?" + +"No," said Josiah. "My pouch is full. Help yourselves." + +This liberal contribution was warmly appreciated, and the private, who +was the son of a New York banker, interested in the black man, asked, +"What are you doing in this big circus?" It was the opening for which +Josiah waited. + +"Looking for an engineer-captain." + +The corporal said, "Well, like enough he'll be at the bridge of the North +Anna--but the engineers are here, there and anywhere. What is his name?" + +"Thank you, sir. My master is Captain Penhallow." + +"Well, good luck to you." + +"Take another pipe load," returned Josiah, grateful for the unusual +interest. + +"Thank you," said the private, "with pleasure. Tobacco is as scarce as +hen's teeth." + +"That's so. Who's that officer on the big horse? He's a rider whoever he +is." + +"That's the ring-master of this show," laughed the private. + +"Not General Grant!" + +"Yes." Josiah considered him with interest. + +There was of a sudden some disturbance about the larger of the more +remote cabins; a soldier ran out followed by a screaming young woman. +Her wild cries attracted attention to the man, who was at once caught +and held while he vainly protested. The men about Josiah sat up or got +on their feet. The young woman ran here and there among the groups of +soldiers like one distracted. At last, near the larger house at the +roadside she fell on her knees and rocked backwards and forwards sobbing. +Josiah at a distance saw only that a soldier had been caught trying to +escape notice as a young woman followed him out of the house. It was too +well understood by the angry men who crowded around the captive. + +The general said to his staff, "Wait here, gentlemen." He rode through +the crowd of soldiers, saying, "Keep back, my men; keep away--all of +you." Then he dismounted and walked to where the girl--she was hardly +more--still knelt wailing and beating the air with uplifted hands. "Stand +up, my good girl, and tell me what is wrong." + +The voice was low and of a certain gentleness, rarely rising even in +moments of peril. She stood up, "I can't--I can't--let me go--I want to +die!" + +The figure, still slight of build in those days, bent over her pitiful. +"I am General Grant. Look up at me. There shall be justice done, but I +must know." + +She looked up a moment at the kind grave face, then with bent head and +hands over her eyes she sobbed out what none but the general could hear. +His voice grew even more distinctly soft as touching her shoulder he +said, "Look at that man. Oh, bring him near--nearer. Now, be sure, is +that the man? Look again! I must be certain." + +With a quick motion she pushed his hand from her shoulder as she stood, +and pointing to the brute held by two soldiers cried, "That's him--oh, my +God! Take him away--kill him. Le' me go. Don't you keep me." She looked +about like some hopelessly trapped, wild-eyed animal. + +"You may go, of course," said the low-voiced man. "I will set a guard +over your house." + +"Don't want no Yankee guard--le' me go--I've got nothin' to guard--I want +to die." She darted away and through the parting groups of men who were +clear enough about what they knew had happened and what should be done. + +The dark grey eyes of the General followed her flight for a pitying +instant. Then he remounted, and said to the scared captive, "What have +you got to say?" + +"It's all a lie." + +The general's face grew stern. He turned and asked for an officer of the +Provost Guard. A captain rode up and saluted. "I have no time to lose in +trying this scoundrel. We can't take along the only witness." He +hesitated a moment. "Let your men tie him to a tree near the road. Let +two of the guard watch him until the rear has gone by. Put a paper on his +breast--make his crime clear, clear." He said a word or two more to the +officer, and then "put on it, '_Left to the justice of General Lee_.'" + +"Is that all, sir?" said the amazed officer. + +"No--put below, '_U.S. Grant_.' The girl will tell her story. When the +cavalry pass, leave him. Now, gentlemen, the men have had a rest, let us +ride on." + +Josiah a hundred feet away heard, "Fall in--fall in." The tired soldiers +rose reluctant and the long line tramped away. Josiah interested sat +still and saw them go by under the dust-laden air. The girl had gone past +her home and into the woods. The guards curiously watched by the marching +men passed near Josiah with their prisoner and busied themselves with +looking among the hazel, scrub oak and sassafras for a large enough tree +near to the road. As they went by, he saw the man. + +"My God!" he exclaimed, "it's Peter Lamb." He moved away and lay down +well hidden in the brush. It was a very simple mind which considered this +meeting with the only being the black man hated. The unusual never +appealed to him as it would have done to a more imaginative person. The +coming thus on his enemy was only what he had angrily predicted when he +had Peter in his power and had said to him that some day God would punish +him. It had come true. + +The men who had arrested Peter and were near enough to hear the brief +sentence, understood it, and being eagerly questioned soon spread among +the moving ranks the story of the crime and this unexampled punishment. +It was plain to Josiah, but what was to follow he did not know, as he +rose, lingered about, and following the Provost's party considered the +wonderful fact of his fulfilled prediction. The coincidence of being +himself present did not cause the surprise which what we call +coincidences awaken in minds which crave explanations of the uncommon. +It was just what was sure to happen somehow, some day, when God settled +Josiah's personal account with a wicked man. He had, however, an urgent +curiosity to see how it would end and a remainder of far-descended +savagery in the wish to let his one enemy know that he was a witness +of his punishment. Thinking thus, Josiah went through the wayside scrub +to see how the guard would dispose of their prisoner. + +The man who had sinned was presently tied to a tree facing the road. His +hands were securely tied behind it, and his feet as rudely dealt with. +He said no word as they pinned the label on his breast. Then the two +guards sat down between Peter and the roadway. Men of the passing +brigades asked them questions. They replied briefly and smoked with +entire unconcern as to their prisoner, or speculated in regard to what +the Rebs would say or do to him. The mosquitoes tormented him, and once +he shuddered when one of the guards guessed that perhaps the girl would +come back and see him tied up. The story of Grant's unusual punishment +was told over and over to men as the regiments went by. Now and then +soldiers left the ranks to read the sentence of what must mean death. +Some as they read were as silent as the doomed wretch; others laughed or +cursed him for dishonouring the army in which this one crime was almost +unknown. A sergeant tore the corps mark from his coat, and still he said +no word. The long-drawn array went on and on; the evening shadows +lengthened; miles of wagon trains rumbled by; whips cracked over mules; +the cavalry guard bringing up the rear was lost in the dust left by +tramping thousands; the setting sun shone through it ruddy; and last came +the squadron net of the Provost-marshal gathering in the stragglers. +Tired men were helped by a grip on the stirrup leather. The lazy +loiterers were urged forward with language unquotable, the mildest being +"darned coffee-coolers." At last, all had gone. + +Josiah rose from his hiding place and listened as the clank of steel and +the sound of hurried horsemen died away. No other noises broke the +twilight stillness. He walked back to the roadside, and stood before the +pinioned and now lonely man. "You're caught at last, Peter Lamb." + +"Oh, Lord!" cried the captive. "It's Josiah. For God's sake, let me +loose." + +"Reckon I won't," said Josiah. + +"I'm in agony--my arms--I shall die--and I am innocent. I did not do +anything. Won't you help me?" + +"No--the Rebs will come and hang you." + +The man's cunning awoke. He said the one thing, made the one plea which, +as he spoke, troubled Josiah's decision. "Is the Squire alive?" + +"Why shouldn't he be alive?" asked Josiah, surprised. + +"Oh, I saw in a paper that he was wounded at Gettysburg. Now, Josiah, if +he was here--if he was to know you left me to die." + +Josiah was uncertain what he would have done. His simple-minded view of +things was disturbed, and his tendency to be forgiving kindly assisted to +give potency to the appeal. He said, "I won't set you free, but I'll do +this much," and he tore the paper from Peter's breast, saying, "You'll +get off with some lie when the Rebs come." Then he turned and walked +away, tearing up the death warrant and hearing the wild pleas of the +painfully bound man. + +The night had come, but save for the faintly heard complaint of some +far-distant dog, there was nothing to break the quiet of the deserted +land which lay between the two armies. Having torn to pieces and +carefully scattered the bits of paper, Josiah, who while doing one thing +could not think of another, began to reflect on what he had done. He had +been too long in servitude not to respect authority. If any one knew--but +no one could know. He himself had said that what had come upon Lamb was a +judgment--the act of one who had said, "I will repay." It troubled a mind +whose machinery was of childlike incapacity to deal with problems +involving the moral aspects of conduct. Perhaps this had been a chance to +give Lamb an opportunity to repent by setting him free; but there had +already been interference with the judgment of God. More personally +material events relieved the black from responsibility. His quick ear +caught the sound of troopers, the sharp notes of steel clinking; he had +no mind to be picked up by the enemy's horse, and dismissing all other +considerations he took to the woods and walked rapidly away. Late in the +evening he crossed the North Anna with a train of wagons, as driver of an +unruly mule team, one of which had rewarded his driver in kind for brutal +use of the whip and perverted English. The man groaning in the wagon +informed Josiah concerning mules and their ways. After a day or two he +was pleased to get back on his legs, for when bullets were not flying the +army life was full of interest. A man who could cook well, shave an +officer or shoe a horse, never lacked the friends of an hour; and too, +his unfailing good-humour was always helpful. An officer of the line +would have been easy to find, but the engineers were continually in +motion and hard to locate. He got no news of John Penhallow until the +29th of May, when he came on General Wilson's cavalry division left on +the north side of the Pamunkey River to cover the crossing of the trains. +These troopers were rather particular about straggling negroes, and +Josiah sharply questioned told the simple truth as he moved toward the +bridge, answering the questions of a young officer. A horse tied to a +sapling at the roadside for reasons unknown kicked the passing cavalry +man's horse. The officer moved on swearing a very original mixture of +the over-ripe English of armies. Swearing was a highly cultivated +accomplishment in the cavalry; no infantry profanity approached it in +originality. The officer occupied with his uneasy horse dropped Josiah +as he rode on. A small, dark-skinned negro, rather neatly dressed, spoke +to Josiah in the dialect of the Southern slave, which I shall not try to +put on paper. He spoke reflectively and as if from long consideration of +the subject, entering at once into the intimacies of a relation with the +man of his own colour. + +"That horse is the meanest I ever saw--I know him." + +"He's near thoroughbred," said Josiah, "and been badly handled, I +reckon. It's no good cussin' horses or mules--a good horseman don't ever +do it--horses know." + +"Well, the officer that rides that horse now is about the only man can +ride him. That horse pretty nearly killed one of my general's staff. He +sold him mighty sudden." + +"Who's your General?" queries Josiah. + +"Why, General Grant--I'm his headquarter man--they call me +Bill--everybody knows me." + +He rose at once in Josiah's estimation. "Who owns that horse?" asked +Josiah. "I'd like well to handle his beast." + +"He's an engineer-officer, name of Penhallow. He's down yonder somewhere +about that pontoon bridge. I'm left here to hunt up a headquarter wagon." + +"Penhallow!" exclaimed Josiah, delighted. "Why, I'm down here to be his +servant." + +"Well, let's go to the bridge. You'll get a chance to cross after the +wagons get over. I've just found mine." They moved to one side and sat +down. "That's Wilson's cavalry on guard. Worst dust I ever saw. Infantry +dust's bad, but cavalry dust don't ever settle. The Ninth Corps's gone +over. There come the wagons." With cracking of whip and imprecations the +wagons went over the swaying pontoons. Bill left him, and Josiah waited +to cross behind the wagons. + +On the bridge midway, a young officer in the dark dress and black-striped +pantaloons of the engineers moved beside the teams anxiously observing +some loosened flooring. A wagon wheel gave way, and the wagon lurching +over struck the officer, who fell into the muddy water of the Pamunkey. +Always amused at an officer's mishap, cavalry men and drivers laughed. +The young man struck out for the farther shore, and came on to a shelving +slope of slimy mud, and was vainly struggling to get a footing when an +officer ran down the bank and gave him a needed hand. Thus aided, +Penhallow gained firm ground. With a look of disgust at his condition, as +he faced the laughing troopers he said, with his somewhat formal way, "To +whom am I indebted?" + +"Roland Blake is my name. Isn't it Captain Penhallow of the engineers?" + +"Yes, well disguised with Rebel mud. What a mess! But, by George! not +worse than you when I first saw you." + +"Where was it?" asked Blake. + +"I can give a good guess. You were quite as lovely as Mr. Penhallow." It +was a third officer who spoke. "By the bye," he added, "as Blake doesn't +present me, I am Philip Francis." + +"I can't even offer to shake hands," returned Penhallow, laughing, as he +scraped the flakes of mud from his face. "I saw you both at the Bloody +Angle. I think I could describe you." + +"Don't," said Francis. + +"Some people are modest," said Blake. "I think you will soon dry to dust +in this sun. I have offered myself that consolation before. It's the only +certainty in this land of the unexpected." + +"The wagons are over; here comes the guard," said Francis. "It's our +beastly business now. Call up the men, Roland." + +"Provost duty, I suppose," said Penhallow. "I prefer my mud." + +"Yes," growled Francis, "human scavengers--army police. I'm out of it +this week, thank Heaven." + +The last wagon came creaking over the bridge, the long line of cavalry +trotted after them, the Provost Guard mounted to fall in at the rear and +gather in the stragglers. + +"Sorry I can't give you a mount," said Blake, as he turned to recross the +bridge. + +"Thank you, I have a horse on the other side." As he spoke a breeze +stirred the dead atmosphere and shook down from the trees their gathered +load of dust. + +Francis said, "It's half of Virginia!" + +Blake murmured, "Dust to dust--a queer reminder." + +"Oh, shut up!" cried Francis. + +The young engineer laughed and said to himself, "If Aunt Ann could see +me. It's like being tarred and feathered. See you soon again, I hope, Mr. +Blake. I am deep in your debt." They passed out of sight. No one remained +but the bridge-guard. + +The engineer sat down and devoted his entire energies to the difficult +task of pulling off boots full of mud and water. Meanwhile as the +provost-officers rode back over the pontoons Francis said, "I remember +that man, Penhallow, at the Bloody Angle. He was the only man I saw who +wasn't fight-crazy, he insisted on my going to the rear. You know I was +bleeding like a stuck pig. It was between the two attacks. I said, 'Oh, +go to H---!' He said, 'There is no need to go far.' I am sure he did not +remember me. A rather cool hand--West Point, of course." + +"What struck me," said Blake, "was that he did not swear." + +"Then," said Francis, "he is the only man in the army who would have +failed to damn those grinning troopers." + +"Except Grant," said Blake. + +"So they say.--It's hard to believe, but I suppose the Staff knows. +Wonder if Lee swears. Two army commanders who don't swear? It's +incredible!" + +As Penhallow, left alone, tugged at a reluctant boot, he heard, "Good +Lord! Master John, that's my business." + +He looked up to seize Josiah by the hand, exclaiming, "How did you get +here?--I am glad to see you. Pull off this boot. How are they all?" + +"The Colonel he sent me." + +"Indeed! How is he? I've not heard for a month." + +"He's bad, Master John, bad--kind of forgets things--and swears." + +"That's strange for him." + +"The doctors they can't seem to make it out. He hasn't put a leg over a +horse, not since he was wounded." Evidently this was for Josiah the most +serious evidence of change from former health. + +"How is Aunt Ann?" + +Tugging at the boots Josiah answered, "She's just a wonder--and Miss +Leila, she's just as pretty as a pansy." + +Penhallow smiled; it left a large choice to the imagination. +"Pansy--pansy--why is she like a pansy, Josiah?" + +"Well, Master John, it's because she's so many kinds of pretty. You see +I used to raise pansies. That boot's a tough one." + +"Have you any letters for me?" + +"No, sir. They said I wasn't as sure as the army-post. Got a note +from Dr. McGregor in my sack. Hadn't I better get your horse over the +bridge--I liked his looks, and I asked a man named Bill who owned that +horse. He said you did, and that's how I found you. He said that horse +was a bad one. He said he was called 'Hoodoo.' That's unlucky!" + +"Yes, he's mine, Josiah. You would like to change his name?" + +"Yes, sir, I would. This boot's the worst!" + +Penhallow laughed. "That horse, Josiah, has every virtue a horse ought to +have and every vice he ought not to have. He'll be as good as Aunt Ann +one day, and as mean and bad as Peter Lamb the next day. Halloa there, +guard! let my man cross over." + +Hoodoo came quietly, and as Penhallow walked his horse, Josiah related +the village news, and then more and more plainly the captain gathered +some clear idea of his uncle's condition and of the influence the younger +woman was exerting on a household over which hung the feeling of +inexorable doom. As he read McGregor's letter he knew too well that were +he with them he could be of no practical use. + +The next few days John Penhallow was kept busy, and on June 2nd having to +report with some sketch-maps he found the headquarters at Bethesda +Church. The pews had been taken out and set under trees. The staff was +scattered about at ease. General Grant, to John's amusement, was petting +a stray kitten with one hand and writing despatches with the other. At +last he began to talk with members of the Christian Commission about +their work. Among them John was aware of Mark Rivers. A few minutes later +he had his chance and took the clergyman away to the tents of the +engineers for a long and disheartening talk of home. They met no more for +many days, and soon he was too busy to think of asking the leave of +absence he so much desired. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + + +The effort to crush Lee's army by a frontal attack led to the disastrous +defeat of Cold Harbor, and Grant who was never personally routed resolved +to throw his army south of the James River. It involved a concealed night +march, while his lines were in many places but thirty to one hundred feet +from the watchful Confederates. The utmost secrecy was used in regard to +the bold movement intended, but preparations for it demanded frequent +reconnaissances and map-sketching on the part of the engineers. A night +of map-making after a long day in the saddle left John Penhallow on June +6th a weary man lying on his camp-bed too tired to sleep. He heard Blake +ask, "Are you at home, Penhallow?" Few men would have been as welcome as +the serious-minded New England captain who had met Penhallow from time to +time since the engineer's mud-bath in the Pamunkey River. + +"Glad to get you by yourself," said Blake. "You look used up. Do keep +quiet!" + +"I will, but sit down and take a pipe. Coffee, Josiah!" he called out. +"I am quite too popular by reason of Josiah's amazing ability to forage. +If the Headquarters are within reach, he and Bill--that's the general's +man--hunt together. The results are surprising! But I learned long ago +from my uncle, Colonel Penhallow, that in the army it is well to ask +no unnecessary questions. My man is very intelligent, and as I keep him +in tobacco and greenbacks, I sometimes fancy that Headquarters does not +always get the best out of the raids of these two contrabands." + +"I have profited by it, Penhallow. I have personal memories of that +young roast pig, I think your man called it a shoat. Your corps must +have caught it hard these last days. I suppose we are in for something +unusual. You are the only man I know who doesn't grumble. Francis says +it's as natural to the beast called an army as barking is to a dog." + +"Of course, the habit is stupid, Blake. I mean the constant growl about +the unavoidable discomforts of war; but this last week has got me near +the growling point. I have had two ague chills and quinine enough to ring +chimes in my head. I haven't had a decent wash for a week, and really war +is a disgustingly dirty business. You don't realize that in history, in +fiction, or in pictures. It's filthy! Oh, you may laugh!" + +"Who could help laughing?" + +"I can to-day. To-morrow I shall grin at it all, but just now I am half +dead. What with laying corduroys and bridging creeks, to be burnt up next +day, and Chickahominy flies--oh, Lord! If there is nothing else on hand +in the way of copies of maps, some general like Barnard has an insane +curiosity to reconnoitre. Then the Rebs wake up--and amuse themselves." + +Blake laughed. "You are getting pretty near to that growl." + +"Am I? I have more than impossible demands to bother me. What with some +despondent letters--I told you about my uncle's wound and the results, I +should have a fierce attack of home-sickness if I had leisure to think at +all." + +Blake had found in Penhallow much that he liked and qualities which were +responsive to his own high ideal of the man and the soldier. He looked +him over as the young engineer lay on his camp-bed. "Get anything but +home-sick, Penhallow! I get faint fits of it. The quinine of 'Get up, +captain, and put out those pickets' dismisses it, or bullets. Lord, but +we have had them in over-doses of late. Francis has been hit twice but +not seriously. He says that Lee is an irregular practitioner. It is +strange that some men are hit in every skirmish; it would bleed the +courage out of me." + +"Would it? I have had two flesh wounds. They made me furiously angry. You +were speaking of Lee--my uncle greatly admired him. I should like to know +more about him. I had a little chance when we were trying to arrange a +truce to care for the wounded. You remember it failed, but I had a few +minute's talk with a Rebel captain. He liked it when I told him how much +we admired his general. That led him to talk, and among other things he +told me that Lee had no sense of humour and I gathered was a man rather +difficult of approach." + +"He might apply to Grant for the rest of his qualities," said Blake. "He +would get it; but what made you ask about sense of the humorous? I have +too little, Francis too much." + +"Oh," laughed Penhallow, "from saint to sinner it is a good +medicine--even for home-sickness." + +"And the desperate malady of love," returned Blake. "I shall not venture +to diagnose your need. How is that?" + +"I?--nonsense," laughed the engineer. "But seriously, Blake, about +home-sickness; one of my best men has it badly--not the mild malady +you and I may have." + +"You are quite right. It accounts for some desertions--not to the enemy, +of course. I talked lately of this condition to a Dr. McGregor--" + +"McGregor!" returned Penhallow, sitting up. "Where is he? I'd like to see +him--an old comrade." + +"He is with our brigade." + +"Tell him to look me up. The engineers are easily found just now. He was +an old schoolmate." + +"I'll tell him. By the way, Penhallow, when asking for my mail to-day, I +persuaded the post-master to give me your letters. Don't mind me--you +will want to read them--quite a batch of them." + +"Oh, they can wait. Don't go. Ah! here's Josiah with coffee." + +"How it does set a fellow up, Penhallow. Another cup, please. I had to +wait a long time for our letters and yours. Really that place was more +tragic than a battlefield." + +"Why so? I send Josiah for my mail." + +"Oh, there were three cold-blooded men-machines returning letters. I +watched them marking the letters--'not found'--'missing'--and so on." + +"Killed, I suppose--or prisoners." + +"Yes, awful, indeed--most sorrowful! Imagine it! Others were forwarding +letters--heaps of them--from men who may be dead. You know how apt men +are to write letters before a battle." + +"I wait till it is over," said Penhallow. + +"That post-office gave me a fit of craving for home and peace." + +"Home-sickness! What, you, Blake!" + +"Oh, that worst kind; home-sickness for a home when you have no home. I +wonder if in that other world we shall be home-sick for this." + +"That depends. Ah! here comes a reminder that we are in this world just +now--and just as we have begun one of our real talks." + +An orderly appeared with a note. Penhallow read it. He was on his feet at +once. "Saddle Hoodoo, Josiah. I must go. Come soon again, Blake. We have +had a good talk--or a bit of one." + +At four in the morning of June 14th, when John Penhallow with a group of +older engineers looked across the twenty-one hundred feet of the James +River they were to bridge, he realized the courage and capacity of the +soldier who had so completely deceived his wary antagonist. Before eleven +that night a hundred pontoons stayed by barges bridged the wide stream +from shore to shore. Already the Second Corps under Hancock had been +hastily ferried over the river. The work on the bridge had been hard, and +the young Captain had had neither food nor rest. Late at night, the work +being over, he recrossed the bridge, and after a hasty meal lay down on +the bluff above the James with others of his Corps and slept the uneasy +sleep of an overtired man. At dawn he was awakened by the multiple noises +of an army moving on the low-lying meadows below the bluff. Refreshed and +free from any demand on his time, he breakfasted at ease, and lighting +his pipe was at once deeply interested in what he saw. As he looked about +him, he was aware of General Grant standing alone on the higher ground. +He saw the general throw away his cigar and with hands clasped behind him +remain watching in rapt silence the scene below him. "I wonder," thought +Penhallow, "of what he is thinking." The face was grave, the man +motionless. The engineer turned to look at the matchless spectacle +below him. The sound of bands rose in gay music from the approaches to +the river, where vast masses of infantry lay waiting their turn to cross. +The guns of batteries gleamed in the sun, endless wagon-trains and +ambulances moved or were at rest. Here and there the wind of morning +fluttered the flags and guidons with flashes of colour. The hum of a +great army, the multitudinous murmurs of men talking, the crack of whips, +the sharp rattle of wagons and of moving artillery, made a strange +orchestra. Over all rose the warning shrieks of the gun-boat signals. Far +or near on the fertile meadows the ripened corn and grain showed in green +squares between the masses of men and stirred in the morning breeze or +lay trampled in ruin by the rude feet of war. It was an hour and a scene +to excite the dullest mind, and Penhallow intensely interested sat +fascinated by a spectacle at once splendid and fateful. The snake-like +procession of infantry wagons and batteries moved across the bridge and +was lost to view in the forest. Penhallow turned again to look at his +general, who remained statuesque and motionless. Then, suddenly the +master of this might of men and guns looked up, listened to Warren's +artillery far beyond the river, and with the same expressionless face +called for his horse and rode away followed by his staff. + +The battle-summer of 1864 went on with the wearisome siege of Petersburg +and the frequent efforts to cut the railways which enabled the +Confederates to draw supplies from states which as yet had hardly felt +the stress of war. + +Late in the year the army became a city of huts, and there was the +unexampled spectacle of this great host voting quietly in the election +which gave to Lincoln another evidence of the trust reposed in him. The +engineers had little to do in connection with the larger movements of the +army, and save for the siege work were at times idle critics of their +superiors. The closing month of 1864 brought weather which made the +wooden huts, usually shared by two officers, more comfortable than tents. +The construction of these long streets of sheltering quarters brought out +much ingenuity, and Penhallow profited by Josiah's clever devices and +watchful care. As the army was in winter-quarters, there was time enough +for pleasant visiting, and for the engineers more than enough of danger +in the trenches or when called on to accompany some general officer as an +aide during Grant's obstinate efforts to cut the railways on which Lee +relied. Francis, not gravely wounded, was at home repairing damages; but +now, with snow on the ground and ease of intercourse, Blake was a +frequent visitor in the engineer quarters. When Rivers also turned up, +the two young men found the talk unrivalled, for never had the tall +clergyman seemed more attractive or as happy. + +Of an afternoon late in November Penhallow was toasting himself by the +small fire-place and deep in thought. He had had a long day in the +intrenchments and one moment of that feeling of imminent nearness to +death which affects men in various ways. A shell neatly dropped in a +trench within a few feet of where he stood, rolled over, spitting red +flashes. The men cried, "Down, down, sir!" and fell flat. Something +like the fascination a snake exercises held him motionless; he never was +able to explain his folly. The fuse went out as he watched it--the shell +was a dead thing and harmless. The men as they rose eyed him curiously. + +"A near thing," he said, and with unusual care moved along a traverse, +his duty over for the day. He took with him a feeling of mental confusion +and of annoyed wonder. + +He found Josiah picking a chicken as he sat whistling in front of the +tent. "There's been a fight, sir, about three o'clock, on our left. Bill +says we beat." + +"Indeed!" It was too common news to interest him. He felt some singular +completeness of exhaustion, and was troubled because of there being no +explanation which satisfied him. Asking for whisky to Josiah's surprise, +he took it and lay down, as the servant said, "There's letters, sir, on +the table." + +"Very well. Close the tent and say I'm not well; I won't see any one." + +"Yes, sir. Nothing serious?" + +"No." He fell asleep as if drugged. + +Outside Josiah picked his lean chicken and whistled with such peculiar +sweetness as is possible only to the black man. Everything interested +him. Now and then he listened to the varied notes of the missiles far +away and attracting little attention unless men were so near that the +war-cries of shot and shell became of material moment. The day was cold, +and an early November snow lay on the ground and covered the long rows of +cabins. Far to the rear a band was practising. Josiah listened, and with +a negative head-shake of disapproving criticism returned to the feather +picking and sang as he picked: + +I wish I was in Dixie land, +In Dixie land, in Dixie land. + +He held up the plucked fowl and said, "Must have been on short rations." + +The early evening was quiet. Now and then a cloaked horseman went by +noiseless on the snow. Josiah looked up, laid down the chicken, and +listened to the irregular tramp of a body of men. Then, as the head of a +long column came near and passed before him between the rows of huts, he +stood up to watch them. "Prisoners," he said. Many were battle-grimed and +in tatters, without caps and ill-shod. Here and there among them a +captured officer marched on looking straight ahead. The larger part were +dejected and plodded on in silence, with heads down, while others stared +about them curious and from the cabins near by a few officers came out +and many soldiers gathered. As usual there were no comments, no sign of +triumph and only the silence of respect. + +Josiah asked a guard where they came from. "Oh, Hancock's fight at +Hatcher's Run--got about nine hundred." + +The crowd of observers increased in number as the end of the line drew +near. Josiah lost interest and sat down. "Got to singe that chicken," he +murmured, with the habit of open speech of the man who had lived long +alone. Suddenly he let the bird drop and exclaimed under his breath, +"Jehoshaphat!"--his only substitute for an oath--"it's him!" Among the +last of the line of captured men he saw one with head bent down looking +neither to the right nor the left--it was Peter Lamb! At this moment two +soldiers ran forward and shouted out something to the officer bringing up +the rear. He cried, "Halt! take out that man." There was a little +confusion, and Peter was roughly haled out of the mass. The officer +called a sergeant. "Guard this fellow well," and he bade the men who +had detected Lamb go with the guard. + +Soldiers crowded in on them. "What's the matter--who is he?" they asked. + +"Back, there!" cried the Lieutenant. + +"A deserter," said some one. "Damn him." + +Lamb was silent while between the two guards he was taken to the rear. +Josiah forgot his chicken and followed them at a distance. He saw Lamb +handcuffed and vainly protesting as he was thrust into the prison-hut of +the provostry. + +Josiah asked one of the men who had brought about the arrest, "Who is +that man?" + +"Oh, he was a good while ago in my regiment--in our company too, the 71st +Pennsylvania--a drunken beast--name of Stacy--Joe Stacy. We missed him +when we were near the North Anna--at roll-call." + +"What will they do with him?" + +"Shoot him, I hope. His hands were powder blacked. He was caught on the +skirmish line." + +"Thank you." Josiah walked away deep in thought. He soon settled to the +conclusion that the Rebs had found Peter and that perhaps he had had no +choice of what he would do and had had to enlist. What explanatory lie +Peter had told he could not guess. + +Josiah went slowly back to the tent. His chicken was gone. He laid this +loss on Peter, saying, "He always did bring me bad luck." Penhallow was +still asleep. Ought he to tell him of Peter Lamb. He decided not to do +so, or at least to wait. Inborn kindliness acted as it had done before, +and conscious of his own helplessness, he was at a loss. Near to dusk he +lighted a pipe and sat down outside of Penhallow's hut. Servants of +engineer officers spoke as they passed, or chaffed him. His readiness for +a verbal duel was wanting and he replied curtly. He was trying to make +out to his own satisfaction whether he could or ought to do anything but +hold his tongue and let this man die and so disappear. He knew that he +himself could do nothing, nor did he believe anything could be done to +help the man. He felt, however, that because he hated Peter, he was bound +by his simply held creed to want to do something. He did not want to do +anything, but then in confusing urgency there was the old mother, the +colonel's indulgent care of this drunken animal, and at last some +personal realization of the loneliness of this man so near to death. Then +he remembered that Mark Rivers was within reach. To get this clergyman to +see Peter would relieve him of the singular feeling of responsibility +he could not altogether set aside. He was the only person who could +identify Lamb. That, at least, he did not mean to do. He would find Mr. +Rivers and leave to him to act as he thought best. He heard Penhallow +calling, and went in to find him reading his letters. After providing +for his wants, he set out to find the clergyman. His pass carried him +where-ever he desired to go, and after ten at night he found Mark Rivers +with the Christian Commission. + +"What is it?" asked Rivers. "Is John ill?" + +"No, sir," and he told in a few sentences the miserable story, to the +clergyman's amazement. + +"I will go with you," he said. "I must get leave to see him, but you had +better not speak of Peter to any one." + +Josiah was already somewhat indisposed to tell to others the story of the +North Anna incident, and walked on in silence over the snow until at the +provost-marshal's quarters Rivers dismissed him. + +In a brief talk with the provost-marshal, Rivers learned that there had +been a hastily summoned court-martial, and in the presence of very clear +evidence a verdict approved by General Grant. The man would be shot at +seven the next morning. "A hopeless case, Mr. Rivers," said the Provost, +"any appeal for reprieve will be useless--utterly useless--there will be +no time given for appeal to Mr. Lincoln. We have had too much of this +lately." + +Rivers said nothing of his acquaintance with the condemned man. He too +had reached the conviction, now made more definite, that needless pain +for the old mother could be avoided by letting Peter die with the name he +had assumed. + +It was after twelve at night when the provost's pass admitted him to a +small wooden prison. One candle dimly lighted the hut, where a manacled +man crouched by a failing fire. The soldier on guard passed out as the +clergyman entered. When the door closed behind him, Rivers said, "Peter." + +"My God! Mr. Rivers. They say I'll be shot. You won't let them shoot +me--they can't do it--I don't want to die." + +"I came here because Josiah recognized you and brought me." + +"He must have told on me." + +"Told what? He did not tell anything. Now listen to me. You are certain +to be shot at seven to-morrow morning. I have asked for delay--none will +be given. I come only to entreat you to make your peace with God--to tell +you that you have but these few hours in which to repent. Let me pray +with you--for you. There is nothing else I can do for you; I have tried +and failed. Indeed I tried most earnestly." + +"You can help if you will! You were always against me. You can telegraph +Colonel Penhallow. He will answer--he won't let them shoot me." + +Rivers who stood over the crouched figure laid a hand on his shoulder. +"If he were here he could do nothing. And even if I did telegraph him, he +is in no condition to answer. He was wounded at Gettysburg and his mind +is clouded. It would only trouble him and your mother, and not help you. +Your mother would hear, and you should at least have the manliness to +accept in silence what you have earned." + +"But it's my life--my life--I can't die." Rivers was silent. "You won't +telegraph?" + +"No. It is useless." + +"But you might do something--you're cruel. I am innocent. God let me be +born of a drunken father--I had to drink too--I had to. The Squire +wouldn't give me work--no one helped me. I enlisted in a New York +regiment. I got drunk and ran away and enlisted in the 71st Pennsylvania. +I stole chickens, and near to the North Anna I was cruelly punished. Then +the Rebs caught me. I had to enlist. Oh, Lord! I am unfortunate. If I +only could have a little whisky." + +Mark Rivers for a moment barren of answer was sure that as usual Peter +was lying and without any of his old cunning. + +"Peter, this story does not help you. You are about to die, and no +one--can help you--I have tried in vain--nothing can save you. Why at a +time so solemn as this do you lie to me? Why did you desert? and for +stealing chickens? nonsense!" + +"Well, then, it was about a woman. Josiah knows--he saw it all. I didn't +desert--I was tied to a tree--he could clear me. They left me tied. I had +to enlist; I had to!" + +"A woman!" Rivers understood. "If he were to tell, it would only make +your case worse. Oh, Peter, let me pray for you." + +"Oh, pray if you want to. What's the good? If you won't telegraph the +Squire, get me whisky; and if you won't do that, go away. Talk about God +and praying when I'm to be murdered just because my father drank! I don't +want any praying--I don't believe in it--you just go away and get me +some whisky. The Squire might have saved me--I wanted to quit from drink +and he just told me to get out--and I did. I hate him and--you." + +Rivers stood up. "May God help and pity you," he said, and so left him. + +He slept none, and rising early, prayed fervently for this wrecked soul. +As he walked at six in the morning to the prison hut, he thought over the +man who long ago had so defeated him. He had seemed to him more feeble in +mind and less cunning in his statements than had been the case in former +days. He concluded that he was in the state of a man used to drinking +whisky and for a time deprived of it. When he met him moving under guard +from the prison, he felt sure that his conclusion had been correct. + +As Rivers came up, the officer in charge said, "If, sir, as a +clergyman you desire to walk beside this man, there is no objection." + +"Oh, let him come," said Peter, with a defiant air. Some one pitiful had +indulged the fated man with the liquor he craved. + +Rivers took his place beside Peter as the guards at his side fell back. +Soldiers off duty, many blacks and other camp-followers, gathered in +silence as the little procession moved over the snow, noiseless except +for the tramp of many feet and the rumble of the cart in which was an +empty coffin. + +"Can I do anything for you?" said Rivers, turning toward the flushed face +at his side. + +"No--you can't." The man smelled horribly of whisky; the charitable aid +must have been ample. + +"Is there any message you want me to carry?" + +"Message--who would I send messages to?" In fact, Rivers did not know. +He was appalled at a man going half drunk to death. He moved on, for a +little while at the end of his resources. + +"Even yet," he whispered, "there is time to repent and ask God to pardon +a wasted life." Peter made no reply and then they were in the open space +on one side of a hollow square. On three sides the regiment stood intent +as the group came near. "Even yet," murmured Rivers. + +Of a sudden Peter's face became white. He said, "I want to tell you one +thing--I want you to tell him. I shot the Squire at Gettysburg--I wish I +had killed him--I thought I had. There!--I always did get even." + +"Stand back, sir, please," said a captain. Rivers was dumb with the +horror of it and stepped aside. The last words he would have said choked +him in the attempt to speak. + +Six soldiers took their places before the man who stood with his hands +tied behind his back, his face white, the muscles twitching, while a +bandage was tied over his eyes. + +"He wants to speak to you, sir," said the captain. + +Rivers stepped to his side. "I did not tell my name. Tell my mother I was +shot--not how--not why." + +Rivers fell back. The captain let fall a handkerchief. Six rifles rang +out, and Peter Lamb had gone to his account. + +The regiment marched away. The music of the band rang clear through the +frosty air. The captain said, "Where is the surgeon?" Tom McGregor +appeared, and as he had to certify to the death bent down over the +quivering body. + +"My God! Mr. Rivers," he said in a low voice, looking up, "it is Peter +Lamb." + +"Hush, Tom," whispered Rivers, "no one knows him except Josiah." They +walked away together while Rivers told of Josiah's recognition of Lamb. +"Keep silent about his name, Tom," and then went on to speak of the man's +revengeful story about the Colonel, to Tom's horror. "I am sorry you +told me," said the young surgeon. + +"Yes, I was unwise--but--" + +"Oh, let us drop it, Mr. Rivers. How is John? I have been three times to +see him and he twice to see me, but always he was at the front, and as +for me we have six thousand beds and too few surgeons, so that I could +not often get away. Does he know of this man's fate?" + +"No--and he had better not." + +"I agree with you. Let us bury his name with him. So he shot our dear +Colonel--how strange, how horrible!" + +"He believed that he did shoot him, and as the ball came from the lines +of the 71st when the fight was practically at an end, it may be true. He +certainly meant to kill him." + +"What an entirely, hopelessly complete scoundrel!" said McGregor. + +"Except," said Rivers, "that he did not want his mother to know how he +died." + +"Human wickedness is very incomplete," said the surgeon. "I wonder +whether the devil is as perfectly wicked as we are taught to believe. You +think this fellow, my dear old schoolmaster, was not utterly bad. Now +about wanting his mother not to know--I for my part--" + +"Don't, Tom. Leave him this rag of charity to cover a multitude of sins. +Now, I must leave you. See John soon--he is wasted by unending and +dangerous work--with malaria too, and what not; see him soon. He is a +splendid replica of the Colonel with a far better mind. I wish he were at +home." + +"And I that another fellow were at home. Good-bye." + +McGregor called at John's tent, but learned that at six he had gone on +duty to the trenches. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + + +Late on Christmas morning of this year 1864, Penhallow with no duty on +his hands saw with satisfaction the peacemaking efforts of the winter +weather. A thin drizzle of cold rain froze as it fell on the snow; the +engineers' lines were quiet. There was no infantry drill and the raw +recruits had rest from the never satisfied sergeants, while unmanageable +accumulations of gifts from distant homes were being distributed to +well-pleased men. Penhallow, lazily at ease, planned to spend Christmas +day with Tom McGregor or Roland Blake. The orders of a too energetic +Colonel of his own Corps summarily disposed of his anticipated leisure. +The tired and disgusted Captain dismounted at evening, and limping gave +his horse to Josiah. + +"What you done to Hoodoo, Master John? He's lame--and you too." + +Without answering John Penhallow turned to greet Tom McGregor. "Happy +Christmas, Tom." + +"You don't look very happy, John, nor that poor beast of yours. But I am +glad to have caught you at last." The faraway thunder of the siege +mortars was heard as he spoke. "Nice Christmas carol that! Have you been +to-day in the graveyards you call trenches?" + +"No, I was not on duty. I meant to ride over to your hospital to have a +home-talk and exchange grumbles, but just as I mounted Colonel Swift +stopped with a smartly dressed aide-de-camp. I saluted. He said, 'I was +looking for an engineer off duty. Have the kindness to ride with me.'" + +"By George! Tom, he was so polite that I felt sure we were on some +unpleasant errand. I was as civil, and said, 'With pleasure.' A nice +Christmas celebration! Well, I have been in the saddle all day. It rained +and froze to sleet on the snow, and the horses slipped and slid most +unpleasantly. About noon we passed our pickets. I was half frozen. When +we got a bit further, the old colonel pulled up on a hillside and began +to ask me questions, how far was that bridge, and could I see their +pickets, and where did that cross-road go to. The aide was apparently +ornamental and did not do anything but guess. I answered with sublime +confidence, as my mind got thawed a little and the colonel made notes." + +"I know," laughed Tom. "Must never admit in the army that you don't know. +You can always write 'respectfully referred' on a document. When General +Grant visits our hospital and asks questions ten to the minute, I fire +back replies after quick consultation with my imagination. It works. He +assured the surgeon-in-charge that I was a remarkably well-informed +officer. So was he!" + +"Come in," said Penhallow. "I am cold and cross. I expect a brevet at +least--nothing less; but if Comstock or Duane reads the colonel's notes, +I may get something else." + +"Have you had a fall, John? You are pretty dirty, and that horse with the +queer name is dead lame. How did you come to grief?" + +"I had an adventure." + +"Really! What was it?" + +"Tell you another time--it was a queer one. Here's Mr. Rivers." He was +followed by a contraband black with a basket. + +"Happy Christmas, boys. I bring you a Christmas turkey and a plum-pudding +from your aunt, John." + +He was made heartily welcome and was in unusually good spirits, as Josiah +took possession of these unexpected rations and John got into dry +clothes. + +They fell to familiar talk of Westways. "I fear," said Rivers, "that the +colonel is worse. I am always sure of that when Mrs. Penhallow writes of +him as cheerful." + +"My father," said Tom, "tells me he has days of excessive unnatural +gaiety, and then is irritable and cannot remember even the events of +yesterday." + +"Can you account for it, Tom?" asked John. + +"No, but he ought to take dad's advice and see Professor Askew. It makes +him furious. Oh! if we were all at home again, Mr. Rivers--and out of +this row. You are limping, John--what's wrong? Let me see that leg." + +"No, you don't," cried John merrily. "You promised to get even with me +after our famous battle--I don't trust you. I bruised my knee--that's +all." + +"Well, I can wait." + +They talked of home, of the village and its people, and at their meal of +the way they proposed to conduct the spring campaign. Many bloodless +battles were thus fought over mess-tables and around camp-fires. + +"For my part," said John, "I want to get done with this mole business and +do anything in the open--Oh, here comes Blake! You know our clergyman +from home, the Rev. Mr. Rivers? No! Well, then I make you the Christmas +gift of a pleasant acquaintance. Sit down, there is some turkey left +and plum-pudding." + +"Glad to see you, McGregor," said Blake. "I know Mr. Rivers by +sight--oh, and well, too--he was back of the line in that horrid +mix-up at the Bloody Angle--he was with the stretcher-bearers." + +"Where," said McGregor, "he had no business to be." + +Rivers laughed as he rarely did. "It may seem strange to you all, but I +am never so happy"--he came near to saying so little unhappy--"as when I +am among the dying and the wounded, even if the firing is heavy." + +Blake looked at the large-featured face and the eyes that, as old +McGregor said, were so kindly and so like mysterious jewels as they +seemed to radiate the light that came from within. His moment of critical +doubt passed, and he felt the strange attractiveness which Rivers had for +men and the influential trust he surely won. + +"I prefer," remarked McGregor, "to operate when bullets are not flying." + +"But you do not think of them then," returned Rivers, "I am sure you do +not." + +"No, I do not, but they seem to be too attentive at times. I lost a +little finger-tip back of Round Top. We had thirteen surgeons killed or +wounded that day. The Rebs left eighty surgeons with their wounded. We +sent them home after we got up enough help from the cities." + +"It was not done always," said Penhallow. "More's the pity." + +"We had Grant at the hospital yesterday," said the doctor. "He comes +often." + +"Did you notice his face?" queried Rivers. + +"The face? Not particularly--why?" + +"He has two deep lines between the eyes, and crossing them two lateral +furrows on the forehead. In Sicily they call it the 'cross of +misfortune.'" + +"Then it has yet to come," said Blake. + +"Late or early," said Rivers, "they assure you it will come. Some men +find their calamities when young, some when they are old, which is +better." + +"Let us be thankful that we have no choice," said Blake. + +"May God spare you now and always," said Rivers. The habitual melancholy +he dreaded took possession of his face as he rose, adding, "Come, Tom, we +must go." + +"And I," said Blake. + +"Happy Christmas to you all--and a happier New Year than 1864." They left +John to the letters Josiah placed on the table. + +The night was now clear and the stars brilliant, as Penhallow saw Blake +mount his horse and Rivers and McGregor walk away to find the hospital +ambulance. "There at least is peace," said John, as he watched the +Pleiades and the North Star, symbol of unfailing duty. "Well, it is as +good as a sermon, and as it belongs there on eternal guard so do I +belong here for my little day; but I trust the spring will bring us +peace, for--oh, my God!--I want it--and Westways." He went in to his hut +and stirred the fire into roaring companionship. + +Meanwhile Rivers, walking with McGregor, said, "Did the figure of that +doomed wretch haunt you as we talked to John?" + +"It did indeed! I had never before been ordered to certify to a death +like that, and I hated it even before I bent down and knew who it was." + +"How far was he accountable, Tom?" + +"Don't ask me riddles like that, Mr. Rivers. It is a subject I have often +thought about. It turns up in many forms--most terribly in the cases of +the sins of the fathers being loaded on the sons. How far is a man +accountable who inherits a family tendency to insanity? Should he marry? +If he falls in love, what ought he to do or not do? It is a pretty grim +proposition, Mr. Rivers." + +"He should not marry," replied the clergyman, and both moved on in silent +thought. + +"Oh, here is our ambulance," said Tom. They got in, Rivers reflecting how +war, parent of good and evil, had made of this rough country-bred lad a +dutiful, thoughtful man. + +Presently McGregor said, "When we were talking of our unpleasant duties, +I meant to tell you that one of them is to tattoo a D--for deserter--on +the breast of some poor homesick fellow. After that his head is shaved; +then the men laugh as he is drummed out of the lines--and it's +disgusting." + +"I agree with you," said Rivers. + +John lighted a fresh pipe and sat down by the fire to get some Christmas +pleasure from the home letter in Leila's large and clear script. His aunt +had ceased to write to him, and had left to her niece this task, +insisting that it should be punctually fulfilled. This time the letter +was brief. + +"Of course, my dear John, you know that I am under orders to write to you +once a week."--"Is that explanatory?" thought the reader.--The letter +dealt with the town and mills, the sad condition of Colonel Penhallow, +his aunt's messages and her advice to John in regard to health. The +horses came in for the largest share of a page. And why did he not write +more about himself? She did not suppose that even winter war consisted +only in drawing maps and waiting for Grant to flank Lee out of Petersburg +and Richmond. "War," wrote the young woman, "must be rather a dull +business. Have you no adventures? Tom McGregor wrote his father that you +had a thrilling experience in the trenches lately. The doctor spoke of it +to Aunt Ann, who was surprised I had never mentioned it. Don't dry up +into an old regular like the inspecting major of ordnance at the mills. + +"Expectantly yours, + +"LEILA GREY. + +"A Happy Christmas, Jack." + +"Oh, Great Scott!" laughed John. He read it again. Not a word of herself, +nor any of her rides, or of the incessant reading she liked to discuss +with him. Some dim suspicion of the why of this impersonal letter gently +flattered the winged hopefulness of love. "Well, I think I shall punish +you, Miss Grey, for sending me a Christmas letter like that." Oh, the +dear old playmate, the tease, the eyes full of tenderness when the +child's shaft of satire hurt! He laughed gaily as he went through the +historically famous test of courage in snuffing the flaring candle wicks +with his fingers. The little cabin was warm, the night silent, not a +sound came from the lines a mile away to disturb the peaceful memories of +home within the thirty thousand pickets needed to guard our far-spread +army. Men on both sides spoke this Christmas night, for they were often +near and exchanged greetings as they called out, "Halloa, Johnny Reb, +Merry Christmas!" + +"Same to you, Yank," and during that sacred night there was the truce of +God and overhead the silence of the solemn stars. + +As the young Captain became altogether comfortable, his thoughts wandered +far afield--always at last to Josiah's pansy, the many-masked Leila, and +behind her pretty feminine disguises the serious-minded woman for whom, +as he smilingly consulted his fancy, he found no flower emblem to suit +him. The letter he read once more represented many Leilas. Could he +answer all of them and abide too by the silence he meant to preserve +until the war was over? The imp of mischief was at his side. There was no +kind of personal word of herself in the letter, except that he was +ordered to talk of John Penhallow and his adventures. He wrote far into +the Christmas night: + +"DEAR LEILA: To hear is to obey. I am to write of myself--of adventures. +Nearness to death in the trenches is an every-second-day adventure +enough--no one talks of it. Tom was ill-advised to report of me at home. +I used to dream of the romance of war when I was a boy. There is very +little romance in it, and much dirt, awful horrors of the dead and +wounded, of battles lost or won, and waste beyond conception. After a big +fight or wearying march one could collect material for a rummage-sale +such as would rout Aunt Ann's ideal of an amusing auction of useless +things. + +"My love to one and all, and above all to the dear Colonel who is never +long out of my mind. + +"Yours truly, + +"JOHN PENHALLOW." + +"I put on this separate sheet for you alone the adventure you ask for. It +is the only one worth telling, and came to me this Christmas morning. It +was strange enough. + +"An old Colonel caught me as I was about to visit Tom McGregor at the +hospital. I was disgusted, but he wanted an engineer. He got me, alas! We +rode far to our left over icy snow-crust. To cut my tale short, after we +passed our outlying pickets and I had answered a dozen questions, he +said, 'Can you see their pickets?' I said, 'No, they are half a mile away +on the far side of a creek in the woods. That road leads to a bridge; +they may be behind the creek.' + +"'Do you think it fordable?' + +"'I do not know.' Like a fool, I said, 'I will ride down the road and get +a nearer look.' He would be much obliged. I rode Hoodoo down an icy hill +with a sharp lookout for their pickets. As I rode, I slipped my revolver +out and let it hang at my wrist. I rode on cautiously. About a quarter of +a mile from the creek I made up my mind that I had gone far enough. The +creek was frozen, as I might have known, and the colonel too. As I +checked Hoodoo a shot rang out from a clump of pines on my right and a +horseman leaped into the road some twenty yards in front of me. I fired +and missed him. He turned and rode pretty fast toward the bridge, turning +to fire as he went. I like a fool rode after him. We exchanged shot after +shot. He was on the farther end of the bridge when he pulled up his horse +and stopped short. He held up a hand; I felt for my sword, having emptied +my revolver. It was rather ridiculous. By George! the man was laughing. +We were not fifty feet apart when I reined up Hoodoo. We had each fired +six shots in vain--I had counted his. + +"He called out, 'A rather pretty duel, sir. Don't ride over the bridge.' +A picket shot from the left singing over my head rather emphasized his +warning. 'It would not be fair--you would ride right into my pickets.' It +was an unusual bit of chivalry. + +"I called out, 'Thank you, I hope I have not hit you. May I ask your +name?' + +"'I am at your service. I am'--here Captain John wrote +merrily--'Scheherazade who says-- + +"Being now sleepy, the Caliph will hear the amazing sequel to-morrow +night or _later_. + +"There you have my adventure all but the end. If I do not hear more of +Miss Grey's personal adventures she will never--never, hear the name. + +"JOHN PENHALLOW." + +He laughed outright as he closed and directed the envelope. I suppose, +he wrote in his diary, that as there are several Leilas, there are also +several John Penhallows, and I am just now the mischievous lad who was +so much younger than Miss Grey. Would she laugh over the lesson of his +letter or be angry, or cry a little and feel ill-treated, or--and even +that was possible--say it was of no moment who the man was. He felt the +gaiety which in some men who have not the mere brute courage of the +bull-dog is apt to follow for many hours the escape from a great danger. +The boylike mischief of his letter was in part due to some return of the +cheerful mood which possessed him after the morning's risks. He went out +to question the night of the weather. As he looked over the snow and then +up at the mighty clock-work of the stars, he responded slowly to the +awe this silentness of immeasurable forces was apt to produce; a perfect +engine at the mills in noiseless motion always had upon him the same +effect. As he moved, his knee reminded him of the morning's escape. When +he rode away from the bridge, with attentions from the enemy's pickets +following and came near the waiting colonel, his horse came down and like +his rider suffered for the fall on frozen ground. + +There was just then for a time less work than usual for the engineers, +and he had begun to feel troubled by the fact that two weeks had gone by +since Leila wrote, without a home letter. Then it came and was brief: + +"DEAR JOHN: I have truly no better and no worse news to send about dear +Uncle Jim and this saddened home. To be quite frank with you, your letter +made me realize what is hardly felt as here in our home we become used to +war news. I thought less of your mischievous attempt to torment my +curiosity than of your personal danger, and yet I know too well what +are the constant risks in your engineer duties, for I have found among +Uncle Jim's books accounts of the siege of Sevastopol. As to your naughty +ending, I do not care who the man was--why should I? I doubt if you +really know. + +"I am, +Your seriously indifferent +LEILA GREY. + +"P.S. I am ashamed to admit that I reopened my letter to tell you I +fibbed large. _Please_ not to tease me any more." + +He replied at once: + +"DEAR LEILA: I am off to the front as usual. The man was Henry Grey. An +amazing encounter! I had never seen him, as you may know. I did not wait +to reply to him because the Rebel pickets were not so considerate as +their colonel. I recalled Uncle Jim's casual mention of Henry Grey as a +rather light-minded, quixotic man. I am glad he is, but imagine what +a tragedy failed to materialize because two men were awkward with the +pistol. But what a strange meeting too! It is not the only case. A +captain I know took his own brother prisoner last month; the Rebel would +not shake hands with him. Do not tell Aunt Ann--or rather, do what seems +best to you. I trust you, of course. The encounter made me want to know +your uncle in some far-off happier day. + +"In haste, Yours, + +"JOHN PENHALLOW." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + + +When late in March Grant about to move left the engineer brigade at City +Point, the need to corduroy the rain-soaked roads called some of the +corps to the front, and among them John Penhallow. As usual when +unoccupied they were set free to volunteer for staff duty. It thus +chanced that Penhallow found himself for a time an extra aide to General +John Parke. + +The guarded outer lines of the defences of Petersburg included forests +with here and there open spaces and clumps of trees. More than a half +mile away from the enemy, on rising ground, amid bushes and trees, lay +the army corps of General Parke. It was far into the night. The men were +comfortably asleep, for on this second of April, the air was no longer +chilly and there were no tents up. In the mid-centre of the corps-line +behind the ridge a huge fire marked the headquarters. As the great logs +blazed high, they cast radiating shadows of tree trunks, which were and +were not as the fire rose or fell. Horses tied to the trees moved +uneasily when from far and near came the clamour of guns. Now and then a +man sat up in the darkness and listened, but this was some new recruit. +For the most of the sleepers the roar of guns was less disturbing than +the surly mosquitoes and the sonorous trumpeting of a noisy neighbour. +Aides dismounted near the one small tent in the wood shadows, and coming +out mounted horses as tired as the riders and rode away into the night. +Here and there apart black servants and orderlies slept the deep sleep of +irresponsibility and among them Josiah. Beside the deserted fire John +Penhallow sat smoking. A hand fell on his shoulder. + +"Halloa, Blake!" he said, "where did you come from?" + +"I am on Wright's staff. I am waiting for a note I am to carry. There +will be no sleep for me to-night. We shall attack at dawn--a square +frontal attack through slashes, chevaux-de-frises and parapets; but the +men are keen for it, and we shall win." + +"I think so--the game is nearly played out." + +"I am sorry for them, Penhallow." + +"And I. I was thinking when you came of the pleasant West Point friends +who may be in those woods yonder, and of the coming agony of that +wonderful crumbling host of brave men, and of my uncle's friend, Robert +Lee. I shall be a happy man when I can take their hands again." + +"How many will be left?" said Blake. + +"God knows--we shall, I hope, live to be proud of them." + +"My friend Francis sees always the humorous side of war--I cannot." + +"It does have--oh, very rarely--its humorous side," returned Penhallow, +"but not often for me. His mocking way of seeing things is doubly +unpleasant because no man in the army is more in earnest. This orchestra +of snoring men would amuse him." + +As Blake sat down, he said, "I wonder if they are talking the language of +that land--that nightly bourne from which we bring back so little. Listen +to them!" + +"That's so like you, Blake. I was reflecting too when you came on the +good luck I had at the North Anna when you pulled me out. Mark Rivers +once said that I was good at making acquaintances, but slow at making +friendships." + +"Thank you," said Blake, understanding him readily. "I am somewhat like +you." + +The solemnity of the night and of the fate-laden hours had opened for +a minute the minds of two men as reserved and reticent as are most +well-bred Americans, who as a rule lack the strange out-spoken frankness +of our English kin. + +"Oh! here is my summons," said Blake. "Good luck to you, Penhallow. I +have about the closing of this war a kind of fear I have never had +before." + +"That is natural enough," returned Penhallow, "and I fancy it is not +uncommon. Let us part with a more pleasant thought. You will come and +shoot with me at Grey Pine in the fall? Bye-bye." + +Blake rode away. His friend deep in thought and unable to sleep watched +the dying fire. The night hours ran on. Obedient to habit he wound his +watch. "Not asleep," said a pleasant voice. He rose to face the slight +figure and gently smiling face of General Parke. + +"What time is it, Penhallow?" + +"Four o'clock, sir." + +"I have sent back Captain Blake with a word to General Wright, but he +will have too long a ride. I want you to carry this same request. By +taking the short cut in front of our lines, you can get there in a third +of the time. You will keep this side of our pickets to where our line +turns, then go through them and down the slope a bit. For a short +distance you will be near the clump of trees on the right. If it is +picketed--there are no pickets nearer--you will have to ride hard. Once +past the angle of their line you are safe. Am I clear?" + +"Certainly, sir. There is some marshy ground--I climbed a tree and looked +it over yesterday--it won't stop the men, but may slow a horse." + +"I see. Here is my note." + +Penhallow tucked it in his belt and roused Josiah. "See to the girth," he +said. "Is Hoodoo in good order?" + +"Yes, sir. Where you going, Master John?" + +"A little errand. Make haste." + +"I know those little errands," said the black. "The good Lord care for +him," he murmured, as the man he loved best was lost in the darkness. + +He was aware of the great danger of his errand and was at once in that +state of intensity of attention which sharpens every sense. He rode for +the fourth of a mile between the long lines of infantry now astir here +and there, and then an officer saw him through their picket-line. "Good +luck to you!" he said. "I think the Rebs have no outlying pickets, but +the woods are full of them." + +Penhallow rode down a slight incline, and remembering that the marsh +lower down might be difficult turned aside and came on a deep gully. The +night was still dark, but a faint glow to eastward made haste desirable. +The gully, as he rode beside it, flattened out, but at once he felt that +his horse was in trouble on marshy ground. He dismounted and led him, +but always the better footing lay nearer to the clump of trees. He made +up his mind to ride for it. While on foot he had been as yet hardly +visible. A shot from the salient group of trees decided him. He mounted +and touched Hoodoo with the spur. The horse bounded forwards too quickly +to sink in the boggy ground. Then a dozen shots told the rider he had +been seen. Something like the feeling of a blow from a stick was felt as +his left arm fell with gripped reins, and the right arm also dropped. +Hoodoo pitched forward, rose with a gallant effort, and sinking down +rolled to left upon the rider's leg. + +The horse lay still. Penhallow's first sensation was astonishment; then +he began to make efforts to get free. His arms were of no use. He tried +to stir his horse with the spur of the free foot. It had no effect. +Something must be wrong with him. He had himself a feeling of weakness he +could not comprehend, aware that he had no wound of the trunk. His +useless arms made all effort vain, and the left foot under the weight of +the horse began to feel numb. The position struck him as past help until +our people charged. He thought of Francis's axiom that there was nothing +so entirely tragic as to be without some marginalia of humour. The lad +smiled at his use of the word. His own situation appealed to him as +ridiculous--a man with a horse on him waiting for an army to lift it off. + +The left elbow began to recover from the early insensibility of shock and +to be painful. Then in the dim light, as he lifted his head, he was aware +of a Rebel soldier in front covering him with a revolver. Penhallow cried +out with promptness, "I surrender--and I am shot through both arms." + +The soldier said, "You are not worth taking--guess you'll keep till we +lick the Yanks," and walking around the helpless officer he appropriated +his revolver. + +"Can you get my horse up?" said John. + +"Horse up! I want your boots." + +"Well, pull them off--I can't." + +"Oh, don't you bother, I'll get them." With this he knelt down and began +on the boot which belonged to the leg projecting beneath the horse. "Darn +it! They're just my size." As he tugged at it, Hoodoo dying and convulsed +struck out with his fore legs and caught the unlucky soldier full in the +belly. The man gave a wild cry and staggering back fell. + +Penhallow craned over the horse's body and broke into laughter. It hurt +his arm, but he gasped with fierce joy, "Francis would call him a +freebooter." Then he fell back and quite helpless listened. Unable to +turn his head, he heard behind him the wild rush of men. Leaping over +horse and man they went by. He got a look to right and left. They tore +through the slashes, dropping fast and facing a furious fusillade were +lost to sight in the underbrush. "By George! they've won," he exclaimed +and fell back. "They must have carried the parapet." He waited. In +about a half hour a party of men in grey went by. An officer in blue +cried out, "Up the hill, you beggars!" More of the grey men followed--a +battle-grimed mob of hundreds. + +"Halloa!" called Penhallow. "Get this horse up. Put your hand in my +pocket and you will find fifty dollars." They stopped short and a half +dozen men lifted the dead animal. "Thank you, set me on my feet," said +Penhallow. "Empty my pockets--I can't use my arms." They did it well, and +taking also his watch went on their way well pleased. + +John stood still, the blood tingling in his numb foot. "Halloa!" he +cried, as the stretcher-bearers and surgeons came near. A headquarters +surgeon said, "We thought you were killed. Can you walk?" + +"No--hit in both arms--why the deuce can't I walk?" + +"Shock, I suppose." + +A half hour later he was in a hospital tent and a grim old army surgeon +handling his arms. "Right arm flesh-wound--left elbow smashed. You will +likely have to lose the arm." + +"No, I won't," said Penhallow, "I'd as leave die." + +"Don't talk nonsense. They all say that. See you again." + +"You will get ten dollars," said John to a hospital orderly, "if you will +find Captain Blake of General Wright's staff." + +"I'll do it, sir." + +Presently his arms having been dressed, he was made comfortable with +morphia. At dusk next morning his friend Blake sat down beside his cot. +"Are you badly hurt?" he said. A certain tenderness in the voice was like +a revelation of some qualities unknown before. + +"I do not know. For about the first time in my life I am suffering +pain--I mean constant pain, with a devilish variety in it too. The same +ball, I believe, went through some muscle in the right arm and smashed my +left elbow. It's a queer experience. The surgeon-in-charge informed me +that I would probably lose the arm. The younger surgeon says the ball +will become what he calls encysted. They probed and couldn't find it. +Isn't that Josiah I hear?" + +"Yes, I will bring him in." + +In a moment they came back. "My God! Master John, I been looking for you +all night and this morning I found Hoodoo dead. Didn't I say he'd bring +you bad luck. Oh, my!--are you hurt bad?" + +"Less noise there," said an assistant surgeon, "or get out of this." + +"He'll be quiet," said Blake, "and you will have the decency to be less +rough." The indignant doctor walked away. + +"Poor Hoodoo--he did his best," murmured John. "Get me out of this, +Blake. It's a hell of suffering. Take me to Tom McGregor at City Point." + +"I will, but now I must go. General Parke hopes you are doing well. You +will be mentioned in his despatches." + +"That is of no moment--get me to McGregor. Hang the flies--I can't fight +them." + +John never forgot the ambulance and the rough railway ride to City Point, +nor his pleasure when at rest in the officers' pavilion he waited for his +old playmate. As I write I see, as he saw, the long familiar ward, the +neat cots, the busy orderlies. He waited with the impatience of +increasing pain. "Well, Tom," he said, with an effort to appear gay, +"here's your chance at last to get even." + +McGregor made brief reply as he uncovered the wounded joint. Then he said +gravely, "A little ether--I will get out the ball." + +"No ether, Tom, I can stand it. Now get to work." + +"I shall hurt you horribly." + +"No ether," he repeated. "Go on, Tom." + +McGregor sat beside him with a finger on the bounding pulse and +understood its meaning and the tale it told. "It will not be long, John," +and then with attention so concentrated as not even to note the one stir +of the tortured body or to hear the long-drawn groan of pain, he rose to +his feet. "All right, John--it's only a slug--lucky it was not a musket +ball." He laid a tender hand on the sweating brow, shot a dose of morphia +into the right arm, and added, "You will get well with a stiff joint. Now +go to sleep. The right arm is sound, a flesh-wound." + +"Thanks," said John, "we are even now, Tom. Captain Blake telegraphed +your father, Tom--but write, please." + +"To whom, John?" + +"To Leila--but do not alarm them." + +"I will write. In a week or two you must go home. That is the medicine +you need most. You will still have some pain, but you will not lose the +arm." + +"Thank you--but what of the army? I am a bit confused as to time. Parke +attacked on the second of April, I think. What day is this?" + +"Oh, they got out of Petersburg that night--out of Richmond too. Lee is +done for--a day or two will end it." + +"Thank God," murmured John, "but I am so sorry for Lee." + +"Can't say I am." + +"Oh, that blessed morphia!" + +"Well, go to sleep--I will see you again shortly. I have other fellows to +look after. In a few minutes you will be easy. Draw the fly-nets, +orderly." + +Of all that followed John Penhallow in later years remembered most +distinctly the half hour of astonishing relief from pain. As his senses +one by one went off guard, he seemed to himself to be watching with +increase of ease the departure of some material tormentor. In after years +he recalled with far less readiness the days of varied torment which +required more and more morphia. Why I know not, the remembrance of pain +as time goes by is far less permanent than that of relief or of an hour +of radiant happiness. Long days of suffering followed as the tortured +nerves recorded their far-spread effects in the waste of the body and +that failure of emotional control which even the most courageous feel +when long under the tyranny of continuous pain. McGregor watched him +with anxiety and such help as was possible. On the tenth of April John +awakened after a night of assisted sleep to find himself nearly free +from pain. Tom came early into the ward. + +"Good news, John," he said. "Lee has surrendered. You look better. Your +resignation will be accepted, and I have a leave of absence. Economy is +the rule. We are sending the wounded north in ship-loads. Home! Home! old +fellow, in a week." + +The man on the cot looked up. "You have a letter, I see," and as he spoke +broke into childlike tears, for so did long suffering deal with the most +self-controlled in those terrible years, which we do well to forgive, and +to remember with pride not for ourselves alone. The child-man on the bed +murmured, "Home was too much for me." + +The surgeon who loved him well said, "Read your letter--you are not the +only man in this ward whom pain has made a baby. Home will complete your +cure--home!" + +"Thank you, Tom." He turned to the letter and using the one half-useful +hand opened it with difficulty. What he first felt was disappointment at +the brevity of the letter. He was what Blake called home-hungry. With +acute perception, being himself a homeless man, Blake made his diagnosis +of that form of heart-ache which too often adds a perilously depressing +agency to the more material disasters of war. Pain, fever, the inevitable +ward odours, the easier neighbour in the next bed who was of a mind +to be social, the flies--those Virginia flies more wily than Lee's +troopers--and even trifling annoyances made Penhallow irritable. He +became a burden to hospital stewards and over-worked orderlies, and now +the first look at Leila's letter disturbed him, and as he read he became +indignant: + +"DEAR JOHN: Mr. Blake's telegram telling us of your wound caused us some +anxiety, which was made less by Dr. McGregor's somewhat hastily written +letter. Aunt Ann thought it was excusable in so busy a man. Poor Uncle +Jim on hearing it said, 'Yes, yes--why didn't John write--can't be much +the matter.' This shows you his sad failure. He has not mentioned it +since. + +"It is a relief to us to know that you were not dangerously hurt. It +seems as if this sad war and its consequences were near to end. Let us +hear soon. Aunt Ann promises to write to you at once. + +"Yours truly, + +"LEILA GREY." + +He threw the letter down, and forgetting that he had asked Blake and the +doctor not to alarm his people, was overcome by the coldness of Leila's +letter. He lay still, and with eyes quite too full felt that life had for +him little of that which once made it sweet with what all men hold most +dear. He would have been relieved if he could have seen Leila when alone +she read and read again McGregor's letter, and read with fear between the +lines of carefully guarded words what he would not say and for days much +feared to say. She sat down and wrote to John a letter of such tender +anxiety as was she felt a confession she was of no mind to make. He was +in no danger. Had he been, she would have written even more frankly. But +her trouble about her uncle was fed from day to day by what her aunt +could not or would not see, and it was a nearer calamity and more and +more distressing. Then she sat thinking what was John like now. She saw +the slight figure, so young and still so thoughtful, as she had smiled in +her larger experience of men when they had sat and played years ago with +violets on the hillside of West Point. No, she was unprepared to commit +herself for life, for would he too be of the same mind? For a moment she +stood still indecisive, then she tore up her too tender letter and wrote +the brief note which so troubled him. She sent it and then was sorry she +had not obeyed the impulse of the kindlier hour. + +The nobler woman instinct is apt to be armed by nature for defensive +warfare. If she has imagination, she has in hours of doubt some sense of +humiliation in the vast surrender of marriage. This accounts for certain +of the cases of celibate women, who miss the complete life and have no +ready traitor within the guarded fortress to open the way to love. Some +such instinctive limitations beset Leila Grey. The sorrow of a great, a +nearer and constant affection came to her aid. To think of anything like +love, even if again it questioned her, was out of the question while +before her eyes James Penhallow was fading in mind. + +John Penhallow was shortly relieved by McGregor's order that he should +get some exercise. It enabled him to escape the early surgical visit and +the diverse odours of surgical dressings which lingered in the long ward +while breakfast was being served. There were more uneasy sleepers than he +in the ward and much pain, and crippled men with little to look forward +to. The suffering he saw and could not lessen had been for John one of +the depressing agencies of this hospital life. The ward was quiet when he +awoke at dawn of April 13th. He quickly summoned an orderly and endured +the daily humiliation of being dressed like a baby. He found Josiah +waiting with the camp-chair at the door as he came out of the ward. + +"How you feeling, Master John?" + +"Rather better. What time is it? That Reb stole my watch." Even yet it +was amusing. He laughed at the remembrance of having been relieved by the +prisoners of purse and watch. + +For Josiah to extract his own watch was as McGregor said something +like a surgical operation. "It's not goin', Master John. It's been losing +time--like it wasn't accountable. What's it called watch for if it don't +watch?" + +This faintly amused John. He said no more, but sat enjoying the early +morning quiet, the long hazy reaches of the James River, the awakening of +life here and there, and the early stir among the gun-boats. + +"Get me some coffee, Josiah," he said. "I am like your watch, losing time +and everything else." + +Josiah stood over him. His unnatural depression troubled a simple mind +made sensitive by a limitless affection and dog-like power to feel +without comprehending the moods of the master. + +"Captain John, you was sayin' to me yesterday you was most unfortunate. I +just went away and kept a kind of thinkin' about it." + +"Well, what conclusion did you come to?" He spoke wearily. + +"Oh, I just wondered if you'd like to change with me--guess you wouldn't +for all the pain?" + +Surprised at the man's reflection, John looked up at the black kindly +face. "Get me some coffee." + +"Yes, sir--what's that?" The morning gun rang out the sunrise hour. +"What's that, sir?" The flag was being hoisted on the slope below them. +"It's stopped at half-mast, sir! Who's dead now?" + +"Go and ask, Josiah." McGregor came up as he spoke. + +"The President was killed last night, John, by an assassin!" + +"Lincoln killed!" + +"Yes--I will tell you by and by--now this is all we know. I must make my +rounds. We leave to-morrow for home." + +John sat alone. This measureless calamity had at once on the +thoughtful young soldier the effect of lessening the influences of +his over-sensitive surrender to pain and its attendant power to weaken +self-control. Like others, in the turmoil of war he had given too little +thought to the Promethean torment of a great soul chained to the rock of +duty--the man to whom like the Christ "the common people listened +gladly." He looked back over his own physical suffering with sense of +shame at his defeat, and sat up in his chair as if with a call on his +worn frame to assert the power of a soul to hear and answer the summons +of a great example. + +"Thank you, Josiah," he said cheerfully. "No coffee is like yours to set +a fellow up." A greater tonic was acting. "We go home to-morrow." + +"That's good. Listen, sir--what's that?" + +"Minute guns, Josiah. Have you heard the news?" + +"Yes, sir--it's awful; but we are going home to Westways." + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + + +As the trains went northward crowded with more or less damaged officers +and men, John Penhallow in his faded engineer uniform showed signs of +renewed vitality. He chatted in his old companionable way with the other +home-bound volunteers, and as they went through Baltimore related to +McGregor with some merriment his bloodless duel with Mrs. Penhallow's +Rebel brother Henry. The doctor watched him with the most friendly +satisfaction and with such pride as a florist may have in his prospering +flowers. The colour of health was returning to the pale face and there +was evidently relief from excessive pain. He heard, too, as they chatted, +of John's regrets that his simple engineer dress was not as neat as he +would have desired and of whether his aunt would dislike it. Wearing the +station of Westways Crossing, John fell into a laughing account of his +first arrival and of the meeting with Leila. The home-tonic was of use +and he was glad with gay gladness that the war was over. + +As the train stopped, he said as he got out, "There is no carriage--you +telegraphed, McGregor?" + +"Yes, I did, but the service is, I fancy, snowed under just now with +messages. I will walk on and have them send for you." + +"No," said John, "I am quite able to walk. Come along." + +"Are you really able?" + +"Yes--we'll take it easy." + +"There isn't much left of you to carry what remains." + +"My legs are all right, Tom." He led the way through the woods until they +came out on the avenue. "Think of it, Tom,--it is close to nine years +since first I left Grey Pine for the Point." + +In the afternoon of this sunny day late in April the Colonel sat on the +porch with his wife. Below them on the step Rivers was reading aloud the +detailed account of Lincoln's death. Leila coming out of the house was +first to see the tall thin figure in dark undress uniform. She was +thankful for an unwatched moment of ability to gain entire self-command. +It was needed. She helped herself by her cry of joyous recognition. + +"Aunt Ann! Aunt Ann!" she cried, "there is Dr. McGregor and--and John and +Josiah." The aunt cast a look of anxiety at the expressionless face of +James Penhallow, as he rose to his feet, saying, "Why wasn't I told?" + +"We did not know, sir," said Rivers, dropping the paper as he went down +the steps to meet the new-comer. + +Then the wasted figure with the left arm in a sling was in Ann +Penhallow's embrace. + +"My God!" he said, "but it's good to be at home." As he spoke he turned +to the Colonel who had risen. + +"Got hit, John? It runs in the family. Once had a Sioux arrow through my +arm. Glad to see you. Want to be fed up a bit. Lord! but you're lean." He +said no more, but sat down again without appearance of interest. + +Rivers made John welcome with a pleasant word, and Leila coming forward +took his hand, saying quietly, "We hardly looked for you to-day, but it +is none too soon." Then she turned to McGregor, "We have much to thank +you for. You will stay to dine?" + +John, still too sensitive, was troubled as he realized his uncle's +condition, and felt that there was something in Leila's manner which was +unlike that of the far-remembered Leila of other days. She had urged +McGregor to stay and dine, and then added, "But, of course, that pleasure +must wait--you will want to see your father. He is so proud of you--as we +all are." + +"That is a pleasant welcome, Miss Leila; and, dear Mrs. Penhallow, I do +not want a carriage, I prefer to walk. I will see you, John, and that +lame arm to-morrow. Good-bye, Colonel." + +The master of Grey Pine said, "Nice young man! Ann ought to kill the +fatted calf. Tell John not to be late for dinner." + +"It is all right, James," said Mrs. Ann, "all right." + +Rivers watched with pain the vacant face of the Colonel. This mental +failure constantly recalled the days of anguish when with despair he had +seen all who were dear to him one after another die mentally before their +merciful exit from life. + +"John must be tired," he said. Leila, who noted on the young soldier's +face the effect of sudden realization of his useless state said, "Your +room is ready, John." + +"Yes," said John, "I should like to rest before dinner." + +With a word as to the fatigue of his journey, Leila followed him into the +well-remembered hall. + +"Good heavens, Leila. It seems an age since I was here. Send up Josiah. +I am like a baby and need him to help me." + +She looked after him pitifully as he went up the stairs. "Surely," she +thought, "we have paid dearly our debt to the country." + +He came down at six o'clock, still in his undress uniform, but thinking +that his aunt would not like it. In a day or two he would have the +civilian clothes he had ordered in Philadelphia. He need have had no such +anxiety; she was indifferent to all but her husband, who sat at table +speechless, while Leila and John too consciously manufactured talk of the +home and the mills--and the ending of the war. After the meal Ann began +her patient efforts to interest the Colonel with a game of cards and then +of backgammon. It seemed only to make him irritable, and he said at last, +"I think I must go to bed." + +"Certainly, dear." She went with him upstairs, saying, "Good-night, +children." + +"She will not return, John. This is what goes on day after day." + +"It is very sad--I did not fully comprehend his condition." + +"He is often far worse, and complains of his head or is resolutely--I +should say obstinately--bent on some folly, such as walking to the mills +and advising them. Aunt Ann never contradicts him--what he wants, she +wants. Not the most reasonable opposition is of any use." + +"Does he never ride, Leila?" + +"Never, and is vexed when Dr. McGregor calls to see him and advises a +consultation. Once we had a distressing outbreak." + +"And yet," said John, "there should have been other advice long ago. +Somehow there must be." + +"Mr. Rivers has urged it and made him angry; as for Aunt Ann, she sees +only the bright side of his case and humours him as she would a sick +child." + +"She is greatly changed, Leila. I hardly know how to state it. She has a +look of--well, of something spiritual in her face." + +"Yes, that is true. Are you in pain, John?" she added. + +"Yes--not in great pain, but enough. For two weeks I did suffer +horribly." + +"John! Oh, my poor Jack! We never knew--is it so bad?" + +"Yes, imagine a toothache in your elbow with a variety of torments in the +whole arm." + +"I can't imagine. I never had a toothache--in fact, I hardly know the +sensation of serious pain." + +"Well, I broke down under it, Leila. I became depressed and quite +foolishly hopeless. Some day I will tell you what helped me out of a +morass of melancholy." + +"Tell me now." + +"No, I must go to bed. I am getting better and will get off with a stiff +elbow, so Tom says. At first they talked of amputation. That was awful. +Good-night!" + +It was none too soon. She was still unsure of herself, and although no +word of tender approach had disturbed her as he talked, and she was glad +of that, the tense look of pain, the reserve of his hospital confession +of suffering nearly broke down her guarded attitude. As he passed out of +view at the turn of the stairs, she murmured, "Oh, if only Uncle Jim were +well." + +Josiah came at the call of the bell. She detained him. She asked, "How +was the Captain wounded? No one wrote of how it happened." + +"Well, missy, he would ride a horse called Hoodoo--it was just the bad +luck of that brute done it." Josiah's account was graphic and clear +enough. John Penhallow's character lost nothing as interpreted by Josiah. + +"It was a dangerous errand, I suppose." + +"Yes, Miss Leila. You see, when they know about a man that he somehow +don't mind bullets and will go straight to where he's sent, they're very +apt to get him killed. At the first shot he ought to have tumbled off and +played possum till it was dark." + +"But then," said Leila, "he would have been too late with General Parke's +message." + +"Of course, Master John couldn't sham dead like I would.--I don't despise +bullets like he does. Once before he had orders to go somewhere, and +couldn't get across a river. He was as mad as a wet hen." + +"A wet hen--delightful! Did he do it?" + +"Guess you don't know him! When Master John wants anything, well, he's a +terrible wanter--always was that way even when he was a boy--when he +wants anything, he gets it." + +"Indeed! does he? I think he is waiting for you, Josiah." + +The black's conclusive summary hardened the young woman's heart. She sat +a while smiling, then took up a book and failed to become interested. + +As John became familiar with the altered life of a household once happy +and in pleasant relation to the outer world, he felt as Leila had done +the depressing influence of a home in which the caprices of an invalid +life were constantly to be considered. Meanwhile his own spare figure +gained flesh, and on one sunny morning--he long remembered it--he was +rather suddenly free from pain, and with only the stiff elbow was, as +McGregor described it, "discharged cured." + +For some time he had been feeling that in bodily vigour and sense of +being his normal self he had been rapidly gaining ground. The relief from +the thraldom of pain brought a sudden uplift of spirits and a feeling of +having been born anew into an inheritance of renewed strength and of +senses sharpened beyond what he had ever known. A certain activity of +happiness like a bodily springtime comes with such a convalescence. +Ceasing to feel the despotism of self-attention, he began to recover his +natural good sense and to watch with more care his uncle's state, his +aunt's want of consideration for any one but James Penhallow, and the +effect upon Leila of this abnormal existence. He began to understand that +to surely win this sad girl-heart there must be a patient siege, and +above all something done for the master of Grey Pine. He recognized with +love's impatience the beauty of this young life amid the difficulties of +the Colonel's moods and Ann Penhallow's ill-concealed jealousy. A great +passion may be a very selfish thing, or in the nobler natures rise so +high on the wings of love that it casts like the singing lark no shadow +on the earth. He could wait and respect with patient affection the sense +of duty which perhaps--ah! that perhaps--made love a thing which must +wait--yes, and wait too with helpful service where she too had nobly +served. + +When the day came for his first venture on a horse and he rode through +the young leafage of June, no enterprise seemed impossible. How could he +be of use to her and these dear people to whom he owed so much? War had +been costly, but it had taught him that devotion to the duty of the hour +which is one of the best lessons of that terrible schoolmaster. There +was, as he saw every day, no overruling common sense in the household of +Grey Pine, and no apparent possibility of reasonable control. Just now it +was worse than ever, and he meant to talk it over with the two McGregors. +With Josiah riding behind him, he left a message here and there in the +village, laughing and jesting, with a word of sympathy where the war had +left its cruel memories. He had been in the little town very often since +his return, but never before when free from pain or with the pleasant +consciousness that he had it in his power to be to these friends of his +childhood what the Colonel had been. He talked to Joe Grace, left a +message for Pole's son, and then rode on to his appointment. + +He sat down with father and son in the unchanged surroundings of the +untidy office; even the flies were busy as before on the old man's +tempting bald head. + +"Well, John," said the doctor, "what's up now? The Squire won't see me at +all." Tom sat still and listened. + +"There are two things to consider, and I want your advice; but, first, I +want to say that there is no head to that family. I wonder how Leila +stands it. I mean that your advice shall be taken about a consultation +with Prof. Askew." + +"You want my advice? Do you, indeed! Mrs. Penhallow will ask the +Colonel's opinion, he will swear, and the matter is at an end." + +"I mean to have that consultation," said John. Tom laughed and nodded +approval. + +"It's no use, John, none," said the older man. + +"We shall see about that. Do you approve?--that is my question." + +"If that's the form of advice you want, why, of course--yes--but count me +out." + +"Count me in, John," said the younger surgeon. "I know what Askew will +say and what should have been done long ago." + +"An operation?" asked his father. + +"Yes, sir, an operation." + +"Too late!" + +"Well," said John, "he gets no worse; a week or two will make no +difference, I presume." + +"None," said Dr. McGregor. + +"It may," said Tom. + +"Well, it may have to wait. Just now there is a very serious question. +Aunt Ann made last night the wild suggestion that the Colonel might be +amused if we had one of those rummage-sales with which she used to +delight the village. Uncle Jim at once declared it to be the thing he +would like best. Aunt Ann said we must see about it at once. Her +satisfaction in finding an amusement which the Colonel fancied was really +childlike. Leila said nothing, nor did I. In fact, the proposal came +about when I happened unluckily to say what a fine chance Uncle Sam had +for a rummage-sale after a forced march or a fight. I recall having said +much the same thing long ago in a letter to Leila." + +"Then there's nothing to be done just now, John," remarked Tom McGregor, +"but I cannot conceive of anything more likely to affect badly a +disordered brain." + +The older man was silent until John asked, "Is it worth while to talk to +Aunt Ann about it--advise against it?" + +"Quite useless, John. I advise you and Leila quietly to assist your aunt, +and like as not the Colonel may forget all about it in a day or two." + +"No, Doctor. To-day he had Billy up with him in the attic bringing down +whatever he can find, useful or useless." + +With little satisfaction from this talk, John rode homeward. Sitting in +the saddle at the post-office door, he called for the mail. Mrs. Crocker, +of undiminished bulk and rosiness, came out. + +"How's your arm, Captain? I bet it's more use than mine. The rheumatism +have took to permanent boarding in my right shoulder--and no glory like +you got to show for it." + +"I could do without the glory." + +"No, you couldn't. If I was a man, I'd be glad to swap; you've got to +make believe a bit, but the town's proud of you. I guess some one will +soon have to look after them Penhallow mills." Mrs. Crocker put a +detaining hand on his bridle reins. + +"Yes, yes," said John absently, glancing well pleased over a kind letter +of inquiry from General Parke. "Well, what else, Mrs. Crocker?" + +"The Colonel quite give me a shock this morning. He's not been here--no, +not once--since he came home. Well, he walked in quite spry and told me +there was to be a rummage-sale in a week, and I was to put up a notice +and tell everybody. Why, Mr. John, he was that natural. He went away +laughing because I offered to sell my old man--twenty-five cents a +pound. I did notice he don't walk right." + +"Yes, I have noticed that; but this notion of a rummage-sale has seemed +to make him better. Now, suppose you let my reins go." + +"Oh, Mr. John, don't be in such a hurry. It's surely a responsible place, +this post-office; I don't ever get time for a quiet talk." + +"Well, Mrs. Crocker, now is your chance." + +"That's real good of you. I was wanting to ask if you ever heard anything +of Peter Lamb. He wrote to his mother he was in the army, and then that +was the end of it. She keeps on writing once a week, and the letters come +back stamped 'not found.' I guess he's wandering somewhere." + +"Like enough. I went to see her last week, but I could not give her any +comfort. She couldn't have a worse thing happen than for Peter to come +home." + +"Well, Captain John, when you come to have babies of your own, you'll +find mothers are a curious kind of animal." + +"Mothers!" laughed John. "I hope there won't be more than one. Now, I +really must go." + +"Oh, just one more real bit of news. Lawyer Swallow's wife was here +yesterday with another man to settle up her husband's business." + +"Is he dead?" + +"They say so, but you can't believe everything you hear. Now, don't +hurry. What most killed Swallow was just this: He hated Pole like poison, +and when he got a five hundred dollar mortgage-grip on Pole's pasture +meadow, he kept that butcher-man real uneasy. When you were all away, +Swallow began to squeeze--what those lawyers call 'foreclose.' It's +just some lawyer word for robbery." + +"It's pretty bad, Mrs. Crocker, but two people are waiting for you and +this isn't exactly Government business." + +"Got to hear the end, Captain." + +"I suppose so--what next?" Dixy wondered why the spur touched him even +lightly. + +"Pole, he told Mrs. Penhallow all about it, and she wasn't as glad to +help her meat-man as she was to bother Swallow, so she took over the +mortgage. When the Squire first came home from Washington and wasn't like +he was later, she told him, of course. Now everybody knows Pole's ways, +and so the Squire he says to me--he was awful amused--'Mrs. Crocker, I +asked Mrs. Penhallow how Pole was going to pay her.' She said she did put +that at Pole, and he said it wouldn't take long to eat up that debt at +Grey Pine. He wouldn't have dared to speak like that to your aunt if she +hadn't got to be so meek-like, what with war and bother." By this time +Dixy was with reason displeased and so restless that Mrs. Crocker let the +reins drop, but as John Penhallow rode away she cried, "The price of +meats at Grey Pine has been going up ever since, until Miss Leila--" The +rest was lost to the Captain. He rode away laughing as he reflected on +what share of Pole's debt he was to devour. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + + +The bustle and folly of a rummage-sale was once in every two or three +years a frolic altogether pleasant to quiet Westways. It enabled Ann +Penhallow and other wise women to get rid of worn-out garments and other +trash dear to the male mind. When Leila complained of the disturbing +antecedents of a rummage-sale, Mrs. Crocker, contributive of unasked +wisdom, remarked, "Men have habits, and women don't; women have blind +instincts. You'll find that out when you're married. You see marriage is +a kind of voyage of discovery. You just remember that and begin early to +keep your young man from storing away useless clothes and the like. +That's where a rummage-sale comes in handy." + +Leila laughed. "Why not sell the unsatisfactory young man, Mrs. Crocker?" + +"Well, that ain't a bad idea," said the post-mistress slyly, "if he's a +damaged article--a rummage-sale of husbands not up to sample." + +"A very useful idea," said the young woman. "Good-bye." + +In the afternoon a day later, Leila, making her escape from her aunt's +busy collections, slipped away into the woods alone. The solitude of the +early woodland days of summer were what she needed, and the chance they +gave for such tranquil reflection as the disturbance and restless state +of her home just now made it rarely possible to secure. She tried to put +aside her increasing anxiety about her uncle and had more difficulty in +dealing with John Penhallow and his over-quiet friendliness. She thought +too of her own coldly-worded letters and of the suffering of which she +had been kept so long ignorant. He had loved her once; did he now? She +was annoyed to hear the voice of Mark Rivers. + +"So, Leila, you have run away, and I do not wonder. This turmoil is most +distressing." + +"Yes, yes--and everything--those years of war and what it has brought +us--and my dear Uncle Jim--and how is it to end? Let us talk of something +else. I came here to be--well, to see if I could find peace of soul and +what these silent forests have often given me, strength to take up again +the cares and troubles of life." He did not excuse his intrusion nor seem +to notice the obvious suggestions, but fell upon their personal +application to himself. + +"They have never done that for me," he said sadly. "There is some defect +in my nature--some want. I have no such relation to nature; it is +speechless to me--mute, and I never needed more what I fail to find in +myself. The war and its duties gave me the only entire happiness I have +had for years." Then he added, in a curiously contemplative manner, "It +does seem as if a man had a right to some undisturbed happiness in life. +I must go. I leave you to the quiet of the woods." + +"I am sorry," she said, "I am sorry that you are able to imply that you +have never known happiness. Surely you cannot mean that." It was all she +could say. His look of profound melancholy hurt her, for like all who +knew Mark Rivers well, she loved, respected and admired him. + +He made no explanatory reply, but after a brief silence said, "I must go, +Leila, where there are both duties and dangers--not--no, not in cities." + +"I trust you do not mean to leave us--surely not!" + +"No, not yet--not while I can be of use to these dear friends." + +As she moved on at his side or before him, he saw too well the easy grace +of her strong young virgin form, the great blue eyes, the expressive +tenderness of features which told of dumb sympathy with what she had no +knowledge to understand. He longed to say, "I love you and am condemned +by my conscience to ask no return." It would only add to his unhappiness +and disturb a relation which even in its incompleteness was dear to him. +The human yearning to confess, to win even the sad luxury of pity beset +the man. In his constant habit of introspection, he had become +unobservant and had no least idea that the two young people he loved so +well were nearing what was to him forever impossible. + +"Let me sit down," he said unwilling to leave her; "I am tired." He was +terribly afraid of himself and shaken by a storm of passion, which left +his sensitive body feeble. + +She sat down with him on a great trunk wrecked a century ago. "Are you +not well?" she asked, observing the paleness of his face. + +"No, it is nothing. I am not very well, but it is nothing of moment. +Don't let it trouble you--I am much as usual. I want, Leila, what I +cannot get--what I ought not to get." Even this approach to fuller +confession relieved him. + +"What is there, my dear Mr. Rivers, you cannot get? Oh! you are a man to +envy with your hold on men, your power to charm, your eloquence. I have +heard Dr. McGregor talk of what you were among the wounded and the dying +on the firing-line. Don't you know that you are one of God's helpful +messengers, an interpreter into terms of human thought and words of what +men need to-day, when--" + +"No, no," he broke in, lifting a hand of dissenting protest. The flushed +young face as she spoke, his sense of being nobly considered by this +earnest young woman had again made him feel how just the little more +would have set free in ardent words what he was honestly striving to +control. + +"Thank you, my dear Leila, I could wish I were all you think I am; but +were it all true, there would remain things that sweeten life and which +must always be forbidden to me." + +He rose to his feet once again master of his troubled soul. "I leave +you," he said, "and your tireless youth to your walk. We cannot have +everything, I must be contented in some moment of self-delusion to half +believe the half of what you credit me with." + +"Then," cried Leila, laughing, "you would have only a fourth." + +"Ah! I taught you arithmetic too well." He too laughed as he turned away. +Laughter was rare with him and to smile frequent. He walked slowly away +to the rectory and for two days was not seen at Grey Pine. + +Leila, more at ease and relieved by the final gay banter, strolled into +the solemn quiet of the pines the Squire had so successfully freed from +underbrush and left in royal solitude. At the door of the old log-cabin +she lay down on the dry floor of pine-needles. The quick interchange of +talk had given her no chance to consider, as now she reviewed in +thoughtful illumination, what had seemed to her strange. She tried to +recall exactly what he had said. Of a sudden she knew, and was startled +to know. She had come into possession of the power of a woman innocent of +intention to inflict pain on a strong and high-minded man. A lower nature +might have felt some sense of triumph. It left her with no feeling but +the utmost distress and pitiful thinking of what had gone wrong in this +man's life. Once before she had been thus puzzled. The relief of her walk +was gone. She gathered some imperfect comfort in the thought that she +might not have been justified in her conclusions regarding a man who was +in so many ways an unexplained personality. + +During the next few days the village was in a state of anticipative +pleasure and of effort to find for the rummage-sale articles which were +damaged or useless. At Grey Pine John and Leila Grey were the only +unexcited persons. She was too troubled in divers ways to enjoy the +amusement to be had out of what delighted every one else except John +Penhallow. To please his aunt he made some small and peculiar offerings, +and daily went away to the mills to meet and consult with the Colonel's +former partners. He was out of humour with his world, saw trouble ahead +if he did as he meant to do, and as there was an east wind howling +through the pines, his wounded arm was recording the storm in dull aches +or sharp twinges. He smoked, I fear, too much during these days of +preparation for the rummage-sale, and rode hard; while Leila within the +dismantled house was all day long like the quiet steadying flywheel in +some noisy machinery. What with Billy as the over-excited Colonel's aide +and her aunt aggrieved by a word of critical comment on her husband's +actions, Leila had need of all the qualities required in a household +where, as it seemed to her, it was hard to keep tongue or temper quiet. + +Mr. Rivers towards the end of the week came in often, and would, of +course, see that the Sunday school hall was made ready for the sale. He +would make some contributions and help to arrange the articles for the +sale. The Colonel's continuity of childlike interest deceived him into +sharing the belief of Ann Penhallow, who was, Leila thought, unreasonably +elated. Meanwhile Leila felt as a kind of desertion John's successive +days of absence. Where was he? What was he doing? Once she would have +asked frankly why he left to her the burden of cares he ought to have +been eager to share, while Mark Rivers was so steadily helpful. When Ann +Penhallow asked him to act as salesman, he said that he was at her +disposal. The Colonel declared that was just the thing, and John must +uncover and announce the articles to be sold. He said, "How long ago was +the last sale? Wasn't it last year?" + +"No, dear, not so lately." + +"I must have forgotten. Perhaps, Rivers, we might sell a few useless +people. What would Leila fetch in the marriage market?" Ann somewhat +annoyed said nothing; nor did Rivers like it. The Colonel continued, +"Might sell John--badly damaged." + +"I must go," said Rivers. "I have my sermon to think over. I mean to use +the text you gave me, Leila, some two weeks ago." + +Sunday went by, and Tuesday, the day of the sale, came with a return of +the east wind and a cold downpour of rain. The Colonel and Billy were +busy late in the day; Mrs. Ann was tired; while John in some pain was +silent at dinner. The carriage took the Colonel and his wife to the hall. +He was now quiet and answered curtly the too frequent questions about how +he felt. + +"We will send back for you, Leila," said her aunt. + +"No, I want to walk there with John." + +The Captain looked up surprised, "Why, yes, with pleasure." + +She came down in her rain-cloak. "Take a large umbrella, John. How it +blows!" + +As they set off in the face of a rain-whipped wind, he said, "Take my +arm, Leila--the other side--the sound arm." + +"You were in pain at dinner, John." + +"It is my familiar devil, the east wind, but don't talk of it." + +She understood him, and returned, "I will not if you don't wish me to +talk of it. Where have you been all these uneasy days?" + +"Oh, at the mills. Uncle refuses to speak of business and I am trying to +understand the situation--some one must." + +"I see--you must explain it all to me later." + +"I will. One of the mill men of my Corps needed help. I have asked Tom to +see him. How depressed Mr. Rivers seems. Gracious, how it rains!" + +"Yes, he is at his worst. I am sorry you missed his sermon on Sunday--it +was great. He talked about Lincoln, and used a text I gave him some time +ago." + +"What was it?" + +"It is in Exodus: 'Ye have seen what I did unto the Egyptians and how I +bare you on eagles' wings, and brought you unto myself.'" + +John's ready imagination began for a silent moment to play with the +words. "How did he use it, Leila?" + +"Oh, he told the preceding story briefly, and then his great seeking eyes +wandered a little and he said, 'Think how the uplift of God's eagles' +wings enlarged their horizon!' Then he seemed to me to have the idea that +they might not comprehend, so he made one of those eloquent pauses and +went on to say, 'You can all, like Lincoln, rise as he rose from the +lesser things of a hard life to see more widely and more surely the +duties of life. The eagle-wings of God's uplifting power are for you, +for me, for all of us.' He made them understand." + +"I am sorry I missed it. I spent the Sunday morning with my engineer." + +"Aren't you getting wet, John?" + +"No. How did he end?" + +"What I did not like was the dwelling on Lincoln's melancholy, and the +effort it must have cost him--at times. It seemed to me, John, as if he +was preaching to himself. I wonder if clergymen often preach to +themselves. Some of us have to. The sketch of Lincoln's life was to me a +wonder of terse biography. At the close he did not dwell on the murder, +but just said--'Then--and then, my friends, God took him to himself.'" + +"Thank you, Leila. What a lot of wagons--we must have half the +county--and in this rain too." + +"Now, John, you hate this affair, and so do I; but the Westways people +think it great fun, and in the last few years they have had very little." + +"_Ni moi non plus, Mademoiselle Grey._" + +"Yes, yes," she said, "I know, John, but make it go--make it gay, John. +It will soon be over." + +"I will try." They left their wet garments in an empty outer room and +entering by a side door stood beside the raised platform at the end of +the crowded hall. + +Quite a hundred villagers or farming people, young and old, filled the +room, and the air was oppressively heavy. At one end on a raised platform +the Colonel was seated, and near by his wife well pleased to see him +smiling as he recognized here and there some of the farmers who had been +the playmates of his youth. John stood by the long table on which, +covered by sheets, lay the articles for sale. Rivers came forward to the +front of the platform, leaving Leila, who declined to sit down, at one +side with Mr. Grace and the two McGregors. + +The murmur of voices ceased; there was an appearance of expectant +attention. Rivers raised a hand, and said, "You are all, I am sure, most +glad to welcome the friend who like others among you has paid so dearly +for keeping unbroken the union of the States." Loud applause followed, as +he paused. "An occasion like this brings together young and old for +good-humoured fun, and may remind you of a similar meeting years ago. +This is to be a rummage-auction of useful things out of use, and of +useless things. If you will explain why anybody wants useless things I +shall know why some of you come to hear me preach or"--with a slight +pause--"my friend, Grace." Every one laughed, and John and Leila alike +felt that Rivers had struck the right note. + +"Captain John Penhallow"--loud plaudits--"Captain John Penhallow will +mention the articles for sale. Now, as you see, they are all hidden--some +of them I have never seen. Whoever makes the highest bid of the sale for +the most useless article will collect the whole product--the whole +proceeds of the sale, and"--he laughed--"will pay it over to the girl +about to be married." + +This was really great fun, and even John felt some relief as the hall +rang with merry laughter. Only Tom McGregor was grave while he watched +the Colonel. As Rivers spoke, Colonel Penhallow stood up, swayed a +little, straightened his tall figure, and waving Rivers aside said, "I +shall now conduct this sale." This was only a pleasant surprise to the +audience, and was welcomed with noisy hands. + +The two McGregors exchanged looks of anxious alarm as the Colonel said, +"Now, John!" Mrs. Penhallow smiled approval. + +John uncovered a corner of the nearest sheet and brought out a clock +without hands. "First article! Who'll bid? I think the hands have all +struck like the mill-hands down East. Five cents--do I hear ten? +Going--gone," cried the Colonel. + +A rag doll came next and brought a penny. There was high bidding over a +heavy band-box. When it went for half a dollar to Mrs. Crocker and was +found to contain a shrivelled pumpkin of last year's crop, the audience +wildly congratulated the post-mistress. + +John, who was now thoroughly in the spirit of their fun, produced two +large apples. "Now what daughter of Eve will bid," said the elated +Colonel. Leila laughing bid fifty cents. "Going--gone." + +"Look out for the serpent, Miss Grey," said Grace. + +Leila handed the apples to a small girl, who losing no time followed +Eve's remote example. "Oh, mother!" she cried, "it's got a five-dollar +piece in it--most broke my new tooth." + +"The root of all evil," said Grace. + +There were pots that were cracked or bottomless, old novels, and to the +evident dismay of John a favourite smoking jacket. Ann clapped her hands +with delight as John shook at her a finger of reproach. Then came tied up +in paper, which John unrolled, the long-forgotten cane of his youth, and +how it got there the Squire or Billy may have known. John bid, but at +a warning signal from Leila gave up, as she recaptured her property. +There were other apples, with and without money; and so with fun and +merriment the sale went on to Westways' satisfaction. + +"What's this," said John, with an unpleasant shock of annoyance as he +uncovered the Colonel's war-worn uniform. He hesitated, looking towards +his uncle who seemed bewildered. "That's that rascal, Billy--it's a +mistake," exclaimed the Colonel. + +"No, sir," shouted Billy, "Squire told me to take 'em. There's a sword +too. Squire said it wasn't any use now." + +No one laughed; it was obviously one of Billy's blunders. John put the +worn uniform and the sword aside and threw a cover over them. It was an +unpleasant reminder of the Colonel's state of mind and disturbed the +little group at one side of the stage. John made haste to get away from +it. + +"Last article for sale--it's large and must be bought covered up. Who +will bid?" Amid laughter the bids rose. At a dollar and ten cents it fell +to Mrs. Pole, and proved when uncovered to be another band-box. Mrs. Pole +came forward, and Ann Penhallow pleased to have been able to amuse her +husband said, "We are curious, Mrs. Pole, open it." Mrs. Pole obeyed, and +as she held up the rolled package it dropped into the unmistakable form +of a man's breeches. + +Westways exploded into wild applause, understanding joyously this freak +of fortune. Mrs. Pole joined in their merriment, and the carpenter +punched the butcher in the ribs for emphasis, as he said, "How's that, +Pole?" The butcher made use of unpleasant language, as John relieved +said, "The sale is over. You can settle with Mr. Grace." As he spoke he +moved over to where Leila stood beside the two McGregors. + +The people rose and put on their cloaks preparing to leave. Then John +heard Tom McGregor say, "Look out, father! Something is going to happen." + +The Colonel moved forward unsteadily. His face flushed, grew pale, and +something like a grimace distorted his features, as he said, "The sale is +not over, sit down." + +People took their places again wondering what was to come. Then with the +clear ringing voice the cavalry lines knew in far-away Indian wars, he +cried, "We will now sell the most useless article in Westways. Who'll buy +silly Billy?" + +"Can't sell me," piped out Billy's thin voice as he fled in alarm, amid +laughter. + +"The sale is over, uncle," said John. + +"No, sir--don't interrupt. I'd like to sell Swallow." + +This was much to their taste. "Guess he's sold a many of us," cried an +old farmer. + +"Why, he's dead," said Mrs. Crocker. + +The Colonel's gaze wandered. The little group of friends became +hopelessly uneasy; even Mrs. Ann ceased to smile. "You stand up, Polly +Somers--you are the handsomest girl in the county," which was quite true. + +The girl, who was near by, sat still embarrassed. "Get up," said +Penhallow sharply. + +"She's withdrawed these three months," cried a ready-witted young farmer. + +"Oh, is she? Well, then, we will go on." Tom McGregor went quietly up the +two steps to the platform. All those who were near to the much-loved +master of Grey Pine stood still aware of something wrong and unable to +interfere. Rivers alone moved towards him and was put aside by an +authoritative gesture. The moment of silence was oppressive, and Leila +was hardly conscious of the movement which carried her up beside Dr. +McGregor to the level of the platform. + +"Oh, do something," she whispered; "please do something." + +"It is useless--this can't last." + +"Uncle Jim," she exclaimed in her despair, and what more she would have +urged was unheard or unsaid as the Colonel turned towards her and cried, +"One more for sale!" + +No one spoke. At last these various people who loved the man well saw +more or less clearly that he was no longer their James Penhallow of +other days. He went on at once with raised voice: "Last sale--Leila +Grey--likely young woman--warranted sound--single or double harness. +Fetch her up." His confusion of mind was painfuly apparent. "Who'll bid?" +A suppressed titter rose from the younger people. + +"She is withdrawn, uncle," said John Penhallow distinctly. + +"Ah! who did you say--Like Polly, owner withdraws her--Can't you speak +out?" + +"I said, withdrawn, sir," John repeated. As he spoke he saw the Colonel +stagger backwards and sink into his chair; his face became white and +twitched; his head fell to one side; he breathed stertorously, flushed +slightly, and was instantly as one asleep. + +Ann Penhallow and the two doctors were at his side. Rivers called out, +"Leave the room, all of you, please. Open the windows, Grace!" + +"Is he dead?" asked Ann of McGregor. + +"No, no--it is a slight fit--there is no danger." + +A moment later Penhallow opened his eyes, sat up, and said, "Where am I? +What's all this about?" + +John said, "A bit faint, uncle. The carriage is waiting." He staggered to +his feet, and seizing Rivers's arm followed Ann and John in silence. With +Rivers they were driven back to Grey Pine. Of all Ann Penhallow's schemes +to amuse or interest her husband this had been the most utter failure. + +Every one had gone from the hall when John missing Leila returned to the +outer room to put on his cloak. The boy-cap Leila liked to wear in bad +weather, her rain-cloak, his umbrella, were as they had been left. He +stood still in the first moment available for thought and knew that here +was a new trouble. She must have been so shocked and ashamed as to have +fled in the rain eager to get away. + +Neither he nor any man could have realized what she felt as her uncle +talked wildly--and she had been put up for sale. She used none of the +resources of reason. All her body was hot with the same flush of shame +which burned in her face. In her passion of disgust and anger, she +hurried out into the storm. The chill of the east wind was friendly. She +gave no other thought to the wind-driven rain, but ran through the woods +like a wild thing, all virginal woman, unreasonable, insulted, angry as a +child is angry--even her uncle was forgotten. She ran upstairs, the glory +of her rain-soaked hair in tumbled disorder, and in her room broke into +the open speech which passion confides to the priest solitude. + +"Oh, John Penhallow, how could you! That ends it--a man who could--and +oh, John Penhallow!" She cried a little, wailing in a childish way, and +then with some returning sense of anxiety put herself in condition to go +downstairs, where she learned that her uncle was in bed. She went back to +her room. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + + +A half hour later John sat alone in the library. He had much to disturb a +young man trained to obey and at need command, and was feeling the +responsibility of an unusual position. At last he wrote a note to his +aunt and sent it up to her by a maid. In a few minutes Ann Penhallow +appeared. + +"What is it, John? I cannot leave James alone long." She sat down. "Now +don't keep me." + +"I need not detain you long, but I feel that you ought to know, Aunt Ann, +that I have had a talk with Tom McGregor and have sent a telegram to Dr. +Askew desiring him to come at once and see my uncle. I ought to hear +to-morrow." + +She rose to her feet. "You did this, John, without a word to me and +knowing that your uncle has over and over said he would not listen to +anything of the kind. You have taken a great liberty--I shall telegraph +for your doctor not to come. James is always better after these attacks." + +Much surprised, he said, "These attacks--has he had them before?" + +"Oh, twice--very slight." + +"But, aunt, do you not understand how serious this one was?" + +"He is better already--much better. There should not be any need to +remind you that you are not the head of this house. I shall telegraph at +once, in the morning, and stop him." + +"It will be too late, aunt." + +"Then your doctor may go back. I will not see this doctor if in spite of +my telegram he should come. You will understand, John, that this ends it. +I certainly will not have James constantly irritated. I shall telegraph +now--at once." + +"You will do, aunt, as it seems best to you." He saw the telegram written +and heard her order to send it to the Westways office. + +His aunt, having settled the matter, went upstairs, an angry and +indignant woman, leaving in the library a man resolute not to accept +defeat. + +He wrote a second message: "Disregard Mrs. Penhallow's telegram. Come at +once. Fee at discretion. Will meet you at Westways Crossing." + +He roused up Josiah and gave his order. "Ride to the mills and get this +despatch sent to-night or early to-morrow--oh, to-night, somehow. It is +important. Pay some one--only get it sent. Here are five dollars." + +He was of no mind to meet either Leila or his aunt, and to escape them +breakfasted early next morning, and riding to the mills was pleased to +avoid another painful interview. On his return at evening the dinner at +Grey Pine was made rather less uncomfortable by the presence of Rivers +who talked to Ann Penhallow while the Colonel dozed in his armchair. +Accustomed to have her decisions obeyed in her home, Ann Penhallow had +now dismissed the question of a consultation as settled, and had quite +lightly mentioned to Leila that John had revived the subject and that she +had once for all put an end to it. + +She was sorry to have had to be so positive, but was pleased to be done +with the matter in dispute. She little knew the young soldier. When he +was certain that the consultant would come, he began to consider what he +would do if his aunt did simply refuse to see Dr. Askew. She might, in +fact, be as resolute as her nephew. + +In her trouble about her husband's mishap, Ann Penhallow hardly regarded +her niece's unpleasant share in the sad ending of the rummage-sale--it +was relatively of no moment. Nor would the girl herself have been willing +to discuss it. John Penhallow should have held his tongue, and now all +Westways must be laughing--and she would never--never--forgive him. +Evidently her aunt had scolded him about that consultation. She had a +little curiosity to know how he had taken it and how he looked when he +came to match the will of his young manhood against the unreasonable +obstinacy of the woman he had been taught to obey. She observed next day +at breakfast that John was more than usually gay, as he asked if there +were any errands. There were none. He loitered about waiting and at last +went out to the back porch where he stood a minute looking over the box +hedge which bounded the garden. Leila was busy taking tribute from the +first roses of the summer days. As she bent over, she let them fall one +by one into the basket at her feet. Now and then she drew up her tall +figure, and seemed to John as she paused to be deep in thought. When she +became aware of his approach, she fell again to harvesting roses. + +He said, "Leila, before I go to the mills, I want to talk with you about +what is troubling me. In fact--" + +Without looking up she broke into his attempt to explain himself, "I am +in no mood to discuss anything, John Penhallow." + +He was frankly puzzled. Of the many Leilas, this was a new acquaintance, +but he said quietly, "It is necessary to make a statement--I want first +to explain." + +She refreshed her rising anger with words. "I do not want any +explanation--there are things no woman can pardon. I was insulted." + +"My dear Leila, upon my honour I do not know what you mean." + +She was near to saying, "I am not yours, or dear." Something in the look +of the attentive face and the calmness of his manner put her on guard, +and she said only, "That is, I presume, because you are not a woman." + +He said, "I do not regret that, but you clearly are thinking of one thing +and I of another. It must be the rummage-sale. I have no desire to +discuss that sorrowful business, Miss Grey. You have quite misapprehended +me. It is of Uncle Jim I want to talk--in fact, to ask advice." + +"I did not understand," she said, flushing a little. His formal manner +was very unpleasant, and to be called Miss Grey was ridiculous. If he had +shown anger or even annoyance it would have eased the situation. He went +on to explain himself, rather aware of her embarrassment and not +altogether sorry for her mishap. + +"I said I want help--advice. I have sent for Prof. Askew. Aunt Ann has +telegraphed him not to come. I wired him to disregard her message. He has +answered me that he will be here at the house, if the train is on time, +about six to-day. It is our last hope, but it is a hope. Aunt Ann must +see this gentleman--I say she must. Now, how can it be managed?" + +Leila let fall a handful of roses into the basket and faced him. "Take +time," he said. "I do really need help--how can I make Aunt Ann see this +famous surgeon? Take time," he repeated. + +Here was for Leila a rather astonishing revelation of resolute aggressive +manhood--a new John Penhallow. Relieved to have been taken out of her +angry mood, she stood still a moment while he waited on her counsel. +"There is but one way," she said, "it is the only way. I do not like +it--whether you will be willing to accept it, I do not know." + +"And still you advise it?" + +"I do not." + +"Well, what is it?" + +"At about six every afternoon, when Uncle Jim is asleep, Aunt Ann is +almost certain to be in her little library-room. Take Dr. Askew in, +present him, and walk out. She will hate it, but she is sure to be what +she is always to a guest. He will have his chance." + +"Thank you, Miss Grey."--How she hated that!--"You have helped me." He +touched his army cap in salute and left her alone. At the garden gate he +looked back--Miss Grey was also looking back, and vexed at being thus +caught bent down again and cut buds and roses with sharp nips of the +scissors. + +It was not in the nature or breeding of John Penhallow to like Leila's +plan for securing to the surgeon a chance to impose on a reluctant woman +a clearly stated opinion which otherwise she might have the courage to +disregard. But what else could he do? A little after six he met the +carriage far down the avenue and walked slowly to the house with the +younger McGregor and the surgeon. + +"You are most welcome," said John. "Dr. McGregor has, I trust, told you +of our difficulties with my aunt?" + +Askew smiled. "Yes; it is no uncommon case. I may add that Dr. McGregor's +letters have satisfied me that an immediate operation offers the only and +too long delayed chance of success. I must, of course, see Mrs. +Penhallow--the sooner the better." + +"Yes--pray follow me." He led the way across the hall, opened the library +door, and said to the astonished lady, "Prof. Askew, Aunt Ann." Then he +went out. + +Well aware of being trapped, Mrs. Penhallow stood up and apparently at +perfect ease said, "You must have had a very tiresome journey." + +"Not very," he returned, as he accepted a seat. + +Then the little lady sat up and said, "You must pardon me if I say that +this consultation has been brought about by my nephew against my +husband's wishes." + +"And your own?" + +"Yes, my own." + +"I so understand it. May I say in my defence that I missed your telegram +and only saw it when it was sent after me on the train, but now I am +here." She had not the courage to say what she would have liked to say, +and he went on. "General Hancock saw me a day or two back. What he said +of your husband gave me at once a personal interest in him. Isn't it +odd how one is brought to realize what a small place our world is? I was +at Port Delaware before the war ended and saw there--I was on inspection +duty--a Confederate Colonel, Henry Grey--a prisoner. Is he not a relation +of the handsome Miss Grey we met on the avenue?" + +"My niece. He is my brother." + +"Indeed! I gave some advice about his wound--it was not serious. May I +talk to you a little about your husband?" + +She felt herself cornered, and could not escape without discourtesy, +of which she was quite incapable; "Or," he added, "may I not rather talk +first to Colonel Penhallow, and later to you? It is, I take it, his view +of this very grave matter which naturally influences you." + +For the briefest of moments she made no reply. Then she stood up and +felt the force conveyed in the personality of George Askew, as he +towered over her, a man of unusual height. She looked up at the large +kind face the long sad wards knew so well. The lines of thought were +deeply graven below a broad forehead thinly crowned with yellow hair now +fast greying. He showed no sign of impatience. "Yes," she said, "that +will be better--you must see Mr. Penhallow before you talk to me. If he +consents to do what you want to do--I--Well, Dr. Askew, I am just now too +angry to reason. Have the kindness to follow me." + +She was unwilling to give her husband any more choice than John Penhallow +had given her. If the Colonel became irritable and declined to accept the +visit of this impressive personage as a surgeon, well, that must of +course end the matter. But as he went upstairs behind her, there arose in +her mind a storm-battered hope. + +The surgeon was smiling and so far pleased. He was greatly interested in +the case he was about to see. It had excited some discussion as unusual, +and the unusual in surgery or medicine has many times been the guide to +broad highways of usefulness where the daring of the one has made easy +the way for the many. Now he meant to win the confidence of the man, if +he proved sane enough to reason. He might also have to make more complete +his conquest of this coldly civil hostess. It was for him an old game, +and he played it with tact and skill. + +She paused at the door. "Pray wait a moment, Doctor. No--he has wakened, +I hear him." He stopped her. + +"Before we see the Colonel--before I see him--I want you to be heartily +in accord with any decision we may reach. There are but two courses which +seem to me possible, and I do want you to feel sure that either you will +have to watch a mind crumble hopelessly or, if we succeed, see one of +those amazing recoveries which are like the dawning of day. I say this +most earnestly, because your hearty help may be wanted. If he says _no_ +to our decision, his fate may really rest with your will to stand by me." + +This was pretty hard, and no time was given for discussion. She looked up +at the kind pleading face, and while feeling that she must yield, +hesitated--so distinctly hesitated that the surgeon's brow became +severely grave as the furrows between the eyes deepened in growing +wonder. He took her hand as if to get into some personal touch with a +woman whose opposition he could not understand. "You will help me? In +this man's condition a word may win or lose a game in which the stake +is a life--oh, that is little--or the restoration of a noble, useful +mind. I know you will help me." + +She looked down, and said faintly, "Yes." + +"Thank you." He smiled--"Bless me! what a little hand," he said, as he +let it fall. + +She opened the door and as he followed her, stepped aside, saying +bravely, "Here is a friend, James. You will like to see Dr. Askew." + +He took the chair she set at the bedside, while the Colonel regarded him +suspiciously, saying, "I think I heard of you after Gettysburg." + +"Yes, I took care of General Hancock. A lot of us went down to help. +Curious case his--a ball hit the pommel of his saddle and drove a nail +into his leg." + +"Yes, I heard of it. It was thought they were firing nails--queer that!" + +Askew seized on the moment of illumined intelligence, wondering what dull +surgeon had set in this man's mind an obsession which forbade all other +opinion. "Hancock will suffer long--but now, about you--did no one think +you could be relieved by an operation? Take your time to answer me." + +Penhallow, groping in the confusion of remote memories, returned, "I seem +to recall--yes--it was talked of--" + +"But not done? Some one is responsible for these years of pain. You do +suffer?" + +"Oh, my God! yes. I try to bear it." His eyes filled. "Is it too late?" + +"No," said Askew, "it is not." What doubt he had he put aside. + +"Then we will see to-morrow." + +"An operation!" said Ann, alarmed. A look conquered her. "You will do, +James, whatever Dr. Askew wishes?" + +"I will--but don't make me talk any more, Ann--my head aches." + +Askew rose. "Please to send up the Drs. McGregor. May I make use of +another room?" + +"Yes, of course." + +Ann Penhallow found Dr. Tom and his father on the porch with Leila and +John. She said, "Take the doctors up to my own room, Leila, and I want to +talk with John--there are some arrangements to make." + +Leila, guiltily conscious of her share in securing the surgeon's +interview with her aunt, was glad to accept the hint and the chance to +escape. + +Ann sat down beside John, and said, "John, why did you trick me into a +talk with Dr. Askew?" + +"Because, aunt, you said you would not see him--and it was necessary." + +"You took me too literally." + +"I took you at your word--something had to be done. If it fails, we are +no worse off." + +"But it may fail--oh! what if it does, John." + +"Aunt Ann, I am in despair. Listen to me; no, I must talk it out. The +agreement with uncle's old partners ended with the war. Things at the +mills are in confusion--what is to be done? I asked Uncle Jim to give me +a power of attorney to act for him. He refused. You supported him. Delay +is ruinous, and yet we can do nothing. You are vexed with me--Yes--you +have not given me my morning kiss for days. Leila is unreasonably angry +with me because that dreadful night I did the only thing possible in my +power to stop my uncle. I am most unhappy. I sometimes think I had better +go away and look for work as an engineer, and--you did love me once." He +rose and walked up and down the porch silent; he had emptied mind and +heart. Then he paused before her. She was crying, as she said, "Don't +reproach me, John--I can't bear it--I have had to bear too much +to-day--and you were so naughty." He leaned over and kissed her forehead. +"John," she said, "there is to be an operation to-morrow. It is terrible. +May the good God be kind to him and us. Now go away--I want to be alone. +See that Dr. Askew is well cared for." + +"Certainly, Aunt Ann." He had won his battle. + +At dinner the doctor was at pains to dispel the gloom which, as he well +knew, falls on those who love when one of the critical hours of life +approaches. When they left the table he went into the library with the +doctors and John, where they smoked many pipes and talked war. + +At breakfast next day Askew's account of his early morning drew a smile +even from Ann Penhallow. "Sleep! Yes, I suppose I slept. There was a +blank of some hours. I am apt to waken early. At dawn there was a bright +red-eyed sky, then it clouded as if the eyes had shut. A little later +Miss Grey rode away on a chestnut horse. I walked through your garden +and an unseen lady gave me this rose-bud. I had a joyful swim. As I came +back I saw Captain Penhallow ride away--and why not with you, Miss Grey? +You may perceive that I am a dangerous man to entertain. If you do not +prefer better society, may I ask to ride with you to-morrow?" + +"What better society?" asked Leila. + +"Oh, Miss Grey, alone--by herself." + +The two young people understood the charitable gaiety of his talk, but +although one of them at least was feeling a sudden access of relief the +quick jesting chat and laughter became distressing to Ann Penhallow. At +last she rose and excused herself, saying, "Another cup? My niece will +give it to you." + +"One moment," he returned--his face became grave. "I shall operate early +this morning. You must go out-of-doors--the porch--I suggest the porch. +I shall send down Dr. McGregor to tell you frankly the result of my +operation. I want Captain Penhallow, and with him and the two McGregors +we shall care for my patient. I hope the doctors will let you see the +Colonel in a week. I shall trespass on your hospitality for two days +more." + +"I could wish it were a week. I shall do precisely what you desire." + +John Penhallow caught some signal of amused surprise in Leila's looks. He +checked his own smile of partnership in mirth at Ann Penhallow's sudden +subjugation, feeling that with Leila the intimacies of mirth were at an +end. + +Ann took her knitting and went out upon the back porch. "How many rows +can I knit until I hear? No, Leila--I want to be alone. Here is a note +from Mr. Rivers. The Bishop met him at Harrisburg and carried him off to +Philadelphia. I hope there is no scheme to take him away. Now go, dear." +She heard the voices of the McGregors as they went upstairs. She sat +alone and waited. + +Among the friends who know me only through my summer-born books, there +must be many who can recall such hours of suspense as Ann Penhallow +endured. The clock in the hall struck ten. A little later her keen sense +made her aware of the faint odour of ether from the open windows on the +second floor. She let fall her work, went down the garden path, and +walked with quick steps among the firstlings of June. Then came Tom +McGregor swiftly, and in his smiling face she read good news. + +"It is all right," he said; "it is over. There was a fracture of the +fragile inner layer of the bone--a piece was pressing on the brain--it +was easily removed. The doctor is very much pleased. Oh, my dear Mrs. +Penhallow, there are better days ahead for you and him. Now, I must go +back." + +"Thank God!" she said, "and--and you--and--John. God forgive me, I have +been a fool!" + +The next two days went by without incident. Askew rode, walked, and had +no news for her except, "He is doing well." He would say no more. What +hours of doubt, of watchful fear, he had, she never knew. On the morning +of the third day, while the carriage waited to carry him away, Mrs. +Penhallow led him into her library. + +"Now," she said, with her cheque-book open before her, "we owe you a +debt none can pay, but let me offer you my most humble apologies for my +behaviour when you came." + +"Please, don't," he returned. + +"But I had to. And now, let me know what is our lesser and more material +debt?" + +He rose, smiling. "It has been my happy, unbroken rule to take nothing +from any soldier who served in this sad war--oh! on either side. I have +made, I hope, some friends. The Colonel asked to-day about a horse +Dixy--I think--and when could he ride. You may imagine my pleasure. He +will get well, but you must be patient. I leave him in competent hands, +and in the fall I mean to come back and shoot your woodcocks. Good-bye." +He was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + + +A week later Ann Penhallow was told that she might see her husband. She +entered his bedroom with timidity. "Oh, Ann, my most dear Ann!" he cried, +as she kissed him. His expression of recovered intelligence overcame her +for a moment. + +She faltered, "How are you feeling, James--any better?" + +"Better--I am well." + +"Hardly, dear--do be careful." She was unable to accept as a wholesome +reality this amazing resurrection of a mind. + +He understood her need for some reassurance, and said, "Don't worry about +me, Ann. It is like a vague dream, all these many months--but a dream you +know fades fast. My own memories get clearer--some things are quite +lost--some are as distinct as if they happened yesterday. The war is a +puzzle to me--and--if I try to remember, it confuses me. But I must not +talk war to you--I do remember that. I won't do it again, dear." + +There was something so childlike in this that it almost overcame the +woman's steadily guarded calm. She had been warned to be careful that +there should be no excitement to agitate a mind which was slowly groping +its way out of the shadows of half-illumined memories. + +"Oh, my dear James," she said quietly, "talk of war or anything; it is +over." Despite her cautious command of her voice it trembled with emotion +as she said, "Nothing is of any moment but you--you. What do I care for +the war or--or anything but to have you as you were? Oh, my God! I am +thankful." + +It disturbed him, as she saw. He felt and looked puzzled as he said, "I +see--I am not quite clear-headed yet, Ann." + +"No, but you will be. Don't try too hard, James. We must be patient and +wait." + +"I will--I will--and it is such a relief to have no pain and to see you." + +Then as he asked about Leila and the mill work, the younger doctor came +in and said, "Time is up, Mrs. Penhallow." + +"What--already, Tom?" + +"But I want to know more," said the Colonel. "Wasn't there a +rummage-sale--" + +"Yes; but now you must let Mrs. Penhallow go. You are mending daily. +To-morrow Mrs. Penhallow may come again, and there will be to-morrow, and +many happy to-morrows." She went out and downstairs singing in a low +sweet voice--a long lost habit. + +If to watch with an aching heart the hopeless decay of a mind be the most +distressing of all human trials, surely there can be few greater joys +than to see a disordered intellect emerge day by day into possession of +its long lost capacities. James Penhallow was soon able to sign a power +of attorney enabling John to reconstruct the old partnership with his own +name added to the firm. + +Very soon town and county shared in the growth of prosperity which +followed the war. Rivers was the only one who was not what his friends +desired, and never was his melancholy mood more noticeable. + +The master of Grey Pine was, of course, many months in recovering his +normal state of mind. The man's bodily strength had not been seriously +impaired, and the return of his natural gaiety and his eager resumption +one by one of his old habits filled his home with that cheerfulness which +is the relieving and precious gift of convalescence. Penhallow's +remembrances of the war were rapidly recovered as he talked to John, +but much of his recent life was buried in the strange graveyard of +memory, which gave up no reminding ghosts of what all who loved the man +feared might haunt him. + +When satisfied of the certainty of his uncle's recovery John Penhallow +hurt by Leila's continual coldness and seeing for it no reasonable +explanation gave more and more time to the mills in which the family +fortunes were so seriously concerned. On the first of September he was +glad to go away on business which carried him to several of the large +cities, and resulted in orders which would keep the works busy for many +months. He no longer wrote to Leila, nor did he expect letters from her. +He considered any nearer relation than friendship to be at an end, but to +lose that also seemed to him a quite too needlessly cruel loss, and now +for the first time on returning he approached Grey Pine without pleasure. +He had telegraphed to have a horse sent to meet him at Westways Crossing, +that he might ride on to the mills after seeing his uncle. + +Having taken the night train, it was about noon when Leila saw him coming +up the avenue. She went forward to the roadside and as he sat in the +saddle shook his hand, saying, "I am sorry you were delayed, John. You +will be disappointed to know that Uncle Jim and Aunt Ann left home +yesterday." She wished that he had not quite so clearly shown the limits +of his regret, as he said quietly, "Well, I shall miss them, of course." + +"A letter from aunt's brother, Henry Grey, asked them to visit him at the +old Maryland home. I think it both pleased and surprised Aunt Ann. I am +to join them later. Josiah is to matronize me--or, if you like, patronize +me. Uncle Jim was delighted to be asked and hopes to reconcile the +brothers. Henry's letter was very kind, but he is still suffering from +his wound. Of course, Aunt Ann was happy." + +He looked down at the upturned face as he sat in the saddle. She had +given him no warm word of personal welcome. "Well, it can't be helped. +I had much to talk over with uncle." Then he laughed. + +"What amuses you, John?" + +"Oh, I should like to see the interview. Both Uncle Jim and I had queer +encounters with Henry Grey." + +"Uncle Jim!--what--when?" + +"Ask him. I should have liked to add George Grey to the party. As for +your Uncle Henry"--John smiled--"a serious wound is rather productive of +the unexpected, as I know. I will see you at dinner--now I must go on to +the mills." He rode away thinking without pleasure of being alone with +Leila. + +The presence of the maids who waited at dinner kept their conversation +on the Colonel's rapid gain in health, village incidents, and the mill +life--mere loitering disconnected talk of no interest except to fill the +hour of two people who would have preferred to be silent. + +John said, as he rose from the table, "I have a letter to write, Leila, +and so I must leave you to the better company of your book." Once--but a +little while ago--he would have asked what book was now on hand. "Any +messages for aunt or uncle?" + +"None--I wrote this morning." + +He sat down in the library at his old desk and wrote: "Dear Leila"--Then +he stood up--the easy freedom of the letter was denied to him. He was in +the mood when outspoken speech, always for him the more natural way of +expressing himself, became imperative. He went back to the hall. + +The book lay face down on her lap. "What is it, John?" she asked. + +"I want to talk to you--not here. Come into the library; those maids hear +everything." + +"Certainly," she said, "if you want me." + +She sat down, and John leaning against the mantel and looking down at +her, said, "I came in here to write to you what is not easy to write or +say--I prefer to put it into speech." + +"Indeed! I am quite ready to listen." + +"After your recent treatment of me, I have no inclination to make myself +needlessly unpleasant. You have made it plain to me that what my heart +longs for is to be put aside forever. There is something due to a man's +self-respect. But if you were a man, Leila, I could say more easily +something else. Are we--am I to lose also your friendship--or is even +that at an end?" + +The blue eyes became less adventurous as she said, "I don't understand +you, John." + +"I think you do. Long as I have known you, I cannot have known you fully. +Blake used to say that everybody is several people, and just now--here +has come into my life some one I don't know--and don't want to know." + +"Indeed! It must be rather confusing to be several people. Your friend, +Mr. Blake, as your letters showed, was rather given to enigmatical +statements. I should like to know him. Would you please, John, to bring +me my fan--I left it in that delightful book you interrupted." + +"Certainly," he said, now a trifle more at ease. For Leila to ask of any +one such a service was so unlike her that he felt it to be a betrayal of +embarrassment, and was humorously pleased as he went and came again. + +She took the fan and played with that expressive piece of a woman's +outfit while John brought the talk back to its starting-point. + +"Cannot you be the Leila I used to know--a frank girl; or are you to use +one of your many disguises and just leave things as they have been of +late?" + +"If you will say plainly just what you mean, John"--the fan was in active +use--"I will be as frank as possible." + +"But you may not like it, Leila." + +"Oh, go on. I know you are going to be unpleasant." + +He looked at her with surprise. "We are fencing--and I hate it. Once at +West Point I was fencing with a man, my friend; the button broke off my +foil and I hurt him seriously. He fell dead beside me in the trenches at +Vicksburg--dead!" + +"Oh, John!"--the fan ceased moving. + +"What I mean is that one may chance, you or I, to say something that will +leave in memory that which no years will blot out. Don't be vexed with +me. I have had a cruel summer. What with Uncle Jim and Aunt Ann--and now +with you, I--well--you told me after that dreadful night when Uncle Jim +was so wild that I had insulted you--" + +"Don't talk of it," she cried. "I was put to shame before all those +grinning people. You ought to have said nothing--or something better than +that farmer boy said--" + +"Well--perhaps, Leila; but the point is not _what_ I said in my desire to +help you and stop a man for the time insane. The point is that I did not +insult you; for an insult to be really that it must be intentional." + +"Then you think I was unreasonably angry?" + +"Yes, I do; and ever since then you have been coldly civil. I cannot +stand it. I shall never again ask you for what you cannot give, but if +you are to continue to resent what I said, then Grey Pine is no home for +me." + +She stood up, the fan falling to the floor. "What do you want me to say, +John Penhallow?" + +"Wait a little--just a word more. It was what poor Uncle Jim said that +hurt you. You could not turn on him; in your quite natural dismay or +disgust you turned on me, who meant only to help in a dreadful situation. +You know I am right"--his voice rose as he went on--"it is I, not you, +who am insulted. If you were a man, I should ask for an apology; as +you are the woman I have hopelessly loved for years, I will not ask you +to say you were wrong--I do not want you to say that. I want you to say +you are sorry you hurt me." + +"I am sorry I hurt you, John. Will that do?"--her eyes were filling. + +"Yes--but--" + +"But what?" + +"Oh, I want you to feel sorry." + +"Don't say any more," she returned. "Let us be friends again." She put +out her hand, he took it, picked up her fan, laid it on the table, and +saying "Thank you!" opened the door towards which she moved and closed it +after her. + +"And so"--she kept saying to herself--"we are to be no more than +friends." She sat still staring across the hall, trying to read. She was +fast losing control of the woman who was fenced in by social rule and +custom, trained to suppress emotion and to be the steady mistress of +insurgent passion. "My God," she murmured, "I should never have been +angry when he bought me, if I had not loved him--and now it is all +over--perhaps!" + +Some readjustment there may have been, for when he reentered the hall an +hour later, she was reading. He said, as she looked up, "I mean to have a +long tramp to-morrow. I shall start early and walk to the mills and on to +the ore-beds. Then I shall return over the hills back of Westways, and +bring you, I hope, a few wood-pigeons. I may be a little late for +dinner." + +"But, John, it is quite twelve miles, and you will have to carry a +gun--and your arm--" + +John laughed happy laughter. "That was so like Aunt Ann!" + +"Was it?--and now you will say 'yes, yes, you are quite right,' and walk +away and do just as you meant to do, like Uncle Jim." + +"I may, but I will not walk further than Grey Pine." The air had +cleared--he had done some good! + +"Good-night," he said, "it is late." + +"Don't go too far, John. I shall read a while. This book is really so +interesting. We will talk about it." + +"Good-night, once more." + +The woman he left in the hall laid her book aside. Her unreasonable +vexation had gone, defeated by the quiet statement of his simply +confessed unhappiness. She looked about the hall and recalled their youth +and the love of which she still felt sure. The manliness of his ways +appealed to her sense of the value of character. Why she had been so +coldly difficult of approach she did not know. What woman can define that +defensive instinct? "He shall ask me again, and I--ah, Heaven!--I love +him." A wild passionate longing shook her as she rose to her feet. + +At early morning John wandered away through the woods feeling the joyful +relief from the hot air of cities. After his visit to the mills and the +iron-mines, he struck across a somewhat unfamiliar country, found few +birds, and the blackened ravage of an old forest fire. He returned to the +well-known river-bank below the garden and the pines, and instead of +going to Grey Pine as he had meant to do went on as far as the cabin, +failing to get any more birds. He had walked some fourteen miles, and was +reminded by a distinct sense of fatigue that the body had not yet +regained its former vigour. + +It was about five of the warm September day when he came to the old +log-house. Smiling as he recalled the memories of his childhood, he went +into the cabin and found its shelter pleasant and the cooling air of +evening grateful. He took off his game bag, laid it on the floor, set his +gun against the wall, and glad of a rest sat down. Having enjoyed his +first smoke of the day, he let his head drop on the floor, and by no +means intending it fell asleep. + +Leila too was in a happier mood, and sure of not meeting John set out to +walk through the forest. After a pleasant loitering stroll she stopped at +the cabin door, and as she glanced in saw John Penhallow asleep. She +leaned against the door post and considered the motionless sleeper in the +shadows of the closing day. She was alone with him--alone as never +before. He would neither question nor make answer. Strange thoughts came +into her mind, disturbing, novel. How could he sleep without a pillow? It +must be an army habit after tent-less nights of exhaustion in the deadly +trenches. People--men--had tried to kill this living silent thing before +her; and he too--he too had wanted to kill. She wondered at that as with +the motion of a will-less automaton she drew nearer step by step. Her +feet unwatched struck the half-filled game-bag. She stumbled, caught her +breath, and had a moment of fear as she hung the bag on the wooden hook +upon which as a child she used to hang her sun-bonnet. + +Then again some natural yearning moved her, and unresisting as in a dream +she drew still nearer--merely a woman in an unguarded moment once again +under the control of a great passion which knew no social rule of conduct +nor the maiden modesties of a serenely dutiful life. At each approach, +she stood still, unashamed, innocent of guile, thrilling with emotion +which before in quiet hours had been felt as no more disturbing than the +wandering little breezes which scarcely stir the leafage of the young +spring. She stood still until she won bodily mastery of this stormy +influence with its faintly conveyed sense of maiden terror. Her thoughts +wandered as she looked down on the sleeper. In voiceless self-whispered +speech she said, "Ah me! he used to be so vexed when I said he was too +young to ask me--a woman--to marry him. How young he looks now!" The +wounded arm forever crippled lay across his breast. She caught her +breath. "I wonder," she thought, "if we get younger in sleep--and then +age in the daytime. Good Heavens! he is smiling like a baby. Oh! but I +should like to know what he is thinking of." There was unresisted +fascination in the little drama of passionate love so long repressed. + +She knelt beside him, saw the one great beauty of the hardy bronzed +face, the mouth now relaxed, with the perfect lip lines of a young +Antinous. She bent over him intent, reading his face as a child reads +some forbidden book, reading it feature by feature as a woman reads +for the first time with understanding a passionate love-poem. Ah, if he +would but open his eyes and then sleep again and never know. He moved, +and she drew back ready for flight, shy and startled. And now he was +quiet. "I must--I must," she murmured. "His lips? Ah! would they +forgive?--and--if, if he wakens, I shall die of shame. Oh, naughty +love of mine that was so cruel yesterday, I forgive you!" What would he +do--must he do--if he wakened? The risk, the urgent passion of appealing +love, gave her approach the quality of a sacred ceremonial. She bent +lower, not breathing, fearful, helpless, and dropt on his forehead a +kiss, light as the touch a honey-seeking butterfly leaves on an unstirred +flower. He moved a little; she rose in alarm and backed to the door. "Oh! +why did I?" she said to herself, reproachful for a moment's delicious +weakness. She looked back at the motionless sleeper, as she stood in the +doorway. "Why did I?--but then he does look so young--and innocent." + +Once more in the world of custom, she fled through the forest shadows, +and far away sank down panting. She caught up the tumbled downfall of +hair, and suddenly another Leila, laughed as she remembered that he would +miss the game-bag he had set at his side. How puzzled he would be when he +missed it. Amused delight in his wondering search captured her. She saw +again the beauty of his mouth and the face above it as she recalled what +her Aunt Margaret Grey had mischievously said to her, a girl, of James +Penhallow. "He has the one Penhallow beauty--the mouth, but then he has +that monumental Penhallow nose--it might be in the way." She had not +understood, but now she did, and again laughing went away homeward, not +at all unhappy or repentant, for who would ever know, and love is a +priest who gives absolution easily. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + + +In her room she went straight to the long cheval glass and looked at +Leila Grey. "So, he will never ask me again?" The mirror reported a quite +other answer. "Mark Rivers once said conscience runs down at times like a +watch. I must have forgotten to wind up mine. How could I have done it!" +She blushed a little at the remembrance. "Well, he will never know." She +dressed in white summer garb with unusual care and went down the stairs +smiling. + +"The Captain is not in yet," said the maid. + +She waited long for John Penhallow, who had gone up the back stairs, and +now at last came down to dinner. + +"Excuse me, Leila. I was so very tired that I fell asleep in the old +cabin, but I had a noble tramp, and there are some birds, not many; I +shot badly." He said no word of the displaced game-bag, which made her +uneasy, but talked of the mills and of some trouble at the mines about +wages. She pretended to be interested. + +After dinner, she said, "You will want to smoke--come into Uncle Jim's +library. I like the pipe smell. How Aunt Ann detests it!" + +"Has Uncle Jim gone back to his pipe?" he inquired, as she sat down. + +"Yes, and Aunt Ann declares that she likes it now." + +"How pleasantly you women can fib," remarked John. + +She made no reply except, "Well, sometimes." He did not fill his pipe +although he lighted in succession two matches and let them burn out. + +"Why don't you smoke, John?" This was a vague effort at the self-defence +which she felt might be needed, the mood of the hour not being at all +like the mood of two hours ago. + +"No," he replied, "not yet. Where did you walk--or did you walk?" + +"Oh, I took a little stroll through the woods." + +"Did you chance to go by the old cabin?" This was very dreadful. + +"Oh, one hardly remembers if one passes places seen every day. Why do you +ask, John?"--and then knew she was fatally blundering. + +"Why? Oh, I fell asleep, and when I woke up my game-bag had mysteriously +hung itself on the wall." + +"You might have put it there and forgotten it." + +"No, some one must have been in the cabin." + +"Oh, John, how stupid of us! Why, of course, it was Josiah." + +John was in a state of mind to enjoy the game, and shaking his head in +negation said, "No, Josiah passed me long before. He had a lot of frogs +he caught in Lonesome Man's Swamp." + +Miss Leila having exhausted all the possible explanations, said with +sweet simplicity, "Did you ever find out the origin of that name? Who was +the _lonesome man_? You see, John, lonesome seems to stand for lonely and +sad, as Mr. Rivers said." This was rather too clever, but the young woman +was so near detection as not to think wisely. + +John repeated her words, "Lonely and sad." He had been humorously sure of +his prey, but the words she used had the effect of bringing into direct +speech the appeal she had been trying to evade and knew was near at hand. + +He stood leaning against the mantel, his crippled arm caught in his +waistcoat. Repeating her word "lonesome" "more than merely alone"--he +put aside his pipe, the companion of many camp-fires. His moment of +after-silence caused the blue eyes to question timidly with upward glance +as their owner sat below him. He was very grave as he said, "I have come, +Leila, to a critical time in my life. I loved you in a boy's unmeaning +way; I loved you as a lad and a man. I have said so often in one way or +another. You told me at West Point pretty plainly that--oh, you made it +clear--that I was a boy asking a woman for her heart. It was years ago." + +"John, I--want to--" + +"Well--later--now I mean to have my say. You were not altogether wrong. +I told you that I should ask again when I had more to offer than a boy +cadet. Since then I have held my tongue, or said enough to be sure that +your reply made clear that my time had not yet come. + +"You cannot know how much you have been a part of my life. I went +gladly into the war because it was a righteous cause. No man thinks +as he goes into action, this is for my country, but--well, Leila, many +times when men were falling around me, you have been with me. If a fatal +ball had found me, I should have carried with me to another world a +thought of you. This is not mere lover's talk. I believe in you--you are +a noble-minded woman, worthy of any man's love, but"--and he smiled--"as +Josiah put it, you are rather numerous." + +"Am I?--I am much obliged by Josiah's study of my character." + +"Don't, please, Leila! It is true. I have been as good as my word. +I have been through all that can tempt in camps and cities. I was only +a young officer, but I have won praise from men whose praise is history. +Did you ever think that an honest love may be to a man like a second--an +angelic--conscience? By Heaven! Leila, it should make a woman careful." + +The woman's eyes had long since been lost to the man's, as with bent head +she listened intently, for the first time amazed at what she had been to +a man whose ideals were of the highest and his ways beyond reproach. A +coy upward lift of the proudly carried head--a mere glance of transient +reply--too brief for the man to read--might have meant, "Have not I +too been careful of my life!" + +He went on slowly. "You and I have not been spared the discipline of +responsibility. Action, danger--helps a man. You at home have had the +worst of it--you dear, sweet, beautiful thing. It would have made some +women peevish or rebellious. You have grown under it in mind and heart, +and I think the soul has fed the dear body. To have set you free from +Aunt Ann's morbid unreason and the sorrow of Uncle Jim's condition would +have been enough to repay my taking over responsibilities which Aunt Ann +should have borne." + +"John--I--" + +"No, dear, let me say a word more. I have at last talked myself out--or +almost. It is vain to put me aside again. You do not dare to say you do +not love me--" + +"You have not asked me," she murmured. + +"No, I said I would not yesterday. A tender word would have brought me to +your feet--and I was very sore." + +"If you were a woman, you would have understood and--" + +"Oh, wait a little," he said. "You are going to ask me to marry you, +Leila Grey--" She was on her feet. "Take care," he cried, and a smile on +the strong battle-tried face arrested her angry outburst. + +She said only, "Why?--I ask--you--why indeed?" + +"Because, Leila, you owe it to my self-respect--because you have given +that which implies love, and all I ask--" + +She looked up at him with eyes that implored pity, but all she found +herself able to say was, "I don't understand." + +"You kissed me in the cabin this afternoon--I was not asleep--I had half +risen when I heard you, and I fell back in wondering quiet to see what +you would do or say when you should wake me up." + +She was silent. + +"And then you kissed me--" + +"Oh, John! how wicked of you--why did you keep so still?" + +"I waited--longing." + +"For what?" + +"Hoping you would kiss me again." + +"What! twice?" she cried. "How could you think I would kiss you twice--I +was so ashamed--" + +"Well, Leila?" + +She began to feel that she was perilously close to tears, as he said +softly, "Leila Grey!" + +"John Penhallow, will you take me--oh, John! I love you." + +He caught her hand and touched it with his lips reverently. + +"If," she cried, "if you do not give me back my kiss, I shall die of +shame." + +He bent over her and kissed her forehead lightly, as though he were in +fear of too familiar approach to a thing too sacred for a rude caress. A +great surf-like rush of comprehension swept over the woman. "Was I so +loved as this--so honoured?" Then she said suddenly, "You are pale--are +you in pain?" for she saw him grasp the wounded arm and set his teeth. + +"Yes, yes--sometimes--when things happen--it wakes up and reminds me. I +shall be better in a moment. Take care"--for her arms were around him--"I +think, dear, I am not yet as strong as I shall be--but love is a great +tonic, and--I can bear no more to-night. I am in pain. I fear this has +been too much for me." + +Then he kissed her on lips that took it as a great draft from the +fountain of youth and love. "To-morrow, dear, we will ride together--in +the morning. Ah, together!" + +"Where--Jack?" + +"Oh, into fairyland! God bless you! Great Heavens, how beautiful you are! +Good-night!" + +She fell into a seat as he went out, and heard his feet on the +stair--then he stood beside her again. + +"Leila, forgive me--I was hard--uncourteous--to make you say--" + +"Hush!" she cried, between tears and laughter, as she put her hand over +his mouth, "no one shall abuse my Jack--not even Captain Penhallow. +There, sir! I deserved it." She ran by him, and was gone. + +I have not the pass-words into fairyland, and where they rode that +morning in September is not within my knowledge; nor can I say what +adventures they may have met with. The byways of this enchanted land +here and there by ill-luck come near to the haunts of men, who may catch +glimpses of such as ride through fairyland unsuspicious of other eyes. +Billy neglectful of mails this morning, was on the river bobbing for +eels. To be long attentive to anything was for him impossible, wherefore +his wandering gaze caught sight for a moment through the fringe of +willows of two people riding slowly. He saw with amazement that on +horseback in fairyland the feat of kissing is possible. + +Some hours later, my lovers, feeling as John wickedly quoted, that "the +world is too much with us," rode into Westways to get Billy's neglected +mail. + +Mr. Crocker, lean and deaf, at ease in charge of the grocery counter, sat +unoccupied in his shirt sleeves, while Mrs. Crocker bent over the mail +she had sorted. There were letters for the little group of village folk, +who read them at once as they sat on the step or as they moved away +stumbling along the sidewalk. + +Mrs. Crocker sallied out with a batch of letters. "Quite a lot, Captain. +Good-morning, Leila." + +"Mail these, Mrs. Crocker," said the travellers fresh from fairyland. + +"I saw some was from the Squire and some from Mrs. Penhallow--Squire's +writing better." + +"You wicked Mrs. Crocker," said John, "how much you pick up of folk's +secrets, I should like to know--" + +"Secrets!" laughed Leila. "They can't be read on the outside of letters." + +Then Mrs. Crocker on the sidewalk to them on horseback began to talk. +John seeing that Leila was interested and amused sat still and listened. + +"Secrets," exclaimed the post-mistress, "ain't all inside of letters. +They're on the envelopes sometimes. Oh! I've seen 'em in war time, +letters that looked like they'd been out in the rain--sort of blistered; +and people here in those days just tore open their letters and laughed or +cried." Mrs. Crocker caught her breath and paused. + +"I know, John," said Leila in a low aside. + +"And there used to come back from the front letters marked 'missing' or +'can't be found.' Folks used to come in gay and go away with a letter +just crumpled up in a hand. And now it's all over--and up you come right +gallant and happy. Here comes old Granny Lamb tottering along. I'd invent +a letter from that brute if I could. I tell you, Leila, mother-hope dies +hard." + +"It is sad--dreadful. Come, John." + +"One minute, please," said Mrs. Crocker, "I'm not half done. I tell you, +Captain John, there's a heap of human nature comin' and goin' through a +post-office. Well, good-bye." + +They rode away to Grey Pine exchanging bits from their letters. Their +uncle and aunt would be home in a week. "Sooner--if they get the letter +I mailed last night," laughed Leila. + +"I should like to have seen it." + +"No doubt." + +At the open avenue gate Josiah was waiting. He saluted in soldier +fashion, Penhallow acknowledging the greeting in like manner. + +Josiah said, "Wouldn't you just let me have a minute with the Captain?" + +Leila laughed. "Certainly." She rode away wondering what Josiah had to +report alone to the man who for him was and always would he Captain +despite the old custom of the regular army. + +"Well, Josiah--nothing wrong, I trust." + +"No, sir--everything just entirely right--but first I got to ask your +advice. I've had a letter from the Colonel--he just says some things +ought to make a man kind of blush." + +John had the odd thought that a blush must be the securely private +property of a fellow as black as this grey-headed old friend. "What does +he say, Josiah?" + +"He wants to give me a farm." + +"Well, why not--you have earned a dozen." + +"I'd like it--but--if you're goin' to marry Miss Leila, I'd rather live +with you." + +"Good Heavens!" said the traveller out of fairyland, "what put that in +your head?" + +Josiah smiled. "You'll please to excuse me, Captain--but I thought I +ought to tell you about that fool Billy. He was bobbin' for eels--and--he +saw you go by--" + +"Well, what else?" + +"He met me and he said, 'Saw Mr. John kissin' Miss Leila!' He was off +like a shot singin' out 'Goin' to get married, sure.' It will be all over +Westways by noon, sir." + +John laughed. "Well, it's true, Josiah--Confound Billy! Well, what more?" + +"Oh, I would rather live with you. The Colonel wants to give me a +farm--don't want any farm." + +"Well, well--we'll see about it later." + +"The trouble would be, sir, who's to shave the Colonel?" + +"That's serious," said John, as he rode away to rejoin Leila, who had +meant to keep their secret from the village until their aunt's return. +Three days went by before Ann Penhallow's letter of reply came to hand. + +"Well, any more news, Leila?" said John. + +"Yes, but not altogether pleasant--I am to leave early tomorrow. Uncle +Jim will meet me in Philadelphia--and, oh! I know Aunt Ann well--there +will be no end of shopping." + +"I should feel worse about it, Leila, but I see by one of my letters +that there is some row in Pittsburgh over our last rails. I am not +responsible, but I must go to-night and see about it. Isn't it dreadful, +Leila?" + +The two having come of late into a great inheritance in fairyland +demanding close personal attention were at one as regarded absence. + +After dinner Leila said, "My order to report to headquarters from +heart-quarters was in the second post-script. I have saved the rest of +the letter for you." + +"Read it, please." + +"MY DEAR CHILDREN: You are a pair of young ostriches--you know what they +do. Did you suppose a middle-aged ostrich could not use her eyes? I did +think it took a quite needless length of time." + +"Isn't that absurd, John, as if--" + +"Well, what more?" + +She read on--"I dislike long engagements--" + +"Now, that is better, Leila." + +"Your uncle says you must live at Grey Pine. I said, no--young married +people had better be alone. He must build you a house on the river nearer +the mills. I am making a list of what furniture you will require--" + +"There is more of that--much more, John, and a list of things to be done +before her return. Isn't that like what aunt was before the war?" + +John laughed. "Well, she will have her way." + +"More or less," said Leila. "Oh, there's another postscript!" + +"Well?" + +"I think you should be married about Christmas week. Of course, Mark +Rivers will marry you, and I shall ask the Bishop to assist, when I see +him on our way home. Don't fail to write to both your uncles." + +"It is certainly complete," said John. He left for Pittsburgh that night. + + * * * * * + +I have little to add to this long story. The days went by swiftly, and +after a week all of the family, except John, were once more together at +Grey Pine. Mark Rivers had also returned. He was too evidently in one of +his moods of sombre silentness, but his congratulations were warm and as +he sat at dinner he made unusual efforts to be at his agreeable best. + +When they left the table, he said, "No, Colonel, I shall not smoke +to-night. May I have a few minutes of your time, Mrs. Penhallow?" + +"Certainly, Mark--I want to talk to you about the Bible Class--I mean to +take it up again." She led the way into her own little library. "Sit +down--there is so much to talk over. Of course, you will marry these dear +children somewhere about Christmas time." + +"No," he said, "I shall be far away." + +"Away! Oh, Mark! surely you do not mean to leave us." + +"Yes, I am going to live as a missionary among the Indians." + +"You cannot--you really cannot--where could you be more useful than +here?" + +"No, I must go. My life on the whole has been most happy here--and how to +thank you I fail to be able to say." + +"But why," she urged, "why do you go?" + +"Oh--I want--I must have an active life, open air, even risks. The war +gave me what I need for entire competence of body and mind to use in my +Master's service. But now, the war is at an end--" + +"Thank God! But all you ask--and more--Mark, except danger, are +here--and oh, but we shall miss you, and more than ever when we miss +too these children. Think of it--don't make up your mind until James +talks to you--" + +"No, I go to-morrow." + +"But it does seem to me, Mark, that you are making a serious change +without sufficient consideration of what you lose and we lose." + +"Yes, yes," he returned, "I know--but to remain is for me impossible." + +"But why?" + +He was silent a moment, looking at this dear friend with the over-filled +eyes of a troubled and yet resolute manhood. Then he said, "I did not +mean to tell you why in my weakness flight alone will save me from what +has been to me unbearable here and ever will be." + +"Can I in any way help you?" + +"No." + +"But what is it--trust me a little--what is it?" + +He hesitated, and then said, "It is Leila Grey! God pity my weakness, and +you will say good-bye and give the Squire this note and them my love." He +was gone. + +The woman sat still for an hour, pitiful, and understanding the flight +of a too sensitive man. Then she gave her husband the note, with her +good-night, and no other word. Of why her friend had gone she said later +nothing, except to defend him for his obedience to the call of duty. Late +that evening John returned. + +When after breakfast next day he and Leila were riding through the +wood-roads of the forest, John said, "I cannot or I could not see why +Mr. Rivers went away so abruptly." + +"Nor I," said Leila. Then there was one of those long silences dear to +lovers. + +"What are you thinking of, Jack?" + +"Uncle Jim told me last night the story of the early life of Mark +Rivers." + +"Tell it to me." + +He told it--"But," he continued, "that was not all of him. I have heard +Mr. Rivers hold at the closest attention a great crowd of soldiers with +that far-carrying voice; and then to hear as he led them singing the old +familiar hymns--perhaps a thousand men--oh, it was a thing to remember! +And they loved him, Leila, because behind the battle line he was coolly, +serviceably brave; and in the hospital wards--well, as tender as--well, +as you would have been. I wondered, Leila, why he did not marry again. +The first was a mistake, but I suppose he knew that for him to marry +would have been wrong, with that sad family history. Probably life never +offered him the temptation." + +"Perhaps not," said Leila, and they rode out of the woods and over the +meadows. "Let us talk of something less sad." + +"Well, Leila, a pleasant thing to discuss is Tom McGregor. I suspect him +of a fortunate love affair with the daughter of the General at Fortress +Monroe." + +"Indeed--but what else? Oh, our own great debt to him!" + +"Uncle Jim is considering that. We may trust him to be more than +generous. Yes, surely. Now for a run over this grass. Can you take that +fence?" + +"Can I, indeed! Follow me, Jack." + +"Anywhere. Everywhere, Leila!" + + + + +THE END + + + + +Books by + +Dr. S. Weir Mitchell + + +Fiction + +HUGH WYNNE. + +CONSTANCE TRESCOT. + +THE YOUTH OF WASHINGTON. + +CIRCUMSTANCE. + +THE ADVENTURES OF FRANCOIS. + +THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A QUACK. + +DR. NORTH AND HIS FRIENDS. + +IN WAR TIME. + +ROLAND BLAKE. + +FAR IN THE FOREST. + +CHARACTERISTICS. + +WHEN ALL THE WOODS ARE GREEN. + +A MADEIRA PARTY. + +THE RED CITY. + +HEPHZIBAH GUINNESS. + +A COMEDY OF CONSCIENCE. + +A DIPLOMATIC ADVENTURE. + +THE GUILLOTINE CLUB. + +JOHN SHERWOOD, IRONMASTER. + +WESTWAYS. + + +Essays. + +DOCTOR AND PATIENT. + +WEAR AND TEAR.--HINTS FOR THE OVERWORKED. + + +Poems. + +COLLECTED POEMS. + +THE WAGER, AND OTHER POEMS. + +THE COMFORT OF THE HILLS. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WESTWAYS*** + + +******* This file should be named 14153.txt or 14153.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/4/1/5/14153 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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