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diff --git a/58987-0.txt b/58987-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f31da12 --- /dev/null +++ b/58987-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10503 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 58987 *** + + + + + + + + + + + + +[Frontispiece: THE OLD RAGMAN AND MRS. DEAN.] + + + + + THE + + UNTEMPERED WIND + + + + BY + + JOANNA E. WOOD + + + + NEW YORK + J. SELWIN TAIT AND SONS + 65 FIFTH AVENUE + + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1894, BY + J. SELWIN TAIT & SONS. + + _All Rights Reserved._ + + + + +THE UNTEMPERED WIND. + + + +CHAPTER I. + + ----"Consider this,-- + That, in the course of justice, none of us + Should see salvation:"-- + + +It was early spring, the maples were but budding, the birds newly come +and restless, the sky more gray than blue, and the air still sharp with +a tang of frost. Jamestown's streets, however, looked both bright and +busy. + +Groups of children went to school, hurrying out to the street, and +looking this way and that for a companion. A mother came to a gate +with a little girl, and pointing now to right, now to left, seemed to +give her directions which way to go. The little girl started bravely. +She wore a pink cap, and carried a new school-bag. "Hurry on!" a girl +called to her, and she advanced uncertainly. A hesitating dignity born +of the new school-bag forbade a decided run; her friend's haste forbade +her to linger. They met and passed on together. + +An old man, with ophthalmia, feeling his way with a stick and muttering +to himself with loose lips, went by. Two brothers crossed the street +together, one swinging along easily, smoking a pipe, and carrying an +axe over his shoulder; the other advancing with that spasmodic +appearance of haste which seems the only gait to which crutches can be +compelled. + +An alert dog rushed madly up the middle of the street, pausing abruptly +now and then to look round him with sharp interrogation, as if daring +anything to "come on!" His challenge was vain, and he was fain to +solace himself by scattering a convention of sparrows, dashing into the +midst of them and sending the birds up into the maples, followed by +insulting yelps, in reply to which they twittered in derision. + +Homer Wilson drove his team of heavy brown horses through the street at +a trot, his sinewy frame clad in weather-beaten blue jeans, his hat +pushed far back on his head, as if to emphasize the defiant breadth of +his forehead. + +The woman still strained her eyes after the little girl, now only +distinguishable by the brightness of her cap. They say that mothers +often watch by the gateways of life. + +The groceryman passed to open his store--the baker and butcher were +already busy. + +Through this scene of busy commonplace interest and bustle passed a +woman, somewhat below the average height, and of strong but symmetrical +build. Her face was down-bent and almost hidden in the depths of a +dark sunbonnet of calico. All that could well be discerned in this +shadow were two soft, sorrowful eyes, pale cheeks, and down-drooped +lips. No one spoke to her, and she addressed no one. She went from +place to place, out of one shop into another, with downcast eyes, and +with something of that swift directness with which a bird, startled +from its nest at evening, darts with folded wings from covert to +covert. She was Myron Holder--a mother, but not a wife. + +When under no more sacred canopy than the topaz of a summer sky--with +no other bridal hymn than the choral of the wind among the trees--in +obedience to no law but the voice of nature--and the pleading of loved +lips--with no other security than the unwitnessed oath of a man--a +woman gives herself utterly, then she is doubtless lost. But it must +be remembered that the law she breaks is an artificial law enacted +solely for her protection: and it must be conceded that there may be a +great and self-subversive generosity which permits her to give her all, +assuming bonds of sometimes dreadful weight, whilst the recipient goes +his way unshackled--uncondemned. + +There may be nothing to be said in defence of Myron Holder; but there +is much that could be told only with bleeding lips, written only by a +pen dipped in wormwood, of the attitude of her fellows towards her. + +The world of to-day sees its Madonna, with haloed head, standing amid +lilies. The world of her day saw neither nimbus nor flowers; they saw +what, to their unbelieving eyes, was but her shame. Let those who jeer +with righteous lips at women such as this poor village outcast, +remember that the meek Maid-Mother whom they adore perchance shrank +before the cruel taunts and pointing fingers of women at the doorways +and the wells. + +Myron Holder left the butcher's to go to the grocery store; from thence +she crossed diagonally to Mrs. Warner's, the woman who, half an hour +before, had looked so lingeringly after her child. Myron stood at the +back door waiting, whilst Mrs. Warner came down stairs to answer her +knock. "Mrs. Deans wanted to know if Mrs. Warner would lend her the +quilting-frames." Mrs. Warner would. + +Mrs. Warner was a very good woman, therefore she looked unutterable +contempt at Myron Holder, and left her on the doorstep, whilst she +brought out the heavy wooden quilting-frames. Mrs. Warner's husband +drove the mail wagon which made one trip daily to the city and back to +Jamestown. He would in one hour, as his wife very well knew, pass Mrs. +Deans' door, but she did not consider that; and as she had watched her +own child out of sight, so she watched Myron Holder's laden form pass +down the street, out into the country--a large basket in one hand, and +the heavy quilting-frames over her shoulder, pressing sorely upon "the +sacred mother-bosom," already yearning for the easing child lips. + +When clear of the village, Myron Holder slackened her pace a little and +setting the basket down for a moment turned back the deep scoop of her +sunbonnet, that the cooling wind might breathe its benison upon her +cheeks, flushed with shame and hot from the exertion of her rapid walk +with her burden. Stooping slowly down sideways, she reached her basket +and taking it up proceeded on her way. Her face shone forth from the +dark folds of her sunbonnet, and seemed by its purity of line and +expression to give the lie to the eyes filmed by acknowledged shame; +only filmed, however, for the eyes themselves held no vile meanings, no +defiant avowal of guilt, no hint of sinful knowledge, no glance of +callous indifference. She walked on steadily, the spongy earth beneath +her feet seeming to breathe forth the essence of spring as it inhaled +the warmth of the sunshine. + +[Illustration: SHE PAUSED TO REST.] + +Presently the sound of wheels came to her. She strove with her +burdened hand to brush forward the sheltering folds of her sunbonnet, +but in vain, as her haste defeated its object. Her cheeks were +shrouded but in a flaming blush as Homer Wilson drove past. He stared +at her steadily; but she did not raise her eyes, and he passed on. His +springless wagon jolted over all the stones and inequalities of the +country roads; just as Homer Wilson neither brushed aside obstacles nor +skirted them when they opposed his path, but, in his obstinate, +hard-headed way, rode rough-shod over them, feeling, perhaps, the hurt +of their opposition, but never showing that he did. + +Again there was silence on the road. It was too early yet for any +insect life, and the sparrows did not fly so far from the houses, but + + "Above in the wind was the swallow + Chasing itself at its own wild will." + + +The flush for a space died out of her cheeks. As she continued on her +way the snake-fence changed to a neat board one, that in turn gave +place to one of ornate wire. In the middle of this was a little gate, +which she passed; then came a wider five-barred gate through which she +entered, and found her way to the rear of a large white frame house, +standing in an old apple orchard. + +Her steps were bent to the "cook house," an erection of unplaned pine +boards, where, in summer, the kitchen-work of Mrs. Deans' household was +carried on. Before Myron Holder crossed its threshold, she sent one +long look over to the left, where, leafless yet and gray--save where a +cedar made a sullen blotch of green--the trees of Mr. Deans' woodland +bounded her vision in a semi-circular sweep. As she turned her to the +doorway, a new expression had found place within her eyes--upon her +lips--poignant but indecipherable. For resolution, resignation, and +despair are sometimes so analogous as to be inseparable. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + "A treasure of the memory, a joy unutterable." + + "Her tears fell with the dews at even; + Her tears fell ere the dews were dried. + She could not look at the sweet heaven + Either at morn or eventide." + + +Myron Holder's father was Jed Holder, the broom-maker. His death +occurred when Myron was eighteen years old. He had clung to his quaint +occupation to the last, after factory-made brooms stood even at the +store doors in Jamestown. + +His fortunes had fallen off sadly in the last few years of his life, +but he worked away as steadily at his trade as in the old days, when, +looking from his door, his eyes were met by the mast-like masses of a +Kentish hop orchard. He had planted hopvines all about the fence of +his little house in Jamestown. They clambered up the sides of the +house, twined insinuatingly about the disdainful sunflowers, and +throwing their tendrils abroad from the roots wound round and round the +tall stalks of grass, weighing them down with the burden of their +unsought embrace. + +Little Myron was often impressed with the truth that a single leaf +broken from a growing hopvine kills the whole spray. She learned to +"pick up her feet," as her father expressed it, and step daintily +between the wandering vines, so that no slurring footstep might injure +them. + +Jed Holder had carried on the broom-making for many years very +systematically. Year by year he rented from Sol Disney a bit of the +virgin soil of the woodland, and the tall brown tassel of the broom +corn overtopped the stamps in the clearing. Year by year the little +patch of corn crept nearer and nearer the limit of Disney's diminishing +woodland--seeming, as Jed Holder said, "to sweep the trees off before +it," but being in its turn swept aside by waves of golden grain. + +It was a sore day to Jed Holder when he sent off his first order for +Western broom corn, forced to do so by the impossibility of renting +ground rich enough to perfect and mature his crop. + +In the short winter days Jed used to work in Disney's brush helping to +"clear" it. In return for his services he received all the young +maples they encountered: out of these in the long winter evenings he +fashioned his broom handles. + +Jed never could remember how the knowledge was conveyed to him that +broom handles were being made by the thousands by a machine out of the +refuse in the wake of logging camps. + +If the recognition of this iconoclastic fact was not an intuition, it +must have been something very like one--some transmission of a half +contemptuous thought from the brain of the smart groceryman in the city +when he ridiculed the price Jed asked for his hand-made brooms. Jed +pondered over the matter much, but never could recall the source of his +information. But when he lay in his last illness, watching the shadow +of the hopvine on the blinds, all these tormenting thoughts vanished. +The murmurs that fell from his lips were all of other days, of hop +picking, of England, of Kentish lanes and birds, of one whom he named +lovingly as "Myron lass" and yet did not seem to identify with the girl +who waited upon him so untiringly, under the direction of her +grandmother, an old, old woman, bent with rheumatism, and hard of face +and heart, whose lips set cruelly and eyes grew stony when her +gray-haired son babbled of "Myron lass." When he lay in his coffin she +could not grieve, for raging that he was not to lie with all his kin in +Kent. + +She made Myron suffer vicariously for her long dead mother, whose death +coming soon after Myron's birth had driven Jed Holder to seek strange +scenes, away from where he had known the fullest happiness of which he +was capable. + +But Myron bore her grandmother's bad temper with patience and without +bitterness. Her father often said to her, "The yeast is bitter, but it +is the yeast that makes bread sweet." + +Jed Holder died one day in autumn, when the aromatic green cones had +been picked from the hops and lay browning upon paper-covered boards in +the sun. The last breath Jed Holder drew savored of their fragrance, +and the aroma of the hops dispelled the faint odor of mortality in the +death chamber. + +The winter succeeding his death was a long and bitter one. Fuel was +high; and however sparingly bought, still the plainest provisions cost +money. Albeit Myron and her grandmother lived frugally, yet they +exhausted Jed's poor hoardings very soon. Spring found them penniless. + +But in summer, life is more easily sustained, and Myron found various +occupations which sufficed to keep her grandmother in tolerable +comfort. Hoeing and weeding, cleaning house and berrying, doing extra +washings, cooking for threshers and harvesters, all had their part in +Myron's busy life. Her grandmother was never satisfied either with her +ability or her willingness to work; but for all that she worked, and +worked well too. + +There was soon proof positive of this given her grandmother, for after +Myron had helped in the half yearly saturnalia of work Mrs. Deans +called "house cleaning," the latter arranged to have Myron come to the +farm daily to help the bound girl. + +For that summer Mrs. Deans had boarders--boarders who read, and walked, +and brought in great bunches of golden rod, and masses of wild aster, +and long trails of virgin bower clematis. + +There were Mrs. and Miss Rexton, Miss Carpenter and Dr. Henry Willis, a +young medico. They had all driven to the lake one day from the Mineral +Spring Hotel, where they were stopping. The lake curved in a shining +semi-circle round Jamestown, and swept off in ever-widening curves far +away, until sky and water blended in a band of blinding silver +radiance. The party of four had been caught in a thunderstorm, and +sought refuge on Mrs. Deans' veranda. + +Then and there they had decided that they must come there for the rest +of the summer, and with one accord set about persuading Mrs. Deans to +give her consent. Of a truth their persuasion would have had little +effect upon that worthy woman, had not the remuneration suggested +seemed to her quite extravagantly sufficient; therefore she was pleased +at length to accede to their request, and a few days later found the +quartette comfortably settled at Mrs. Deans'. + +Miss Carpenter was Dr. Willis' maiden aunt. Miss Rexton believed +herself to be his affinity and hoped that he agreed with her. Mrs. +Rexton was a chattel of her daughter's. + +Myron Holder's duties were now made more manifold than ever, but she +was well content that it should be so; only the long mile she walked +night and morning from and to the village tired her greatly, taking the +edge off her vitality in the morning and utterly exhausting her at +night. So Mrs. Deans proposed that she should stay all night at the +farm; not actuated by any kindly thought for Myron, but because, like +the good financier that she was, she wanted to get her money's worth +out of her. + +As for old Mrs. Holder, she had no timid qualms about staying alone: +she missed the little scraps of news, however, that Myron always had to +tell, and--unconsciously--suffered from lack of some one to berate. + +The summer passed slowly--autumn came. Mrs. Deans' boarders departed. +Myron Holder once more walked the mile night and morning; she had had a +hard summer's work. Her hands and wrists were reddened and coarsened; +her face was very pale, and _bistre_ shades lingered about her eyes. +But she and her grandmother had to live, and after December snows were +blowing she still trudged the mile back and forth. + +It was only by great chance that Mrs. Deans retained Myron's services; +but her son, a loutish young man of twenty-two, had fallen from a +hickory-nut tree and dislocated his hip. + +The increasing attention he demanded, and the care of her poultry, and +her accumulated sewing kept Mrs. Deans fully occupied. So Myron Holder +continued her daily attendance at the Deans farm. January and February +passed. March was blowing its wildest, when one day Myron Holder did +not come to Mrs. Deans'. + +The latter waited fuming, resolved, as she expressed it, to "give Myron +Holder a fine hearing when she did come." + +Mrs. Deans was always promising somebody or other a "hearing," which, +by the bye, was an exceedingly misleading term, for in the conversation +thus referred to the other party did the listening whilst Mrs. Deans +talked. + +The wild wind of the morning had intensified into a bitter sleet, which +darted its blasts into the face like sharp-pointed lashes, when Mrs. +Deans heard a knock at the side door. She opened it herself to find +old Mrs. Holder, bent, wet, furious, standing in the slush. Mrs. Deans +bade her come in, with a meaning look at the corn husk mat before the +door. + +Mrs. Holder paid no heed to the look, but with muddy feet stepped into +the room fair upon Mrs. Deans' new rag carpet, and standing there, a +quaint old figure, clad in the forgotten fashion of thirty years back, +proceeded to give Mrs. Deans what that lady herself would have called +"a hearing." + +Mrs. Deans had a ready tongue, an inventive imagination, a fund of +vituperative imagery, and a pleasant habit of drowning the voice of any +one who chose to contradict her; but in one's own house, to be +confronted in this way, abused for some unknown crime, covered with +contumely, and showered with contemptuous epithets, and all from an old +woman whose granddaughter was honored in doing one's kitchen work, was +not conducive to dignity and presence of mind. + +Mrs. Deans was too old a scold, however, to be routed without an effort +to vindicate herself. Finding it vain to wait an opportunity for +speech (Mrs. Holder never seemed to pause for breath), she simply began +to talk also--Myron's non-appearance, Mrs. Holder's impertinence, and +her own mystification giving ample subject-matter for her eloquence to +do justice to. + +But Mrs. Holder talked on, apparently unconscious of Mrs. Deans' +remarks--finally she hurled one direct question at the latter: "Did you +know--that's what I want to find out--did ye? And if ye did, what d'ye +think of yourself? You----" + +She was about to branch off into a personal description of Mrs. +Deans--somewhat unflattering--when the latter seized her cue. + +"Did I know what?" she demanded. + +Mrs. Holder came to a dead stop and looked at her. + +"Did I know what?" reiterated Mrs. Deans majestically. + +"Did you know--Myron--" she stopped, this thing was difficult to frame +in words. + +"Well?" said Mrs. Deans. + +"Did you know Myron was--would be--had--" again the voluble Mrs. Holder +faltered. Mrs. Deans looked at Mrs. Holder--and something whispered to +her what Mrs. Holder could not say. "Do you mean to tell me--" she +paused--filling up the hiatus with an eloquent look. + +Then she loosened the tides of her indignation, and sweeping aside all +memories of Myron's honesty, and faithful service, and patience, +launched against her the full flood of her invective. + +Presently Mrs. Holder chimed in: there was something absurd yet +tragically repulsive in these two women, but a moment before reviling +each other, now absorbed only in the desire to outvie each other in the +epithets they hurled against the girl--the granddaughter of the one, +the uncomplaining servant of the other. + +Their attitude, however, was prophetically typical of the treatment +Myron Holder was to receive. The whole village forgot its private +quarrels to point the finger at its common victim. Beset with all the +frightful anticipations of motherhood, bowed beneath the burden of a +shame she appreciated and accepted, hounded nearly to madness by her +grandmother's jibes and reproaches, Myron Holder's heart was wellnigh +desperate. + +The spring winds brought her dreadful suggestions of despair. The +first hepaticas shone up at her as balefully as the lighted fagots to a +martyr's eye. The springing hopvines seemed to twine their tendrils +tight and tighter about her heart. All the scents and sounds of spring +were ever after to her an exquisite torture. But her soul was of +strong fibre. + +Before all the scorn of the village, all the rebukes of Mrs. Deans, all +the wrath of her grandmother, all the bitterness and misery and +hopelessness of her own heart, Myron Holder was mute. + +No murmur escaped her lips against the man who had forsaken her. The +village knew her shame, but it could not fathom her secret. Myron +Holder was deaf to all commands, entreaties, persuasions, sneers. Her +face, holy with the divine shadow of coming maternity, turned to her +questioners an indecipherable page--writ large with characters of shame +and sorrow, but telling naught else. + +* * * * * * + +There came a night when Myron Holder descended into that hell of +suffering called child-birth--struggled with prolonged agony--helpless +and alone--and cried aloud--to that dead father--to that unknown +mother--to God--for Death. + +Myron Holder was a woman and had come to years of knowledge, and her +fall was doubtless a sin and a shame to her--black and unforgivable; +but far as Myron Holder had fallen, deep as was her humiliation, black +as was her shame, inexcusable her error, she still shines in effulgent +whiteness when compared with those women who refused her aid that long +night through, demanding as recompense for their ministering the +betrayal of her betrayer. Myron Holder would not pay their price. + +The dim gray dawn lighted the pain-scarred face of a sleeping mother, +by whose side reposed a fair-haired child; a child the secret of whose +parentage was still locked within its mother's heart. + +* * * * * * + +"Them kind always lives," Mrs. Warner said to her husband, when, on a +June morning, she saw Myron Holder totter past her door. Mrs. Warner +should have thanked the God she worshipped, fasting, that it was so: +had Myron Holder died, no woman in all Jamestown would have been free +from blood-guiltiness. They had beheld a woman in such extremity as +moved the hearts of Inquisitors, stayed the torch of persecution, +shackled the relentless rack, deferred the vengeance of the law, and +had withheld their hands from helping. + +Those same hands which wrought garments for the heathen and shamed not +to offer their alms to God! + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + "It is a wild and miserable world, + Thorny and full of care, + Which every friend can make his prey at will." + + "Know how sublime a thing it is + To suffer and be strong." + + +Beneath the quietness of Myron Holder's manner there raged a very chaos +of reckless, despairing thought. It is undeniable that at this time no +maternal love warmed her heart towards her child. + +There was one night--one dreadful night--whose memory stained forever +even the dark pages of her retrospect. A night through the long hours +of which she lay and thought of death--not to herself--but to the +sleeping infant at her side. All the tales she had ever heard of +desperate women's crimes came to her, assailing her weakened will and +tired brain with insidious suggestions of safety, and freedom, and +immunity from blame. + +Pallid, she rose in the early dawn. As she passed the old English +mirror in its shabby gilt frame, she caught a fleeting glimpse of +burning cheeks, cracking parched lips and bloodshot eyes. She withdrew +her glance shuddering. + +It was very early in the morning. She crossed the kitchen, and softly +opening the door looked forth upon the unawakened world. The air was +somewhat chilly, but sweet and soft. A heavy dew spread a pearly film +over the grass, broken here and there by a silvery shield, where the +spider webs held the moisture: gossamers they are in these early +morning hours when the world is pure and quiet,--shreds of the +Madonna's winding sheet, as we all know. But what are they when the +dew is gone and they are laden with the dust and soot and grime of the +long hot day? Gossamers still? + +Down between the trees she could see the dull glimmer of the lake, +awaiting the sun to strike it into silver; a few pale stars lingered, +loath to bid the world good-by before the moon, which, a wraith-like +orb, still soared on high, white and diaphanous. All was calm, +passionless, and pure. As Myron Holder looked there grew within her +soul a sick shuddering against the woman of the past night. She saw +herself vile where all was holy, passionate where all was peace. And +from her soul, a plea, indefinite in aspiration, and vaguely voyaging +to some unknown haven, went forth, that her old heart might be +vouchsafed to her, her own suffering, fearing, trusting, loving, +betrayed heart, instead of this throbbing centre of pain with its +bitter blood of despair and hate. + +Slow resolutions began to stir in her heart: she would go through the +world "spending and being spent" for others: she would be patient to +her grandmother, always remembering she had shamed her: she would be +true and faithful and self-sacrificing in every relation she assumed to +others; she would be sympathetic to all and she would die soon, very +soon, she thought, and the village would mourn her and at last speak of +her with loving kindness. Poor Myron! Like "many mighty men," she did +not realize the utter barrenness of a posthumous joy or understand how +diffident Death can be when wooed. + +Her mood was jarred by the child's cry and the grandmother's querulous +complaint. She turned from the morning just as the sun's rays shot +across the lake. + +As soon as she was able to do so she resumed her work--bending over her +toil, a patient figure in a worn blue print gown and dark sunbonnet, a +humble mark she seemed for public scorn: yet all the scandal and spite +of the scurrilous little village played about her. + +As Mrs. Disney expressed it, old Mrs. Holder "took it most terrible +hard": therefore the village matrons contracted a habit of running in +at all hours to the little hop-clad house and condoling with Mrs. +Holder, and with her speculating as to the identity of the child's +father. + +Now and then these zealous comforters rather overdid the matter, +notably when Mrs. Weaver, with a view of exonerating Mrs. Holder from +all blame and relieving her of all responsibility for Myron's behavior, +remarked that "It did seem as if bad was born in some people." + +Old Mrs. Holder rose at that, and speedily made Mrs. Weaver aware that +Myron's badness was purely sporadic, and that heredity had nothing to +do with it. She did not express herself in this way, but conveyed the +same idea much more forcibly. + +It is possible that, being Myron's grandmother, she felt a slight +reflection from Mrs. Weaver's well-meant suggestion that Myron had +inherited vice as her birthright; be that as it may, she speedily made +Mrs. Weaver aware that if there was any truth in such an idea, she +herself must be in a perilous state: the old Englishwoman had managed +to glean pretty accurate data about the Jamestown people, and she knew +that Mrs. Weaver's mother had "tript in her time." Mrs. Weaver called +no more upon Mrs. Holder, but the others showed no abatement of their +zeal. + +These good Jamestown women had a pleasant habit of sitting with Mrs. +Holder until Myron's form appeared at noon or night. They gazed at her +while she opened the gate, trod the little path past the front door, +and until she turned the corner: when Vice in the person of Myron +entered the back door, Virtue embodied in one or more of Jamestown's +matrons fled from the front door, hearing, ere the gate was reached, +the first measures of the jeremiad with which her grandmother greeted +her. There was little wonder that Myron Holder grew morbidly nervous +and supersensitive. She would scarce have been responsible for any +deed, however evil. + +All the morning the anticipated agony of the ordeal of walking up the +path, under these scathing eyes, oppressed and tortured her. No martyr +ever contemplated with greater dread the red-hot ploughshares than +Myron Holder did those few yards of red trodden earth, bordered by fox +grass and burdock leaves. + +Through the long hours of the slow afternoons she braced herself for +the return home at night, but she did not try to elude any of the +humiliations of her position. The garden gate was terrible to her as +the surgeon's knife to the sufferer--for the hasp was loosened and +twisted, the gate had to be lifted before it could be opened, and +sometimes she was kept fumbling with the fastening until the blood swam +before her eyes in a red mist. + +Doubtless she should have considered all these painful contingencies +and walked more heedfully, but the thought, which the Jamestown matrons +often quoted, did not, as they seemed to think it should, dull the pain +of the thousand stings she received daily--it only pressed them home. +There are many + + "Dainty themes of grief + In sadness to outlast the morn;" + +but the tale of Myron Holder's expiation is not one of them--it is a +sordid theme, yet, being human, not too sordid to be writ out. It is a +painful relation; but when one woman lived it, we may not shrink from +contemplating it, nor hesitate to view step by step the way one woman +trod. + +The first summer of her child's life wore away. Autumn came before +Myron Holder was goaded into any demonstration of her suffering. + +She was one day working for Mr. Disney, who worked old Mr. Carroll's +place on shares. It was the time of the apple harvest. All day long +they had been picking, gathering, sorting, and carrying the heavy +fruit. Between Mr. Carroll and Mr. Disney was waged a continual war of +wits, each endeavoring to get the better of the other. The afternoon +was far spent when old Mr. Carroll came, limping out, bent and thin, +only his erectness of poise when he stood still evidencing the old +soldier. + +The fruit had been divided into two long heaps, alike in their +dimensions, but, as all the pickers knew, of widely different quality. + +The grass was sere and yellowed, the sapless apple leaves fell in +rustling showers at the lightest breath of wind, and now and then an +apple fell with a dull sound upon the earth. The brown side of the +drive-house formed a neutral background into which all the sombre tints +of the little scene blended, save the brilliant reds and yellows of the +two long piles of apples. + +"Well, Mr. Disney--got the apples sorted?" asked Mr. Carroll with +affected geniality. Mr. Disney, a shallow-witted man, was betrayed by +the smile on the lips into disregard of the cold eyes, and replied with +rash effusiveness: + +"Yes--picked, sorted, divided, sold, almost cooked and eaten." Old Mr. +Carroll's smile froze. + +"Which is my pile?" he asked with an indescribable intonation of +sarcastic contempt, which pierced even Disney's denseness and made a +slow red gather to his cheeks as he answered--"That one." + +"Then I'll take this one," replied Mr. Carroll, indicating the other. +Disney faltered then--wanted to re-divide--and managed to confuse +himself completely. Mr. Carroll listened contemptuously; his keen old +eyes had discerned the mud on the apples in the heap assigned to him, +and he had decided, rightly enough, that they were windfalls. + +Disney's half-hearted plea for a re-division was manifestly absurd, and +the caustic old man enjoyed a pleasant half-hour in ridiculing the +idea. For once he had his enemy fairly "on the hip." + +The end of it was that presently, when Mr. Warner drove past, he saw +old Mr. Carroll enthroned upon an upturned bushel basket, his cynical +old eyes gleaming with amusement, his feet shifting restlessly with +delight, his tongue irritating Disney almost beyond endurance. + +He had placed himself on the side of the drive-house door and demanded +that his apples be carried in then and there. Disney longed to refuse, +but his agreement provided that he perform all the labor of harvesting +and storing Mr. Carroll's share. There was nothing for it, therefore, +but to obey the irascible old man, who, in numerous playful ways, made +the carrying in of the fruit a weariness of the flesh to Disney. He +stopped him to pull stray wisps of grass out of his pails, or to +examine a purely imaginary blemish in an apple. He let his cane slip +down so that Disney tripped over it. He took one of the pails, and +pretended to fix one of the handles, which was perfectly secure as it +was--and all the time he talked, gently, irritatingly, making the most +innocent of pauses for replies that Disney felt he must make, but which +he made as briefly as possible. + +The afternoon waned; finally the last apple of the heap was transferred +to the drive-house. Then Mr. Carroll rose, trying his best to conceal +the stiffness of his joints from Disney, locked the drive-house door +and limped off to his lonely house, solitary but triumphant. + +A little later he watched the departure of the disgusted Disney and his +pickers--Myron Holder dragging wearily home alone, body and heart alike +aching; the rest slyly nudging one another, with meaning looks at +Disney's sullen face. + +Still later, when Mr. Carroll blew out his yellow wax candle, he pushed +aside the limp white blind, raised the many-paned window and looked +forth into the moonlight. It was very clear and quiet. Disney's pile +of apples lay roughly outlined beneath its covering of old sacks. Mr. +Carroll looked at it amusedly--as he looked a stray apple, left +swinging unseen, fell. As the sound reached his ears a malevolent +smile irradiated his face. Still smiling, he put the window down, let +the blind fall and sought sleep. + +That night Myron Holder traversed the road home in the deepest +dejection; forced to endure all day the covert sneers of the other +pickers, with extreme bodily weariness added to her mental burden, +helpless as a fly from which a wanton hand has torn the wings, she +felt, as she trod her solitary way home, utterly despairing. + +Ere she was fairly within the doors her grandmother's taunting words +met her. Roused from her long apathy of mute endurance, she tore her +sunbonnet from her head and flashed one dreadful look of rage and +defiance at the old woman--such a look as made Mrs. Holder' stagger +back, holding up her hand as if to shield herself from a blow. +Terrified at the turmoil in her own breast, Myron turned and fled into +her room. She saw the boy's little form upon the blue and white +checked counterpane of her bed, she rushed up to the couch, her hands +were clenched, her heart seemed throbbing in her throat. Dreadful +thoughts circled about her, wild and diverse, but all hung upon the one +axis of pain. Half in delirium, she bent over the child. It looked up +at her and smiled, and stirred feebly, but yet as if its impulses made +towards her. With a cry she caught it to her bosom. + +There was one creature that yet smiled upon her. Thereafter, from day +to day, throughout the long winter, her adoration of her child waxed +stronger and stronger. + +Every instant she could spare from her toiling she held it in her arms. +On Sunday, when good Jamestown people did no extra work, Myron Holder +had her only pleasure. For then she shut herself into her room with +the child, whispering to it, caressing it, soothing it when awake, and +during its long sleep holding it with loving avarice in her arms, too +greedy of the cherished weight to relinquish it to the couch. + +Her grandmother managed even from this tenderness to distill some +bitter drops to add to Myron's cup. She dwelt long and eloquently upon +the wrong Myron had done the child. Slowly the winter passed, and Mrs. +Deans once more hired Myron Holder to come to the farm daily. The +child was left with old Mrs. Holder, while Myron earned a subsistence +for all three. + +What Myron Holder endured daily no words can tell. By what written +sign may we symbolize the agony of a heart, bruised and pierced and +crushed day after day? By what language express the torture of a pure +soul, stifled in a chrysalis of shame? + +Some souls may be purified by fire, doubtless, as the old Greeks +cleansed their asbestos fabrics; but we should be wary how we thrust +our fellows into the furnace, for no base tissue will stand the fire, +and a soul, to emerge unsmirched and undestroyed, must be of strong +fibre indeed. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + "O Jesus, if thou wilt not save my soul, + Who may be saved? Who is it may be saved? + Who may be made a saint if I fail here?" + + "As who should say: 'I am Sir Oracle, + And when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!'" + + +There are doubtless a few of us in the world capable of judging and +pronouncing sentence upon the rest. + +It is unfortunately inevitable, however, that such capabilities remain +forever underestimated, and the possessors rarely receive the +acknowledgments due from an ungrateful world. + +Mrs. Deans was one of the chosen few who recognize their own +infallibility, and accept as a sacred trust the knowledge that they are +indispensable. To be a god, Mrs. Deans only lacked the minor attribute +of immortality--a want of which she was herself unconscious. + +Mrs. Deans strove earnestly to better her neighbors and cause them to +conform to her standards of what was right. She was a firm believer +that "open rebuke is better than secret love," and whatever risk Myron +ran, under Mrs. Deans' rule she incurred no danger of being "carried to +the skies on flowery beds of ease"--a thing much to be dreaded. Nor +was there any possibility of her forgetting, for a half-hour at a time, +the light in which Mrs. Deans viewed her, which was, of course, the +somewhat trying illumination that the Children of Light project upon +the Children of Darkness. + +Mrs. Deans had a modestly good opinion of herself. "Thou art the salt +of the earth" impressed her with all the directness of a personal +remark. Those who enjoyed the privileges of Mrs. Deans' household +were, first and least, her husband--Henry Deans. He was a small man, +with "a little wee face, with a little yellow beard, a Cain-colored +beard." It was five years since his horses, running away as he +returned from the market town, capsized him over a steep bank, down +which the barrel of salt he had bought rolled also, and, striking him +in the back, partially paralyzed him. + +Since that time he had sat under his wife's ministry. In summer the +back porch held his chair, in winter the kitchen. By keeping a careful +eye upon the bound girl, he sometimes discovered her in a dereliction; +it was a happy hour for him when this was the case. It had the effect +of distracting his wife's attention from him, for one thing--and when +too closely centred upon any one person, Mrs. Deans' regard was apt to +prove embarrassing; it also won him much commendation from her--being +convinced of the utter depravity of the bound girl, both "individually +and collectively," it gratified Mrs. Deans to have her "moral +certainty" attested by positive proofs. It made her realize her +seer-like qualities. + +Mrs. Deans' son, Gamaliel, known to his fond mother as "Maley," and to +Jamestown as "Male," stood first in his mother's regard. + +Gamaliel was Mrs. Deans' idea of a "fancy" name. She had hesitated +long before bestowing it upon her boy, wavering between Gamaliel and +Ambrose. She finally decided upon the former, it being more uncommon. +The son of Mrs. Deans' sister-in-law's brother was called Ambrose--and, +also, Gamaliel was, as Mrs. Deans said, "more suitable," whether to her +son's mental or physical endowments she did not specify. Old Mrs. +Holder once said she never could "picture out" any one else being +called Gamaliel, nor believe that Mrs. Deans' son could have had any +other name. + +He was a stubborn young lout, whose strong will was only subjective to +his mother's because he did not recognize his own strength. She had +curbed him as he bitted the huge young Clydesdale colts. Sometimes a +well-broken horse realizes its own strength, and we hear a horrid story +of torn flesh and trampled limbs when it turns to rend its master. If +Gamaliel Deans ever revolted, his mother would suffer. + +However, he was quiescent enough, for his mother's schemes were all for +his benefit. Besides, he appreciated the charms of a quiet life, and +had inherited a liberal share of the diplomacy his paralytic father +displayed when he feigned sleep for long hours at a stretch, hoping +that he might entrap the bound girl into some piece of unwary +carelessness. Both Henry Deans and his son Gamaliel had a deeply +rooted belief in the value of the bound girl as a counter-irritant. + +Mrs. Deans had had just a "pigeon pair" of children, as Jamestown put +it, but her girl had died when an infant. Mrs. Deans was too good a +woman not to bear up under the loss, especially as she did not care for +girls. + +The bound girl made up the regular trio which Mrs. Deans drove before +her over roads of her choosing. + +It is unnecessary to say much of the bound girl. Mrs. Deans described +them often--"Evil incarnate," she called them. Mrs. Deans changed her +bound girls now and then. They came to her with all the different +merits and various vices of their unhappy class. They left her +different incarnations of the same weary, broken, deadened spirit of +labor and endurance. Their individual characteristics, capabilities +and tendencies had nothing whatever to do with their case. Woman and +mother as Mrs. Deans was, she was never moved by their peculiar needs. + +It is requisite, doubtless, to the "Great Plan" that there be bound +ones among us, enduring--like the hereditary embalmer--the parischite +of Egypt--a loathsome heritage--and yet--the pity of it! But Mrs. +Deans was not one to question the Providence which ordained for these +bound girls their lot in life. + +"They're born bad, and bad they are, and bad they'll be--every one of +them--evil, root and branch; you can't be up to them and their ways." +These were Mrs. Deans' sentiments upon the subject of bound girls, and +other opinions do not matter. + +The hired men Mrs. Deans treated with the deference due to those who +must be conciliated and who are free agents. Mrs. Deans, if not +exactly harmless as the traditional dove, had at least a smattering of +the wisdom of the serpent. + +Mrs. Deans was distinctly a leader in Jamestown society. She was a +very good woman, liberal to the Church, foremost in collecting for +missions, ready to head a donation list at any time; therefore every +one said Myron Holder was very lucky to have won Mrs. Deans' help. +That this "help" consisted in being allowed to do the hardest work +under the most intolerable circumstances for very meagre pay, they did +not stop to consider. Mrs. Deans said she felt it a "duty" to have +Myron Holder. We are all so thoroughly acquainted with the fact that +duties are unpleasant, that the Jamestown women are not to be blamed +for looking upon Mrs. Deans in the light of a martyr. + +Mrs. Warner expressed the sense of the village view of the matter when +she said, "It beats me how Mrs. Deans can put up with that Myron +Holder! Going about as if she was injured, bless your heart, with a +face as long as a fiddle and looking as if she was half killed, when +she ought to be thankful to be let into a decent house to work." + +And indeed the hopeless face Myron Holder bore above her aching heart +was a public reproach; but we do not see rebuke where we do not look +for it, and Jamestown felt itself above censure. + +In the old Puritan graveyards in the New England States there was a +place set apart, where in a common receptacle were buried those who +held a different faith from the Puritans, or who avowed no faith at +all. This was called the "damned corner." Whether the Puritans, out +of zeal to do their Master's work, intended in this way to facilitate +the business of separating the sheep from the goats, or whether it was +with a view of securing their own sacred dust from contamination, does +not appear. But it is a custom which still survives. We all have a +"damned corner," where, beneath the intolerable burden of our +disapprobation, we deposit those we know are wrong. Of course, common +decency requires that we keep these spots swept with our criticism, +garnished with invective; and when it is considered that in Mrs. Deans' +eyes even Gamaliel sometimes showed faults, it will be understood the +worthy woman had no sinecure. + +Mrs. Deans' mind was somewhat "out of drawing" to her body, which was +broad, large, fair, and of generous proportions. Why fat and +good-temper should have been so long proverbially associated is +difficult to discern; in so far as the ordinary mind can analyze, it +would seem as if adipose was a distinct excuse for bad temper. To be +hotter than other people in summer and not so cold in winter is one of +the simplest and most obvious results of fat--yet who shall say this is +conducive to sympathy with other people? + +Mrs. Deans had been a Warner, and was inclined to goitre. Her large +head, with its oily bands of fair hair, was always somewhat inclined +backwards. Her general appearance suggested, in a remote way, a +colossal and bad-tempered pouter pigeon--a likeness absurdly emphasized +sometimes by the redness of her eyes. + +When Myron Holder crossed the threshold with the quilting-frames, a +scene characteristic of the place greeted her. Mrs. Deans stood in the +foreground, holding the floor; her husband listened to her eloquence, +blinking appreciatively if somewhat apprehensively. You never knew--to +use one of her own expressions--when you "had Mrs. Deans, and when you +hadn't." She was apt to deflect suddenly from the chase she was +engaged in, and start full cry after another's shortcomings. More than +once Henry Deans, enjoying himself hugely while his wife browbeat the +bound girls, had his joy turned to mourning by suddenly discovering +that the peroration of his wife's address had for its inspiration his +own shortcomings. + +His wife was, as he confided to Gamaliel, "onsartain"; it was a +perilous joy to listen to her, and, therefore, perhaps, the more +exhilarating. + +The bound girl--a slight, tow-headed child with high, unequal +shoulders, and arms, and wrists, developed by her life of toil into +absurd disproportion to her body--stood by the stove, listening with a +dazed look in her weary eyes. She had broken a seven-cent lamp-glass. + +Myron put aside the basket of groceries, took the quilting-frames to an +empty corner, and set about her preparations for the weekly washing. +The bound girl still stood motionless by the fire, and Mrs. Deans still +talked; her husband was shifting uneasily in his chair, for her remarks +were beginning to wander from the case in point, and her condemnations +and criticisms were becoming too sweeping to be altogether pleasant, +when, much to the relief of her hearers, Mrs. Deans' attention was +distracted by the arrival of the ragman, with his noisy, rattling van, +piled high with coarse, bulging sacks of canvas. Mrs. Deans assumed +her sunbonnet, and went out to him. He was a man of sixty or so, thin, +good-humored, and with what Mrs. Deans called, "An eye to the main +chance." Perched high upon the seat of his old-fashioned blue van, he +was exposed to all the variableness of the weather; but he took +sunshine and rain in good part, and seemed little the worse, save that +he was tanned to a fine mahogany tint. + +He went regular rounds through the country, gathering rags and +scrap-iron. His calling is a survival of the old classic system of +barter. The interior of his van was filled with an array of pans and +pails and all sorts of tin-ware; a drawer at the back held common +cutlery, horn-handled knives and forks, and tin spoons, such as his +customers used. With these wares he paid for the rags and old iron. +Many a thousand pounds of each had he and his old black horse collected. + +He had a faculty for gauging the weight of a bag of rags that was truly +impressive. "That'll go thirty pound," he would say; then weighing it +hastily, "Turned at thirty and a half," he would announce with an air +of surprise at his own mistake. Then, by a quick fling, the bag would +be skillfully bestowed upon the top of the van; his load was always +one-sided, but never fell off. + +Mrs. Deans always had rags for him, and invariably bought pie-plates. + +"Who is that?" said he to Mrs. Deans, after the chaffering process was +over, and she stood, pie-plates in hand, watching him put the wooden +peg through the staple to keep the hasp tight. He had caught a glimpse +of Myron Holder. + +"That--oh, Jed Holder's Myron," returned Mrs. Deans, assuming the face +with which she taught Sunday school. + +"'Tis, eh? What do you have her for?" + +"I feel a duty to have her here, but it goes ag'in me, Mr. Long--it +does that; but there, we all have our cross and we must help along as +well as we can. Are you going to call at old Mrs. Holder's? She takes +it most terrible hard." + +"Yes, I'll call there; it's a lucky job for the girl she's got such a +backer as you, Mrs. Deans. 'Twould be a good thing if there was more +like you. It beats all what wimmen is coming to these days! Who's the +man?" + +"Don't ask me--ask her; that's the only place I know to find out; she's +that close, though! And stubborn! Even I, for all I've done for her, +and put up with, don't know! No more does her grandmother. But I'll +find out." + +"Well, well--that's curious," said the ragman, by this time perched +aloft again and shaking the reins over the high, lean haunches of his +horse; "good day, Mrs. Deans; you have a fine place here." + +"Good morning. When'll you be back? Be sure you call." + +"I'll be round in a couple of months again. Good morning," he replied, +as his van jolted away. + +"It seems to me," said he, soliloquizing, "that Mrs. Deans has washed +more'n she can hang out! Jed Holder's daughter can keep her month shet +if she makes up her mind to it; I knowed Jed." + +This ragman had not gathered the rags of Jamestown for thirty years +without acquiring some knowledge of the people. "I kin read 'em by +their rags," he used to tell his wife. + +He was justified in doubting Mrs. Deans' ability to perform the task +she had set herself--to fathom Myron's secret. + +"That girl of Jed Holder's has made a fine job of herself!" the ragman +said to old Mr. Carroll, as he drove homeward in the evening. + +"Yes," said old Carroll; "women are a bad lot, a bad, scheming lot." + +"Oh, come, come; you'll be getting married to some young girl one of +these fine days," retorted the astute ragman. + +"I--no, sir; not such a fool," snorted the old man, highly pleased. +"Will you come in and have a drop?" + +The ragman would; they entered the house together, the black horse +meantime reaching down to nibble at the last year's grass, through +which the first tender blades of the new growth were pointing. + +Presently the ragman emerged, looking much happier and warmer; the wind +was chill in the evenings yet, and Mr. Carroll's "drop" meant a good, +stiff glass of gin. + +Mr. Carroll came to the door after him. "Mrs. Deans declares she'll +find out, but the job will puzzle even her, I'll warrant," the ragman +was saying as he climbed nimbly up over the front wheel. + +"Trust her for that; women are all alike. 'Set a thief to catch a +thief,'" replied his host with a sardonic chuckle. (If Mrs. Deans +could have heard him!) + +The ragman loudly evidenced his appreciation of this fine wit, and +departed, calling out, "Evening--good evening--you've got a fine, snug +place here, Mr. Carroll." + +His homeward way led through quiet country roads, and long grass-grown +"concessions." + +The promise of spring made sweet the air, and although the night felt +gray and chill, it did not numb, as do autumn nights of the same +temperature. + +The ragman's house stood on the outskirts of a little town, and was +dwarfed and overshadowed by the barn, which occupied the main portion +of the lot. One little corner of this barn was devoted to the big +black horse; the rest was given over to rags. If the rags are not sent +to the mills as they are collected, they are "sorted," which means that +buttons, hooks, and eyes are cut off, and the woollen separated from +the cotton rags. The former are sent to the shoddy mills; the paper +factories absorb the others. + +The ragman's trade has its traditions and romances; and the tales of +fortunes found by ragpickers are beautiful truths to all of their +calling; so this ragpicker, like all others, carefully felt the pockets +and linings of the garments that came to him. During his thirty years +of rag-picking he had found one two-dollar bill, seven ten-cent pieces, +eighteen five-cent bits, one pair of gloves and an average of one lead +pencil a year--but he still hoped. + +Finding a fortune in rags, however, is a little like trying to locate +the pot of gold at the rainbow's foot. + +Myron Holder had heard plainly the ragman's query and Mrs. Deans' +reply. Old Henry Deans, blossoming forth like a snail out of its +shell, as soon as his wife's back was turned, said with leering +facetiousness, "Ah--a fellow askin' after you, Myron," and pointed his +fist with a look that made the blood spring to the woman's cheeks and +linger there, a painful blot as though the face had been smitten. She +bent over her tub in silence, her heart hot within her. The regard of +such men and women as Myron Holder lived among may not seem of much +moment to us, nor their criticisms of any import at all, but it must be +remembered that they formed Myron Holder's world; and their verdict +upon her was terrible, inasmuch as with them lay the power of +inflicting the penalty they pronounced. + +Mrs. Deans bustled in, rattling her pie-plates. Every one was at work +and unhappy, so after scathing her husband with a contemptuous look, on +general principles, she betook herself to the kitchen proper, and soon +getting the quilting-frames into position, proceeded to "tie" her +quilts, which process consisted in dotting their resplendent red and +blue surfaces with fuzzy knots of yellow yarn. + +That night, when Myron Holder went home, she thought for the first +time, once or twice rebelliously, of the portion meted out to her; but +that unaccustomed mood passed and left her in her normal condition of +self-reproach. + +It is perhaps true that martyrdom is a form of beatitude; but, if +compulsory, it rarely has a spiritualizing effect. Myron Holder was +condemned to endure all the "slings and arrows" that a spiteful, +narrow-minded village can aim. She arose in the morning and ate her +hasty breakfast to the sound of bitter words, directed with the +unerring malignity of long-suppressed dislike, at last given an excuse +for expression. She worked all day, subject to the taunts of a vulgar +virago, the coarseness of that unlicked cub, Gamaliel, the intolerable +leers and jibes of the half-paralyzed Henry Deans. She returned at +night to be greeted by her grandmother's venomous reproaches. +Doubtless she deserved all this--but her acceptance of it might have +been different, for Myron Holder had come of no slavish race of +down-trodden serfs. She had sprung from a long line of sturdy English +forbears, lowly indeed, but free and bold. It would scarcely be a +matter for wonder had Myron Holder fought with her back against the +wall, defied the world she knew, utterly--its narrow prejudices, +cramped conventions, traditionary decencies; but she did not. At this +time she neither rebelled nor struggled--she endured; so did Prometheus. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + "Oh, the waiting in the watches of the night! + In the darkness, desolation, and contrition and affright; + The awful hush that holds us shut away from all delight; + The ever-weary memory that ever weary goes, + Recounting ever over every aching loss it knows, + The ever-weary eyelids gasping ever for repose-- + In the dreary, weary watches of the night!" + + "The flower that smiles to-day + To-morrow dies; + All that we wish to stay + Tempts, and then flies. + What is this world's delight? + Lightning that mocks the night, + Brief even as bright." + + +One day, shortly after the ragman's call, old Mr. Carroll came to have +a talk with Mr. Deans. He did this often. It was not that he had any +particular liking for Henry Deans or his wife, but the forced inaction +of the former left him unoccupied all day long, and Mr. Carroll dearly +liked "to have his talk out" when once he commenced. As a prelude to +the talk proper, they discussed for an hour or so the affairs of the +village, the crops of their neighbors, the scarcity of pasture and the +great number of tramps. Into this part of the conversation Mrs. Deans +entered heartily. After these matters were canvassed thoroughly, the +men settled themselves more easily in their chairs, and took up the +more serious business of the hour. + +Now there were only two subjects that Mr. Carroll thoroughly enjoyed +talking about--politics and war; the former he regarded as the "root of +all evil," the latter as the only means of reform. Mr. Deans only +cared to discuss religion and crops. + +Each talked in his own strain about his own hobby, without regard to +what his companion was saying. While one was speaking the other +waited, absent-eyed, for the first pause for breath, when he promptly +took up his parable where he had left off when forced to pause for +breath himself. The one never heard what the other said, each being +too much occupied in thinking what he should say next to bother about +listening to any one else. They derived much of the same mutual +benefit and amusement from these conversations as two dogs do when they +race madly up and down opposite sides of a fence, barking at each +other. Many learned arguments, held in high places, are conducted upon +these same lines. + +The sunny afternoon wore along. Mrs. Deans had yawned several times, +yawned audibly and significantly; but her husband, in full cry after +the errors of the Catholics and the bigotry of the Church of England, +disregarded the danger signal, and went on his conversational way +rejoicing. Mr. Carroll, winding his way through the intricacies of the +bribery and corruption and scandals of the last election, was oblivious +of her yawns, their meaning, and even--ungallant as it may seem--of her +presence. + +Gamaliel, coming in from his plough to refill his water-jug, looked +slyly through the door at the trio. + +"She's putting her ears back," said he to himself, with pleasurable +anticipation of a row, as he looked at his mother. He waited a few +moments in expectation of a crisis, but at the instant when his hopes +were highest an interruption occurred in the arrival of Mrs. Wilson. + +Mr. Carroll loathed Mrs. Wilson, a well-fed-looking but lugubrious +woman, chronically aggrieved. From her own account, she had inherited +and endured "all the ills the flesh is heir to," but nevertheless she +was plump and comfortable-looking. Her dark eyes were bright, her red +cheeks rosy, her nose a pug; her lips showed red against the whiteness +of her false teeth--when the teeth were in her lips pouted, when the +teeth were out her lips pursed. + +Mrs. Wilson was somewhat perilously given over to vanities, and had +fringe on her black merino dress and a white muslin rose in her black +bonnet. She had her knitting with her, an index of her intention to +stay for tea, and an encouragement to Mrs. Deans to insist that she +should remain. Mrs. Wilson protested she had had no intention of +staying, and Mrs. Deans insisted that she should stay. Mrs. Wilson's +protestations continued all the while she was laying off her bonnet, +and Mrs. Deans' persuasive eloquence flowed freely; finally, with a +fine assumption of compulsion, Mrs. Wilson ceased protesting, and +allowed herself, knitting in hand, to be led back to the dining-room. + +By the time the two ladies emerged, Mr. Carroll was hobbling out of the +gate and Mr. Deans was enjoying a long-deferred chew. The two women +sat down opposite each other in rocking-chairs. Mrs. Wilson produced a +black apron, which she donned, and then felt in her pocket for the +goose-quill she carried to hold the end of her knitting needle, stuck +it in her belt, and proceeded to turn the heel of a carpet-warp sock; +at the same time to give Mrs. Deans a full and particular account of +her sufferings from erysipelas. Mrs. Deans herself had had some +experience with that disease, having once seen a woman in St. Ann's who +was bald from its effects. + +Mrs. Wilson's needles clicked; Mrs. Deans' waxed thread hummed as she +vigorously sewed carpet-rags; a distant thud-thud told that Myron +Holder was churning. + +The sun began to sink. Suddenly Mrs. Wilson dropped her hands and her +knitting into her lap, and asked, with an explosive abruptness only +excusable as an indication of the startling character of the question: + +"Say, Jane--I want to ask you something! Has Myron Holder named her +young one?" + +Mrs. Deans struck one hand into the other. + +"Well, it beats all! I never! If you'll believe me, I don't know." + +"I just wondered whether she had or not, but I never saw you to ask, or +if I saw you I forgot, and I didn't hear tell of its being named yet. +Now what do you suppose, Jane, speaking confidential between ourselves, +and knowing it'll go no further--if you was asked, now, what would you +say she'd call it, if 'twas put to you?" + +"Well, Marian," replied Mrs. Deans, with the air of a baffled +astrologer, "since you ask me plain, I'll tell you one thing--I can see +as far through a ladder as most people, and if I go falling it ain't +through going about with my eyes shut; but all I know about it is one +thing, and that ain't two; whatever Myron Holder calls the young one +she won't call it Jed, for that old Mrs. Holder won't allow at no +rate--for no favor. Not that Myron said anything about it; that ain't +her way. She's close--terrible close is Myron, and deep beyond belief. +But old Mrs. Holder says--and what she says she'll stick to, being +stubborn and fixed in her notions--she says, 'No naming of such brats +after my son.' No--not if Myron asks on bended knee, Mrs. Holder won't +give in." + +"But say, Jane," hazarded Mrs. Wilson, as one who advances an +improbable and wild suggestion, "supposing Myron Holder don't ask, but +just does it? Do you suppose she'd dare?" + +"'Tain't hardly likely," returned Mrs. Deans, looking judicial; "that +would be pretty serious, even for Myron Holder. But I don't know; +she's bad clean through--that's easy enough seen; why she makes the +greatest time over that young one you ever seen. Why, Mrs. Warner told +me that the other Sunday, when she went to Holder's well for a pail of +water, that the house being very quiet, she went and looked in the +windows, knowing old Mrs. Holder was out to Disney's for milk. She +couldn't see nothing in the front room nor the kitchen, but in the +bedroom there she seen Myron Holder with the boy. The boy was asleep, +and she was kneeling by the bed, talking away to the sleeping +child!--'s good's praying to it, Mrs. Warner said." + +"I've no patience with such goings on as them," said Mrs. Wilson, +clicking her needles agitatedly. "I should think she'd be ashamed to +act up like that, considering all that's come and gone." + +"Well, you'd think so," agreed Mrs. Deans, winding up her ball of rags. +"But there, Marian! There's no use talking, her kind don't care for +nothing." + +"Well, it's to be hoped she don't throw no slurs on any decent fellow, +like your Male or my Homer," said Mrs. Wilson, with dismal foreboding +in her voice. "It would be just like her to pick on some fine name. +But I warn her of one thing: slurs is something I can't abide and won't +put up with." + +"Nor me, Marian, nor me," said Mia. Deans, her spirit rising in +anticipation of the imaginary fray. "Let Myron Holder call her brat +Gamaliel, and I'll let her know for once, in her life, that respectable +people has their rights. Just only let her, once, and that's all. If +I don't show her pretty prompt what's what, blame me!" + +"Well, 'twould be a most terrible slur on any fellow, that's all I can +say," returned Mrs. Wilson. + +After tea Homer Wilson called for his mother and drove her away, her +white muslin rose nodding above the black barége veil she tied across +her forehead to ward off neuralgia, her hands clasping lovingly a +bottle of liniment distilled from dried "smartweed," which Mrs. Deans +had bestowed upon her. Mrs. Deans watched their departure from the +veranda; presently she voiced her reflections aloud: + +"Marian don't crack up Homer as much as she used to do; guess that shoe +pinches a bit. Well, served her right! Nobody but a fool gives away +his clothes before he's done with them! They shouldn't have been so +smart giving Homer the deed." + +"No, I don't hold with doing that. Don't catch me doing any such +business, not I," said Mr. Deans' voice from the kitchen. + +Mrs. Deans jerked her shoulders impatiently, and took herself and her +meditations out of her husband's hearing. She was gone some little +time, having walked down to the pasture to look at the lambs. As she +entered the cook-house she murmured to herself, "I can't make my mind +up to it somehow, but she was anxious, was Marian, terrible anxious +about the name--Homer Wilson." + +Homer Wilson and his mother drove homeward. They passed Myron Holder +entering the gate of her home. She had taken off her sunbonnet and +held it by the strings, as she fastened the gate. Her hair, loosened +and roughened, was massed about her head in such a way as to form a +soft, shadowy background, from which the pale oval of her face shone +forth almost startlingly. + +"Guess Mrs. Deans is taking her money's worth out of Myron Holder," +said Homer after they passed. "She looks mighty tired out." + +"Oh, goodness, Homer," said his mother, "don't take up with that girl. +'Tired out!' Serve her right if she is! It's pure charity Jane Deans' +having her; and as for stubbornness and badness, Jane says she can't be +beat. I guess her old grandmother has a tough time of it! Old folks +has a poor chance when young ones get the whip-hand. Give--give--and +when you've given all you've got you're no more good! Well, time's +short here any way, and a good thing it is! No pleasure after one gets +old--only burdens on other people." Here Mrs. Wilson sniffed loudly, +and ostentatiously wiped away an imaginary tear. + +Homer's face burned in the dusk; his heart rose hot against the +reflection his mother's speech was meant to cast upon him. But he made +no answer; he was used to such things; they drove on without further +speech. The loose links in the horses' traces jingled; their +hoof-beats sounded soft on the sandy road. They drew near the house +before Mrs. Wilson spoke again; then she said briskly: "Homer, don't go +speaking to Myron Holder if you meet her; she's a dangerous girl." + +"She looks it," said Homer, with a touch of sarcasm. "I don't think +I'll be hurt by passing a good day with her, though." + +"That's right--I might have known as much. Get mixed up with her next, +as if I hadn't had enough trouble," whined his mother. + +Homer was getting exasperated. The knowledge that he had that very +morning passed Myron Holder in absent-minded silence added to the +irritation of his mood. His mother's persistent misconstruction of his +motives and actions was at times almost unbearable. He answered out of +pure perversity: "She's the best looking girl in the village, by long +odds; and as for not speaking to her, I fancy the women do plenty of +'passing by on the other side' business without the men helping them. +You won't find many men, I reckon, unwilling to speak to Myron Holder." + +A strange conviction of the absolute truth of what he was saying smote +across his mind, and suddenly Myron Holder's pale face seemed to show +out of the gloom before him, as he had seen it a little while before +against the dark background of her hair. His mother almost groaned +aloud; a dreadful thought flittered momentarily through her mind, but +Homer was already pulling up the horses. + +He helped her out carefully, and she entered the house absorbed in +peevish self-pity. + +Old Mr. Wilson was ready to receive her and eager to hear the "news." +When Homer finished attending to his horses and came into the house, he +found they had already retired. He heard the murmur of his mother's +voice, broken only by a sharp exclamation or a short interrogation from +his father. He blew out the lamp and sat down at the open window, +laying his head on his hands. The frogs in the pond were uttering +their weird and dismal note. No other sound has a more melancholy +echo, a more desolate tone. An earthy breath of wind was wafted from +across the newly ploughed land near the house. In the sunshine the +aroma from fresh furrows is sweeter than the breath of sweet grass; at +night it brings the odor of the charnel. + +The wind died down; it was very still and dark. The dew fell. +Presently Homer Wilson rose, and, still in the dark, found his way +softly upstairs. His thick brown hair was laden with the night damps, +but even the first heavy dews of spring do not leave long, glistening, +smarting furrows on the cheeks--do not fall in slow-wrung, scalding +drops upon clinched hands, do not linger in salt traces about the lips +they touch. + +When Homer Wilson avowed conversion in the little Methodist Church, his +mother confided to Mrs. Deans that she was exceedingly glad thereat. +"I can let him go to the city with an easier mind, now that I know he's +got religion," she said. Homer had gone to the anxious-seat the night +before, during the revival meeting, had been prayed over, and sung +over, and had avowed, in a few jerky, hesitating sentences, that "he +felt better--happier--there is a load off my mind--I--" But his +testimony had been interrupted at this point, greatly to his own relief +and his mother's wrath, by enthusiastic Sister Warner beginning to +sing, in a high, shrill treble: + + "Once I was blind, + But now I can see; + The Light of the World is Jesus." + + +Homer retired from the meeting feeling a little dazed. He knew he had +done what was expected of him, and believed it was the right thing to +do, but was a bit confused as to the impulse which had prompted him to +take the step. + +The next morning he started for the commercial college, where he was +about to take a course. He was alert to the possibilities of life, and +was clear-headed enough to see that without education his chances were +nil. + +He had gone, winter after winter, to the village school, and had a wide +reputation among the villagers as a mathematician. + +"It's pretty hard to fool Homer Wilson on figgers," was the general +verdict. + +He was too progressive to dream of spending his life in that little +hamlet, so he saved all his earnings, and at last had enough to cover +the low expenses of a two-year course at the business college--an +institution which, among its numerous advantages, promised "to secure +good situations for such of the students as shall obtain our diploma." + +When Homer Wilson started from the village, he was a good specimen of +the country Hercules; tall, sinewy, resolute, with unflinching will and +bulldog courage. His conversion, if it had not sprung from his inmost +soul or stirred the deepest depths of his heart, had at least awakened +and strengthened his better resolutions; his mind was eager to receive +the knowledge that he knew meant power. His hopes were high, his heart +and temper generous. + +He met _Her_ shortly after he commenced his course. Her brother was +attending the college and took Homer to his home one night. Homer +thought her perfection, for his standard of comparison was not high. +She had fluffy yellow hair, and pretty eyes, and pretty ways, and +pretty speeches galore. She was winning and cordial, and he thought +her absurd questions about country ways and country doings very +entertaining. She was bright and quick and quite charmed this keen +young man, who, for all his shrewdness, proved an easy prey to these +trivial acts which girls of her caste exercise so unsparingly. He +confided to her all his ambitions, and she listened eagerly. + +Perhaps he gave her a rather too glowing account of the farm at home. +The peaches and grapes were, perhaps, hardly so plentiful, and +certainly were not so easily obtained. The harvests were, perhaps, not +quite so golden, the garden perhaps not so lovely, as he depicted it, +nor his father so admirable, nor his mother so benevolently kind to +everybody. But he had left home for the first time, and, after all, +despite his ambitions, his heart was yet in the country, with the +fields, the sun, the birds and the trees. + +Under these circumstances a man is prone to forget the tedious process +of planting and nursing and cultivating the peach trees until they are +fit for fruiting--to overlook the ploughing and sowing and harrowing, +and the long days of toil before the fields "whiten to the harvest," +and to think and speak of both fruit and grain as springing, with all +the beauty of spontaneity, from the gracious Mother Earth. And his +listener, if she be a selfish, shallow creature, unthinking and +unheeding, is prone to think only of results, and not at all of the +toil they represent. + +So life slipped along with Homer Wilson, studying and loving and +writing home. Then came a summer day when he took _Her_ for a day's +trip to his home in Jamestown. His mother had outdone herself +preparing country dainties. It was the time of strawberries, and there +were strawberries and cream, and strawberry shortcake, and crullers, +and pies, and boiled ham, and the sun was shining, and _She_ fluttered +about, genuinely pleased with many things and affecting to be delighted +by everything. + +Old Mr. Wilson had been at his best. Mrs. Wilson was urbane in a new +dress, and Homer strode about, showing _Her_ the farm, erect and +happily excited. It was the halcyon day of his life. In the evening +there was the trip back to the city, Homer taking care of the basket of +strawberries his mother had bestowed upon _Her_. + +That night she promised to marry him. He wrote to his people, and his +mother returned a somewhat unintentionally lugubrious epistle, +conveying their good wishes and consent. + +Weeks and months sped, and Homer had never been home since that day. +His old people did not take that amiss, for travelling, as they knew, +cost money. + +But there came a day when his course was completed, the coveted diploma +bestowed upon him, and a situation secured for him as bookkeeper in a +lumber-yard, at thirty-five dollars a month. He made up his mind to go +home for a day or two before starting work. He reached the village +elate--fortune seemed within his grasp. + +His father was surly and harassed-looking; his mother's face looked +older and with genuine lines of trouble about the lips, far more +significant than the peevish wrinkles of self-pity that creased her +brow. + +He soon learned the cause of these things. The mortgage, which had +always seemed as much a matter of course to him as the taxes or the +road-work, was about to be foreclosed. The man who had lent them the +money would not renew it; he hinted that he feared for his interest, as +it seemed there was no young man to take hold of the place, and in the +event of the property deteriorating he feared for his principal. + +The old people before this dilemma seemed numbed. They could think of +no expedient, and were apparently incapable of deciding what course to +pursue. + +Homer listened to it all in sick wonder that he had not been told, +rejoicing inwardly that he had cost them nothing at least for two years +back, though he also realized with bitterness that he had helped them +none. He went to his old room that night to fight a hard battle with +himself, and to conquer--to give up his ambitions, which, humble as +they seem, were yet great to him; to relinquish the joy of seeing _Her_ +daily; to return to the old, hopeless struggle of striving to make ends +meet, to bend his energies to the circumscribed field of making the +most of the few acres of the old farm; to come back and be called a +failure by his friends; to have to wait a long, long time before he +could call Her "wife." But while that last idea held the bitterest +thought of all, in it also lay the kernel of the hope which was to keep +his heart alive. He felt he had a sure and certain hope of a happy +future, no matter how long deferred, and he remembered, with a pang of +pity, that his father and mother had only a past. + +His brothers and sisters were all married long since, and each had +struggle enough to keep the wolf from the door. No help from any one +but himself could relieve his old people. + +The dawn found him resolved. He told his father and mother at the +breakfast-table. They were both delighted, but did not know very well +how to express it. To a stranger's mind there might have been some +doubt as to whether they appreciated the sacrifice or not. They did +not in full. No one save, perhaps, a woman who loved him could have +known the magnitude of his renunciation. + +His father and he went that day to see the old man who held the +mortgage. He was a shrewd old miser, and was fain to secure himself in +every way against anxiety and loss. He insisted that the new mortgage +should be made out in Homer's name. He wanted this open-browed, +strong, resolute young man for his debtor, and not the vacillating old +man, who looked as if no responsibility would trouble him long. So the +farm was transferred to Homer's name, and the mortgage also. + +Homer resumed his old life unfalteringly. He wrote and told _Her_ all +about his change of plans, and she replied to his letters regularly. +Her letters were not very satisfying; women of her fibre are not +usually very fascinating on paper. So Homer felt trebly the sacrifice +he was making, for he attributed none of his sense of loss to the lack +of real feeling in her letters. On the contrary, he thought those +letters, with their stilted beginning and spidery writing, the sweetest +of all epistles; and thought to himself how altogether lovely she was, +when even such letters as these left him unsatisfied and with +heart-hunger unappeased. + +Homer was not one to put his hand to the plough and then draw back. He +threw into his work all the energy of his resolute will, and backed it +by the severest physical toil he was capable of. It was up-hill and +disheartening work, but he toiled on. He had disappointments enough +and to spare, but he wrote them all down to _Her_, and forgot them when +he read that she was "so sorry." + +He had progressive ideas which sometimes worried him sorely, for it was +trying to see others availing themselves of modern appliances for +cultivating, etc., while Homer felt bound to struggle on with the old +implements his father possessed, which called for double the +expenditure of labor and time, and even then did not yield satisfactory +results. + +In the spring, too, it took the heart out of him to walk the rows of +his peach orchard and find a third of the trees killed, girdled by the +teeth of the field-mice. Homer's heart almost failed him when he +discovered this last mishap, for he was oppressed by the knowledge that +he could have prevented it. It was true that he could not afford the +expensive shields of metal for his trees that some of his neighbors +had, but if, immediately after that heavy snowstorm of last winter, he +had gone out and tramped the snow tightly round each tree, then they +would not have been girdled; for the snow, if left undisturbed, never +clings close to a peach tree; there is always a space between, and the +mice creep round and round the tree in this space, gnawing it to the +height of the snow. The peach trees next the fence, where the snow had +drifted, were girdled completely up to a height of three or four feet. + +Homer had visited _Her_ in the winter. The week after the heavy +snowstorm had been spent with her. His mother reminded him of this, +and he flung out of the house angrily. He was fairly sick over the +loss of his trees, and to have anything cold said about Her was too +much. He wrote _Her_ all about it; perhaps in his desperate longing +for sympathy, loving sympathy and comprehension, he depicted the +disaster as even more serious than it really was. + +He waited for her letter eagerly. It came. Her frivolous, mercenary +soul had taken fright. She sheltered herself behind the old excuse for +disloyalty--worn thread-bare by women of all stations. She wrote that +she felt she "did not love him as she should if she was to be his wife." + +He had sent the little Home-boy to the Post-Office for the letter; he +brought it to the field where Homer was planting out tomato-plants. +Homer Wilson read his letter twice or thrice, put it carefully in its +envelope, and then safely in his pocket. He went on with his +task--slowly--slowly, though, with none of the tremulous haste with +which he had been exhausting himself for months. He packed the roots +with soil; it was some relief, the hard, resistent pressure of the +earth; there was something left to battle against, if nothing left to +fight for. So he continued his row, feeling a fierce wrath if one of +the shaky little plants would not stand straight, and hushing the +Home-boy's chatter with a terrible, pale look. + +He completed his task, and went about his other work in an atmosphere +of enforced calm that was torture. By some chance none of his tasks +that day called for any output of physical strength. It was a day of +small things, trivial tasks which maddened him by their helpless need +for patience, not strength. + +But the weariest hours pass, and night fell over the village as a veil. +Then he wrote to Her a few straightforward, manly lines, setting her +free; telling her she had acted rightly if she did not love him. Then +he lay down for another night of poignant thought. He recalled Her +visit to the farm, and remembered how impatient he had felt when his +mother maundered on about sending back the basket the strawberries went +in. He had felt a little ashamed of his mother's thrift just then. + +When the morning came Homer was ready for work, but there had been a +distinct decadence in him during the night that was past. He had no +longer anything to live for but money; he rose to search for this only +good with eager, greedy eyes. For this poor countryman had come of a +long race of penurious, grasping men and women, and that mercenary +craving for money and land had been latent in his nature since his +birth. When he went to the business college it stirred within him +vaguely, and might then have developed, but better ambitions ousted it. +But these aspirations were gone, and in their place flourished--grown +to its full height in a single night--the Upas Tree of Greed. + +He told his people next day. His mother promptly said, "I knowed how +it would be! A big-feeling, handless creature, idle and good for +nothing! With her airified ways and her notions; I told you so all +along, Homer," etc., etc. But Homer, ere even the second word was +spoken, was out of the house and striding along with black brows to his +tomatoes. The row he had planted the day before looked limp; by night +they were yellow--withered--dead. In replanting them he found each +stalk broken clean off below the earth; he had indulged his strength +too much in packing the earth about them. Day by day the change in him +went on--gradually, almost imperceptibly, but startlingly apparent, had +any one contrasted the Homer of the present with the man of the past. +It was very pitiful. Worst of all, he was conscious himself of the +change, but could not analyze it, so could do nothing to arrest the +atrophy of his soul. + +He began to prosper by fits and starts; later more steadily. He had a +balance at the end of the summers now, and invested it in better stock, +new implements and fine varieties of fruit. He hid his aching heart +under an offensively blustering manner, and was so morbidly afraid of +any one knowing his secret that he was too carelessly gay--too full of +pointless jests. Often, after a gathering of the village young people, +he strolled home under the stars, dazed and wondering, his throat harsh +with much speech, his head aching with tuneless laughter. Was he +really the man who had chattered on so a few minutes since? he asked +himself. And the other young people said, among themselves, "Homer +Wilson does like to show off so!" + +It was an anguish to him when he saw, now and then, a young man leave +the village, win what he considered success, and come back smiling, +content, and well dressed, for a brief holiday; then back to the world +outside again. + +His temper became irascible. When his horses were refractory he was +unmerciful; but after any outbreak against a dumb animal his stifled +manhood rose against this last, worst outrage against it. But the +horses did not recall the extra feeding and light work as they did the +blow, and they shrank and shivered and started nervously when he +approached. He noted this, and it cut him to the heart, or stung him +into dull wrath against them, as his mood was. + +The farm did better and better, and well it might; all the honest and +generous part of a man's nature was being sunk in it. He began to pay +the principal of the loan in instalments; at last he had the farm clear. + +His brothers and sisters murmured against him. Homer had stolen their +birthright, they whispered; he had got hold of the farm just when the +hard times were past; he had wheedled the old people into giving it all +to him, they said, and they each and every one had worked as hard as he +had, and besides he had all his own way, while they had had to work +under the old man's orders. + +So the boys came home with their families, and paid long visits and +impressed upon the old man how Homer had "bested him." And the girls +returned with their children, and condoled with their mother. They +departed, leaving the old man morose, irritable and repining, the old +woman in tearful self-pity; and Homer saw it all and smiled grimly, but +said no word. + +So the old people saw grudgingly his hard-won success, although they +shared it fully, and spoke of their other children always with the +prefix "poor," as if contrasting Homer's prosperous and happy lot with +theirs. + +He had, after all, a grim sense of humor, and this Jacob-like light in +which his family viewed him filled him with sneering mirth. Verily +they were a miserable tribe of Esaus. But the mirth died out at last, +leaving a residuum of rage against his kin, who so persistently +misjudged him, and one bitter night he lay and cursed the resolution +which had brought him back to rescue his old people from the slough of +despond. + +With the acknowledgment of this regret, the disintegration of his soul +would seem to be complete. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + "And oh, the carven mouth, with all its great + Intensity of longing frozen fast + In such a smile as well may designate + The slowly murdered heart, that, to the last, + Conceals each newer wound, and back at fate + Throbs Love's eternal lie:--'Lo, I can wait!'" + + "And all that now is left me, is to bear." + + +That night in the darkness, Homer Wilson's lip curled as he thought of +his mother's too ready fears for him, nor could he refrain a sneer at +the idea of Mrs. Deans' disinterested benevolence. But after that, he +set himself to slumber, but in vain. Sleep, that + + "Comfortable bird, + That broodeth o'er the troubled sea of the mind + Till it is hush'd and smooth," + +would not bestow its benison upon his tired brain and weary heart, for +he was haunted by the memory of Myron Holder's hopeless face. + +It had been, these past years, no unusual thing for this poor +countryman to lie the long nights through, tortured by the vision of a +woman's face: but it had ever been a fair, pretty, laughing face that +had thus enthralled him within the bounds of painful thought; a face +that by its brightness cast a shadow upon every other vision that +strove to tempt him to forget; a face he had worshipped, and thought on +tenderly, as his own; a face he had striven to imagine old; a face he +had even dared to think of, dead, and always--always as his own +precious possession. + +But this night his reverie was no selfish one of bygone bliss, or +present pain, or future hopelessness; it was wholly of a woman's pale +face, carven cameo-like against a night of hair, and exceeding +sorrowful. He recalled Myron Holder as she had been, a plump and +pretty girl; one whom all the boys in Jamestown had liked, but who had +been kept rigidly away from all the village gatherings by her +grandmother. He recalled the cadence of her voice, softened always and +made richer than the strident Jamestown voice by the English accent she +had inherited. He remembered having heard her singing once as he drove +past the little hop-clad cottage; as he thought of it, the words came +back to him in part: + + "Where the bee sucks, there suck I; + In a cowslip's bell I lie. + * * * * * * + Merrily, merrily, shall I live now + Under the blossom that hangs on the bough." + +He recollected how a rippling laugh prolonged the song. He had caught +a glimpse of her that day; she was standing beneath a cherry tree--her +upstretched arms held a blossomed bough, and she gave it little jerks +in time to her singing--the white petals of the cherry blooms showered +down upon her hair in fragrant snow. Her grandmother called her +in--scolding her as an "idle maid"; Myron had fled into the house still +laughing, and with the cherry blooms clinging to her dark hair; and as +Homer drove on, he thought what a light-hearted girl she was. That was +in the first year of his sacrifice--now he caught his breath as he +mentally compared the girl beneath the cherry tree finishing her song +with thrills of laughter with the woman standing mute in the moonlight +as he had so late beheld her. + +How utterly incongruous it seemed to think of Myron Holder now in +connection with that heart-whole girl. How much she had lost! That +day when he heard her laughter and her singing, he had compared Myron +for a moment to _Her_,--now, alas! she was more like him. This set him +off into another train of thought: How much he too had lost! He began +to wonder dimly if he had been guilty of any cowardice. A phrase of +Jed Holder's came back to him; he was full of trite saws, that little +English broom-maker, and when any one lost their courage before +misfortune, he used to say they "let their bone go with the dog." Had +not he--Homer--let slip some of his self-respect before the loss of his +love? He hazily perceived the difference between self-respect and +self-seeking, but he could not condemn himself just yet; he began to +dissuade himself from this dissatisfaction with himself; he recounted +his achievements--the paying off the mortgage--restocking the +farm--planting the new orchard--and reshingling the barn--sinking the +cistern--his successful experiments--his prudential management--his +economy; he marshalled all these arguments against the feeble voice +that strove to speak of a narrowed mind, a hardened heart, a bitter +spirit, and for the nonce stilled it, only stilled it, however; happily +for Homer Wilson, it was not yet stifled utterly. + +It was pitiable, but natural in one so generous as in reality Homer +was, that he should overlook completely his real claims to credit: his +patience with his whining mother, his generosity to his father, his +tolerance of his ungrateful brothers and sisters. He attained a +quasi-self-content after a time, but still tossed restlessly. At last +he could endure it no longer; he sprang up, dressed, and going to his +window, drew aside the curtain and looked forth toward the village. +The dusk of night had given way to the cold darkness of the hour before +dawn; as he looked, a dull yellow light illumined the panes of one low +window, then it faded out to reappear outside the house; it went (for +at that distance its feeble glow did not reveal the hand that bore +it)--it went waveringly along some hundred yards, then was lowered, and +vanished. There was a space of darkness, then the light was raised, +and proceeded back to the house; it vanished round the corner, gleamed +a moment from the window, and again journeyed forth in the dusk, again +was lowered--again lost to sight--again its feeble gleam traced its +pathway toward the dwelling. + +Homer Wilson knew by the location what house sent forth this wandering +light, and following a swift impulse, ran downstairs, pulled on an old +pair of soft shoes, let himself out quietly, and sped along the highway +to the village. + +The streets were silent, the dwellings dark, Jamestown still slumbered. +As he reached the house where the light was, he entered the garden +through a gap in the dilapidated fence, walked along in the darkest +shadow until he came to the corner at the point where the light's +journeyings ceased, and stood there hidden by an overgrown bush of +privet; and then he saw the light come forth: it was a queer old +lantern Myron Holder carried, one, indeed, brought from England. It +had lighted her mother's happy footsteps along Kentish lanes; but how +differently that long dead Myron had sped! "Merry heart makes light +foot," her husband used to say; alas, that their child should lack that +happy impetus! Myron advanced slowly, unsteadily almost--the four +little panes of the lantern lighted dimly by the end of a tallow +candle. She carried in her other hand a large pail. + +Homer could not understand her errand, creeping forth thus in the +sleeping night. She came nearer and nearer, and at last he understood. + +She reached the old well (the best well in Jamestown, and the deepest); +set down her lantern, and taking the handle of the windlass began to +lower the bucket; creak--creak went the wooden windlass; at last there +came a faint splash, and Myron painfully rewound the chain; she emptied +the well bucket into her pail, lifted it (throwing, as Homer thought, +all her physical strength into the lifting of the heavy pail, and +seeming to move by the force of her will alone), and bending far over, +proceeded to the house. He traced her footsteps by the lantern's gleam +to the kitchen door; he heard the plash of water, and then once more +the weary light emerged. Myron Holder was carrying the water for her +grandmother's washing before starting for her mile's walk and +subsequent day's work at Deans'. Homer Wilson's familiarity with +household affairs told him this--whispered also something of her +motherhood and its demands upon her, with which this cruel toil so ill +accorded. + +He was only a young countrymen, rough and not refined to careful phrase. + +"It's damnable!" he said below his breath, and ground his heel into the +sand. + +As she approached the well a second time, he waited till she set down +her lantern and pail, and then stepped forth from the shadow--a tall, +strong figure in the gloom, uttering her name softly: + +"Myron--Myron Holder!" + +For a heart-beat she stood rigid, then her hands clasped: an instant +thus she stood, and then stretched forth her arms with an infinitude of +yearning helplessness, an agony of tenderness and pleading, a world of +relief in the gesture. + +"You have come," she said. + +[Illustration: "YOU HAVE COME!"] + +In all his after-life, Homer Wilson never forgot the awful accent in +which these words--meant-to-be-welcoming words to the man for whom she +had suffered so much--were uttered. Horrified at the cruel mistake he +had caused, he stood for a moment motionless; the next, he had sprung +forward--for Myron Holder fathomed her mistake and fell without a sound. + +Homer caught her before she touched the ground, and holding her in his +arms, distraught with self-reproach, strove to awaken her by calling +her name. + +"Myron--Myron," he whispered, with all the intensity of suppressed +feeling, "Myron--Myron." + +Her eyes unclosed; she did not stir, nor flush, nor speak. She only +looked at him out of eyes which were terrible in their tragic despair; +eyes which seemed to accuse him of his manhood, that rendered him akin +to her betrayer. + +As Homer Wilson looked upon that pallid face, which the wan light of +dawn illumined palely, his soul was suddenly smitten with +self-contempt. What was the grief before which he had abased himself? +What was it to endure beside open shame? Life had seemed to him almost +insupportable, endurable only because he felt he had not merited the +pain. What must it be to this woman, knowing she had bought contempt +at the price of her own folly? + +He recalled with what morbid care he had concealed the pangs he felt; +how he had dreaded lest any eye discern his pain. What must it be to +endure, not only sorrow and desertion and betrayal, but to endure it +all openly; to meet in every eye a question, to hear on every lip a +sneer, to know that every heart held scorn? + +This is the doom that has driven hermits to the desert, that has +tempted women to-- + + "From the world's bitter wind, + Seek shelter in the shadow of the tomb," + +These thoughts did not formulate themselves in his brain; they rushed +upon him--instantaneous impressions--and vanished, leaving ineffable +compassion in his heart, as he looked at the anguished face of Myron +Holder. She was weakly trying to steady herself, and at last said in a +lifeless voice, "I can stand alone now." + +"Forgive me, Myron," said Homer, too much moved to feel any +awkwardness; "forgive me--I frightened you." + +"No," she said, "you did not frighten me; I thought----" She paused. + +"You thought----" He began, but hesitated. + +"I thought you were _he_" she said, in breathless tones. Homer +shuddered at the inflection of the words. In such accents might one +acknowledge Death's dominion over one well-beloved. He threw off the +chill at his heart and caught her hands. + +"Myron," he said, "who is he?" + +"I cannot tell you," she answered. + +"Tell me," he urged; "tell me, and be he far or near, high or low, I +will bring him to you." + +"I cannot tell you," she repeated. Then for once moved beyond her +self-control, "Oh, that I could!" + +"Why can't you?" he asked hotly. "It is but common justice--let him +bear his part." + +"I promised," she replied simply, regaining her calm, the momentary +glow of impatience dying out of her voice. + +"Promised!" he echoed. "What's a promise given to _him_ worth? +Nothing--absolutely nothing. Promised! He did some fine promising, I +dare swear. A promise to him!" + +"I promised," she said again; then pushing back her head a little that +she might look him in the face (for she was hardly of the common height +of women), she went on: "I promised, and I will keep my promise; he +will come, and I can wait." In an instant her head sank. Her own +words had brought before her a terrible mirage of what that waiting +meant. He let fall her hands, and stepped back a pace. The action +seemed to break the bond that had held at bay the memory of the world. +Constraint fell upon Homer Wilson, and Myron's face burned in the dusky +light. + +"Did you want anything?" she asked in uncertain tones. + +"No," he answered. "I saw your light from the window at home, and I +came to see what work was going on so early." + +"I always do what I can before I go to Mrs. Deans'," she said; "this is +wash-day." + +"You will kill yourself," he cried angrily. "What's your grandmother +thinking of?" + +Myron's head sank. "I deserve it all, you know," she said. "I----" + +"You've no call to kill yourself," retorted Homer hotly. "Mrs. Deans +is an old wretch, and your grandmother's a----" + +"She's good to my baby," said Myron, checking his speech with a +gesture. He recalled the child's existence, and, moved by an odd +impulse, said gently: + +"How is your child, Myron?" + +She glanced at him with a gratitude so intense that he flushed and +moved uneasily--as one accredited with a worthy deed he has not done. + +"Oh, so well," she said. "He----" She paused, her face flaming. "Oh, +do go----" + +"Let me carry that pailful for you?" he asked, hesitatingly. + +"No--no--do go!" she returned. + +Both were now painfully constrained and eager to be alone. + +"Well, I may as well be going, then," said Homer; and turning, made +toward the gap in the fence, through which he had entered the garden. +Once on the street, he quickly ran across the two streets of the +village, and made his way through the fields, reaching his own barns +just as his mother came to the kitchen door. She was looking toward +the village, and saying shrilly to her husband: + +"What did I tell you? Up and gone at this time! Fine doings these, I +must say! Oh, I knowed it by the way he spunked up last night when I +jest was giving him a hint to look out for her. I tell ye no such +woman as that sets her foot in these doors; no, not if he laws on it. +I tell ye----" + +"Did you want me, mother?" asked Homer, showing himself at the +stable-door, curry-comb and brush in hand. + +"Oh, you're there, be ye?" said his mother, with a gasp of surprise. + +"Yes," said Homer; "do you want me?" + +"No; oh, no. I was just looking at the morning," said his mother, and +vanished. + +"Just got back in time," soliloquized Homer, contemptuously, as he went +back to his work. + +Left alone, Myron Holder stood a moment motionless. Then she took a +few steps forward, into the shadow of the bush that but lately had held +for her such cruel delusion. The mists of the morning that still +lingered about the bush parted at her passage and clung round her, +chill shreds of vapor. + +The evanescent flush died out of her face; her eyes were dazed with +pain--she locked her hands (stained with the rust of the windlass +chain) and wrung them cruelly; now she pressed her quivering lips +together--now they parted in shuddering respirations. How many tides +of hope had swelled within her heart! How stony were the shores on +which they had spent themselves! How salt the memory of their floods! +But never a wave of them all had risen so high as this one, which had +swept her forward to the very haven of hope only to leave her fast upon +the sands of despair. + +She looked from side to side, with pitiable helplessness in her eyes, +over the desolate garden. Each bush seemed a mocking sentinel +appointed to watch her misery; nay, to her stricken heart each seemed +the abiding place of some new cheat that in time would issue forth to +delude and torture her. Unfailing tears gathered in her eyes; she let +her face fall in her hands and breathed forth a name-- + + "Like the yearning cry of some bewildered bird + Above an empty nest"; + +but more softly than any plaint of bird was that name uttered, +whispered so faintly that no cadence of its sound trembled even amidst +the leaves that brushed her down-bent head. + +Presently Myron Holder stood erect, her face masked by a patience more +poignant than pain, more sublime than sorrow, more dreadful than +despair. + +Not all heroic souls are cast in heroic shapes. There was something in +this woman's hard-wrought hands, and simple garb, and weary eyes, and +tender mouth--nay, in the undefinable meekness of her attitude, that +belied her courage. She filled her pail and bore it to the house, +setting her face as resolutely toward her fate as she set her hand to +carrying the heavy pail; and, heavy as her burden was, she rebelled no +more against bearing it than she did against the weight of the pail +that she herself had filled. + + "Earth has seen + Love's brightest roses on the scaffold bloom, + Mingling with freedom's fadeless laurels there." + + +But easier indeed were it to lay Love's roses in full blossom on a +scaffold than to cherish them, as this woman did and other women have +done, in the wastes of a betrayed trust--their blossoms dyed a +frightful scarlet by the blood of a breaking heart. Love's roses grow +in bitter soil ofttimes; their petals are soon spent, but their thorns +are amaranthine. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + "We rest--a dream has power to poison sleep; + We rise--one wandering thought pollutes the day." + + "Life, like a dome of many-colored glass, + Stains the white radiance of eternity + Until death tramples it to fragments." + + +"The silent workings of the dawns" were past, and the whole sky pearled +to an exquisite soft grayness when Myron Holder set out that day to go +to Mrs. Deans'. The road swam dizzily before her; the snake fence +zig-zagged wildly; the trees whirled round; the very stones appeared as +if rolling over and over in awkward gambols; the wayside cows loomed +gigantic to her uncertain vision. Her head throbbed heavily--her knees +trembled; the physical reaction following supreme mental effort had set +in, and her nerves, denied outward expression of the strain put upon +them, were racking her frame sorely. She persevered, however, holding +a wavering course from one side of the road to the other; at last she +reached the little graveyard of Jamestown, wedged in between the farms +of Mr. White and Mr. Deans. Its picket-fence was garlanded with long +trails of the native virgin-bower clematis, just putting forth its +first leaf-buds. The hepaticas, their blossoms past, showed circular +clumps of broad, green leaves, standing erect on downy stalks over the +prostrate copper-colored ones of last year; the blood-root had lost all +its white petals, and its spear-pointed seed-pods and single, broad, +green leaves stood in thick masses, like miniature stands of arms, +spear and shield; but the trilliums were nodding their triune-leaved +blossoms; the wild phlox swayed daintily its cluster of fragile azure +blooms; the meadow violets were clustered in dark-blue masses; the +bracken ferns were uncoiling their fuzzy fronds; the May apples +(mandrake) were pointing through the mellow soil, like so many small +wax candles. Now and then a pungent odor came to her as she trod upon +the fresh-springing pennyroyal, or bruised the stems of the mint that +grew everywhere. + +She was late already, as she knew, but was moved to go to see her +father's sleeping-place. She went slowly between the graves, carefully +avoiding treading on any of them. Her father had told her of the +ill-luck that follows the foot that treads upon a grave and the hand +that casts away bread. By what fearful sacrilege had this woman +purchased her fate? + +Her eyes were clearing now; and as she stood beside her father's grave, +she looked upon it steadily enough. She felt a rapt sense of his +presence--he had been very good to her in his absent-minded way. If he +had lived! The woman found herself grateful that he died before. She +rested her thoughts here to ask herself a question: If her father had +lived, would she have lost herself? She held her breath for an +instant--then turned and sped from his grave. She felt that her gaze +defiled it--for, throbbing in each artery, tingling through every vein, +poisoning her heart, she felt her whole being rise to affirm its +shame--to give the damning answer "Yes" to that poignant +self-interrogation. + +She was certainly late that morning, and Mrs. Deans met her with +flushed face and angry eyes. + +"Well, this is a nice time of day! 'Laziness is much worth when it's +well guided.' It would seem to me, Myron Holder, as if you'd try to +make some return for the favors I've shown you, and what I've done for +you, and what I've put up with. Time and time again, I've said to +myself, says I, 'Let her go--what's the good of her? What's the good +of keeping a dog and doing your own barking?' But being sorry for you, +I never said nothing. But now, I tell you, Myron Holder, this thing's +got to quit--either you can come here in decent time, or you can stay +home!" Then, in a more insulting tone of voice, she asked: "What time +did ye start this morning? I'll ask your grandmother. Pretty doings +these, loitering along the roads! I'd have thought you'd had enough of +that. Well, don't look at me like that! You're too good to be spoken +to, I suppose; it's a pity you didn't do some blushing before now! +It's rather late in the day for such delikit feelings--you what? +Stopped in the graveyard? I wouldn't wonder, nothing more likely; were +you alone? Well 'twasn't your fault, if you were. I guess Jed Holder +thinks himself lucky to be rid of the world and such doings as yours. +Poor Jed! Little did he know what shame he was leaving behind him. +How your grandmother stands it and how she abides that brat, _I_ can't +see. One thing I've always said: 'Don't bring me no such brats as +them, for I won't be concerned with no such doings!' But there, what's +the use of talking? I never say nothing, but I think a lot. I guess +your mother must have been a beauty from all I hear tell. Certainly +you didn't get your bad blood off Jed Holder, and you must have took it +somewhere. 'Like mother, like child'--well--none of such worry for +me!" Then, stepping aside suddenly, and thus clearing the passage she +had hitherto barred, she went on: "What are you standing looking at? +Ain't you going to scrub to-day, or are you come visiting? I'm sorry +if you have"--here a fine sarcasm echoed in her tone--"because I can't +go and set down and entertain you, for I have my bread and butter to +earn. But don't mind me--go right into the setting-room and make +yourself at home." + +Myron having availed herself of the first opportunity to move from +under Mrs. Deans' insulting glances, had already divested herself of +her sunbonnet, and was getting cloths and water for her scrubbing. +Soon she escaped from Mrs. Deans' eyes, but the sound of her jibing +tongue came harshly to her in every pause of her work. + +The forenoon passed. After dinner the hired man brought the newspaper +in and gave it to Mrs. Deans. She looked at the price of butter and +eggs, and passed it to her husband. + +He sat blinking by the half-open window: upon the window-sill was a +bottle of sarsaparilla, a patch-work pin-cushion, and two or three +potatoes Homer Wilson had brought to the Deans as samples--he being +agent for a seedsman. Mrs. Deans brought out a big canvas-bag of +carpet-balls, and, placing two chairs back to back, began winding the +balls into huge skeins. She was going to dye them. Mrs. Deans worked +away with her hanks, tying them carefully in separate strands, so that +they would dye equally. Mr. Deans read his paper, its leaves rustling +in his tremulous fingers. The sound of Myron Holder's scrubbing came +raspingly through the air. The bound girl was out in the "yard" raking +together dead leaves, bits of old bones, and emptied sarsaparilla +bottles, making it tidy for the summer. + +"Well, Jane!" ejaculated Henry Deans, in a tone of pleased surprise, +"who d'ye think's dead?" + +"Who? Old Mrs. White? Is it her? Or Mrs. Warner's sister up in Ovid? +She was took terrible bad a week ago Friday. It's young Emmons! I +know it! But say, isn't he owing for that last cord of wood? I never +seen anything like it, the way people cheat! It's something awful! +But I'll have that four dollars, though, out of Mame Emmons. If she +can afford flannel at fifty cents a yard (and Ann White saw her pricing +it), she can afford to pay her debts. Well, them Emmonses always was +shiftless, but----" + +"It ain't Emmons, though Homer Wilson says he looks most terrible bad; +it's Follett!" + +"You don't say!" said Mrs. Deans; "you don't say! When was he took?" + +"It don't tell," answered her husband, screwing his eyes horribly as he +read the obituary over again. "It don't tell--oh--yes it does! +'Caught a heavy cold a month ago and settled on his lungs.' Well, +he's gone, then." + +"Not much loss, his kind ain't," said Mrs. Deans contemptuously. + +"Wonder if he forgot me before he went?" said her husband, with a +reflective enjoyment. "That was a pretty good one, wasn't it, Jane?" + +"Yes; no mistake about it, Henry, you hit the nail on the head that +time. I declare it does beat all how time flies. Just think! it's six +years full since then----" + +"Six years full--no, seven," assented Mr. Deans. + +"No, six," said his wife; "it was just the year before your accident." + +"So 'twas." A pause, then he said, "I think I'll have some +sarsaparilly, Jane." + +Mrs. Deans got a spoon from the table-drawer, drew out the gummy cork, +and gave him a spoonful. + +"Better have a taste yourself," he suggested. + +"Don't know but I will," she said, and helped herself to a dram. + +The cork was replaced; silence fell upon the pair. Henry Deans and his +wife had partaken of the closest communion they knew. Mrs. Deans left +her rags presently to go out to superintend the placing of some new +chicken-coops, and Mr. Deans dozed off into a pleasurable reverie, +evoked by the death of Dan Follett. + +Around the name of Dan Follett clustered the recollections of Mr. +Deans' happiest achievement--for, using Dan Follett as an unworthy +instrument, he had purged Jamestown of malt and spirituous liquors and +brought the village within the temperance fold. + +It was thus: Dan Follett had come to "keep tavern" in the old Black +Horse Inn. This was a quaint brick building that stood at the corner +of the Front Street nearest the lake. It had but a narrow frontage on +the Front Street, but stretched back, a long building, on the side +street. From the corner of the inn hung a sign-board, depending from +an iron rod. The sign was a jet black horse, rampant, with the legend, +"Black Horse Inn." The front of the inn, rising abruptly, as it did, +from the side-walk, was more quaint than inviting, but the side view +was very hospitable, for all along the side street a veranda (floored +with oak and roofed by the second story of the inn, which overhung it) +extended, approached by broad, generous steps. It was an old, old +building, with queer nooks and corners in it, quaint brass newel-posts +in the stairway, odd sideboards built into the walls, and dark, +hardwood floors. It was by far the oldest building in Jamestown, and +the huge, untidy willow tree before the door had grown from a switch +thrown down by one of the soldiers, when he and his comrades departed +after their long billet in Jamestown. + +Jamestown was not called Jamestown in those days, but Kingsville. +Times had changed with the village, and its name with them; but the +Black Horse Inn remained unchanged--only the bricks had reddened the +mortar between them, so that its walls were all one dark, rich red. +"Many a summer's silent fingering" had wrought a green lace-work of ivy +over the front and at the corners, and about the chimneys a vivid green +stain showed the minute mosses that were gathering there. It was +having indeed a green old age; and if the second story was beginning to +sag a little between the centre-posts, it conveyed no hint of decay, or +lack of safety. The droop only showed a kindly and protective attitude +towards the open-armed chairs that stood on the veranda beneath. + +In the little garden behind the inn, long neglected and overrun, were +bushes of acrid wormwood, stray wisps of thyme, straggling roots of +rosemary, and bushes of flowering currants. In the spring, from among +its springing grasses came whiffs of perfume; for the English violets, +planted long, long ago, had spread through and through the tangle of +weeds, unkempt grass, and untrimmed bushes. + +The one ambition that had lived in Jed Holder's saddened breast after +he came to Jamestown was to be able to rent the Black Horse Inn. But +it was only a vague, purposeless wish to possess the right of that +little square garden, amid whose desolation he discerned the traces of +an English hand. Like so many of Jed's dreams, this one never +materialized. + +To this house, then, came Dan Follett--displayed his license to sell +"wine, beer, malt and other spirituous liquors," set out some +hospitable armchairs, erected a horse-trough before the door, and, +having assumed a huge and glistening white apron, strode about, a +jolly, good-natured, guardian spirit. His rubicund face was always +beaming, his little eyes always blinking away tears of laughter. There +was but little trade in Jamestown, but Follet managed to make ends +meet, for the lake was noted for its fishing, and parties of fishermen +were right glad to find a place where they could leave their horses and +refresh themselves. But Dan Follett and Dan Follett's business were +sore rocks of offence in the eyes of the Jamestown brethren. + +At "after meeting" many plans were discussed for the discomfiture of +Dan Follett, and, incidentally, the devil. Many a "class meeting" +evolved an indignation caucus which dealt with the enormity of Dan +Follett's calling, which was cited, with many epithets, as the cause of +every evil under the sun. But of all this righteous indignation jolly +Dan Follett took no heed, and was as ready to lend his stout brown +horse to Mr. Deans or Mr. White when their own "odd" horse was busy as +he was to hire it to the few fishermen who fancied a ride along the +lake shore. + +Henry Deans brooded long over this unholy thing in their midst, and +finally hit upon a plan to put the devil, in the person of Dan Follett, +to some discomfiture. Mr. Deans was senior deacon in the Methodist +Church and, as such, took it upon himself to provide the bread and wine +for sacramental purposes. One Saturday, the day before the spring +communion, Mrs. Deans stood admiring her bread. + +"I reckon Ann White'll open her eyes when she tastes that to-morrow," +she said. "There's nothing like making your own yeast--good hop-yeast. +I don't take no account with salt-rising bread; may be sure enough, but +hops for me every time." + +These audible meditations were interrupted by a tramp's voice at the +open door--a forlorn-looking object, asking for something to eat. Mrs. +Deans gave him some good advice about idleness, drinking, and begging, +and sent him off. Then she turned her face to the bread again, +separating the loaves carefully, and wrapping two of them up in clean +towels. A verse flitted through her mind about taking the children's +bread and giving it to the dogs; it struck her as apposite, but her +good memory, strangely enough, failed to recall anything about "a cup +of cold water." + +"Them tramps!" soliloquized Mrs. Deans. "A likely thing I was goin' to +break into the bread for the Lord's table for the like of him!" She +was just putting the bread into the tin on the pantry floor, where she +kept it, when a sudden thought made her drop the bread and stand +upright. + +"I declare!" she said. "Henry'll never remember the wine! I forgot to +tell him when he went away! What in the world will we do now? Borrow +it of Ann White I won't; that's settled. Well, if it don't beat all!" + +Henry Deans returned from the Saturday market about three o'clock; Mrs. +Deans met him in the yard and asked him, before the horses stopped: + +"Did you remember the wine?" + +A slow smile crept over Henry Deans' face. He pulled up his horses +deliberately. + +"Did you remember the wine?" asked his wife again. + +"Yes, I remembered it," he answered, still smiling slowly. + +"Well," said Mrs. Deans, "why didn't you say so at first? I've just +been nearly out of my mind a-worrying about it all day. Where is it? +Hand it here and I'll take it in." + +"I haven't got it yet," said her husband, descending nimbly from his +perch, and then, for it was dangerous to prolong a joke too far with +his wife, he went and whispered in her ear. + +Mrs. Deans' face slowly became irradiate with a joyful and appreciative +glow. + +"Well, Henry," she said, "you're no slouch, I tell you; I always knew +your head was level." + +"Guess that'll sicken him, eh?" chuckled Henry Deans, and began to +unbuckle his harness-straps. + +For the rest of the afternoon Henry Deans and his wife went about in +smiling content, chuckling irrepressibly if they chanced to meet. + +They had supper at six. Night was already setting in, for the days +were not at their longest yet. About half-past seven, Henry Deans got +his hat, and, his wife letting him softly out of the front door, took +his way to the village. He soon reached its outskirts. Down the +unlighted back street he went, across the short transverse one, until +the side door of the Black Horse Inn was reached. Dan Follett answered +his knock in person. There was a short colloquy between the two; then +Dan went his way to the darkened bar-room, and, having declined an +invitation to go inside, Henry Deans waited. Presently Dan returned +with a bottle and, after a generous demur, accepted the money which Mr. +Deans insisted on paying, saying: + +"I'm not a church-goer myself, Mr. Deans, but I wouldn't begrudge +giving a little now and again;" then after repeating his invitation, +bade Mr. Deans a cheery "Good-night," and closed the door. + +Henry Deans went home, hardly able to restrain his mirth. From far +down the road he saw a narrow slit of light, showing the front door +ajar for him. He slipped inside, to be immediately greeted by his wife. + +"Did you get it?" she asked, breathlessly. + +"I got it, and him, too," said Henry Deans; and they laughed together, +as they put the bread and wine for the Lord's table in a basket. + +The next day, a sweet and sunshiny Sunday, the mystery of the Lord's +Supper was yet again enacted in Jamestown--the symbolic wine, clear and +ruddy as heart's blood; the bread, white as an infant's brow. + +Next day Henry Deans drove to the market town. On Tuesday Dan Follett +was served with a summons to appear before the Court to show why he had +broken the law by selling a bottle of wine to one Henry Deans in +unlawful hours. + +Follett's rage was intense, and could only be gauged by the height of +Henry Deans' satisfaction. Of course Follett was fined. He had no +defence and offered none, but was fain to relieve his mind by +attempting to thrash Deans, which only resulted in his being laid under +bonds to keep the peace. The whole affair had completely sickened +Follett of Jamestown. He departed to new scenes, and the Black Horse +Inn again was tenantless. + +The exploit covered Henry Deans with glory, and he bore the honor with +the conscious front of one who feels he is not overestimated. Dan +Follett was dead now, and Henry Deans slept the sleep of the just in +musing over his memories. And from the lonely garden of the Black +Horse Inn the English sweet violets sent up their fragrance to the +unperceiving night. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + "Oh, yet we trust that somehow good + Will be the final goal of ill, + To pangs of nature, sins of will, + Defects of doubt and taints of blood." + + +Next day, early in the afternoon, Mrs. Deans put away her sewing, and, +donning a black bonnet and a large broche shawl folded corner-wise, +betook herself out of the house. She went quietly, even +sneakingly--this caution was exercised with an object. Mrs. Deans did +not want the bound girl to know she had gone. Such knowledge would be +too conducive to a sinful peace of mind. + +Mrs. Deans took her way to the village, intent on getting some dye from +the store. She hesitated before the gate of the Holder cottage, then, +assuming a look calculated to show the beholder that the milk of human +kindness had in her case turned to cream, she entered the garden. +Partly out of a desire to show old Mrs. Holder that this was really a +neighborly visit, and partly to come upon her unawares if possible and +see what she was doing, and also to have an opportunity of seeing the +child without asking to see it, Mrs. Deans followed the little footpath +round to the back door. It was open. The small kitchen was +scrupulously clean; some washtubs stood in one corner full of soapy +water, awaiting the return of Myron to empty them. Mrs. Holder had +deferred her washing, evidently. A line hung diagonally across one +corner of the room, and upon it a row of little ill-shaped garments +hung drying, fluttered by the slight breeze from the open door. The +rest of the scanty washing Mrs. Deans could see in the garden; old Mrs. +Holder never hung a garment of the child's outside. + +Mrs. Deans scrutinized all these things, standing at the open door, but +not knowing where Mrs. Holder might be; and fearful lest the sharp-eyed +old Englishwoman had already seen her spying out the land, she felt +impelled to knock. This she did, and in a moment Mrs. Holder came from +the front room. Seeing Mrs. Deans, she greeted her with the nearest +approach to warmth she was capable of displaying, and placed a wooden +rocking-chair for her, sitting down herself in a narrow high-backed +wooden chair, bolt upright and with her arms folded. Presently she let +fall her hands into her lap, twisting them nervously, one within the +other; they were bleached an unhealthy pallor, and their palms and +fingers tips crinkled like crape, from her washing. + +"And how are you, Mrs. Deans?" she asked. Her voice held a strong +English accent. + +"Oh, well; for which I ought to be thankful," returned Mrs. Deans. +"Considering them as is took that is unprepared, _we_ ought to be +grateful that _we're_ spared, for it would seem as if them that _is_ +ready would go the first. Dan Follett died last Thursday. How do you +find yourself, Mrs. Holder?" + +"Not well--not at all well," returned the old woman, her voice +querulous. "I was took cruel queer last night, a-gasping after breath +as wouldn't come. I'm nigh tired enough o' living, if I could die +mind-easy, but I can't." + +"Yes," said Mrs. Deans, pursing her lips and shaking her head, "we all +have our troubles; but you have had a terrible affliction, and, as I +have often said to Henry, 'Old Mrs. Holder does take it terrible hard.'" + +"It do be hard," said Mrs. Holder. Then came a pause. + +Mrs. Deans was in certain ways clever; she knew the futility of +attempting to force Mrs. Holder's confidence, therefore she contented +herself with a lugubrious shake of her head, a sympathetic expression +of eye, and murmured: + +"Yes--it's terrible hard!" + +"Yes," began Mrs. Holder, almost reflectively, "to think as it should +come to me, being afraid o' being buried, due to not knowing who's +going to lay along o' me. It do seem main hard"--here the speaker's +tones grew hard and her beady eyes venomous--"but I'll find a way +somehow. Myron Kind's daughter and her bastard brat don't never lay +alongside o' my son and me." + +Light now dawned upon Mrs. Deans. She fully appreciated Mrs. Holder's +attitude in the matter; she rose to the occasion. + +"It's the lot up in the cemetery that's worrying you," she said. +"Well, so 'twould me, to think a young one sich as that was going to be +next hand, touching me in my grave!" + +At that moment there came a sound from the adjoining bedroom, the door +was ajar, a chubby hand reached through the opening, and pulled the +door wide, and the next instant, Myron's baby, roused from his sleep by +the sound of their voices, came out, and, walking totteringly across +the floor, took hold of his grandmother's dress, and stood eying Mrs. +Deans with the frank impertinence of babyhood. + +His yellow hair was tossed and tangled; his blue eyes, a little heavy +yet from sleep, were placid and happy; his face was round and dimpled, +one cheek flushed a deep rose from the pressure of the pillow. He +looked indeed perfect as any cherubic picture. However such children +as he may develop--undoubtedly the blond, rosy, dimpled type is the +ideal baby. + +There was something grotesque in these two women: their souls grimed +with the dust of their own sins, their hearts hardened beneath a crust +of their own self-seeking lusts, their bodies calloused by the world, +defiled by their own passions, fearing contamination, living or dead, +from too near vicinity to that child. + +"Run away, My," said his grandmother, giving him a little push. The +baby stood still a moment. A gray cat peeped in at the door, and then +withdrew its head; with a gurgle of laughter, the child trotted after +it. + +Mrs. Deans had been eying him steadily since his appearance. + +"Now, who does that young one look like?" said she with emphasis, as if +to force an answer by her earnestness. + +"Nobody," said Mrs. Holder. "He do be 'witched, I think. I never see +a child like him afore. You could always see a likeness in some trick +or other, but that young one has no tricks with him; them's his ways, +such as you've seen: eat--smile--sleep." + +"Well, it beats all," said Mrs. Deans, feeling exasperated. + +A trill of inarticulate laughter interrupted them, and the baby +appeared at the door, the gray cat in his arms, wriggling to free +itself. It did. Putting its hind legs against the baby's breast, it +sprang out of his arms; the recoil sent the boy down, but he picked +himself up and again began the pursuit. + +"Now, Mrs. Holder, you was telling me about the cemetery lot," said +Mrs. Deans. + +"Yes;" returned her hostess. "It's this way: there's four graves in +the lot, and only one took up. I can't abear to think on it; to think +whether I will or no that I have to lie wi' such a lot an' rise wi' 'em +at the day." + +"Well," said Mrs. Deans, in a meditative voice, "well"--a long pause, +then she added: "Now, if 'twasn't for offending you, Mrs. Holder, I +think I can see my way!" + +"I'll be right glad if you do," said Mrs. Holder, eagerly; "it's vexing +me sore." + +"Well," began Mrs. Deans, "it's this way. I've done a lot of business, +one way and another, and I'm used to seeing through things, and this is +what I would suggest, Mrs. Holder--not that I want to make or meddle +with other folks' business, but being always willing to do what I can +to help along, and what I would suggest is this: Get Muir to call here +and fix it with him, so as he'll do whatever's necessary when the time +comes; and you give him half the lot for it, so, if anything happens, +why everything'll be done up proper; and then he'll stake off half the +lot and you needn't be scared; he'll not let it out of his hands. +That's what I would suggest, Mrs. Holder, not that I pretend to be +anything more than common--but I've done a heap of business in my time." + +"It do seem fair wonderful, Mrs. Deans," said Mrs. Holder, her face +lighting with an ugly expression of gratified malice; "it do be fair +wonderful, the mind you have; but how'll I get word to Muir? I don't +want Myron to know, of course, and I won't go down street with My +flaunting the family shame--and there I be fair stuck." + +"I'm passing Muir's as I go to the store," said Mrs. Deans, rising. +"Oh, no thanks, please; don't thank me. We must all do what we can to +help other folks along, you know, in this world, and I don't take it no +trouble to do my share." + +"Well, I take it rare kindly," returned the old woman. + +"Oh," said her guest, pausing, "I meant specially to ask you about +Myron; she was terrible late yesterday morning. I spoke to her about +it, and she spunked up dreadful; got 's red 's fire and never said a +word. I thought it my duty to tell you, Mrs. Holder, being anxious for +her good and knowing you couldn't look after her, when she was out of +jour sight." + +"She was late yesterday morning in starting," said Mrs. Holder, "but I +be fair ashamed she should show herself like that to you, after your +goodness to her, and bearing with her, as you have done. Oh, Myron has +her mother's ways--sulky she is, and close-mouthed." (Alas! was this +all the memory left of Myron Kind's gentleness and sweet patience!) +"You can see what I have to put up with day in and day out. Come here, +My!" This to the child, as she saw him going along the path. + +"Yes, you have your own times, I'll warrant," said Mrs. Deans. "What +did you call the young one?" + +"My," replied Mrs. Holder. "That's what she always calls it, and I'm +bound it's most fitting, being near her own name. I fair hate that +name, Mrs. Deans. Myron's mother took my son away from me and she +brought me shame; it's fit and well to call the brat that too." + +"Yes, indeed, you're right there," agreed Mrs. Deans, at once relieved +and disappointed; relieved that her Gamaliel was left in undisturbed +possession of his name, disappointed that Myron Holder had not given +some more definite name to her child--Homer, for instance. + +Mrs. Deans took her way down street, filled with righteous +self-congratulation. The scheme of debarring Myron Holder from ever +lying beside her father seemed to her most admirable. Doubtless, from +a strictly legal point of view, there might have been difficulties in +the way, but who was going to tell Myron that? Mrs. Deans smiled to +think of Myron's surprise when she found out. Myron Holder had never +done Mrs. Deans any injury, but the latter cherished against her that +inexplicable hatred, that alien from rhyme or reason, sometimes +fearfully fostered in the human heart. This feeling, mature and +enfranchised, made the streets of Paris red with blood; has nerved the +hand that hurled a bomb; has steadied the aim of the assassin and, +developed by heredity and indulged by training and opportunity, has +made the Thugs a people. To inflict what others endure with pain is +their life. + +Half-way down the street Mrs. Deans paused before a door overshadowed +by a green painted veranda, supported by spindling posts; upon each +side of the door was a window. In one was displayed a mortuary wreath, +made of white stucco flowers and a star formed of six nickel-plated +coffin-plates, tastefully disposed against a black background, the same +being the beaver covering stripped from one of Mr. Muir's defunct tall +hats. In the other window was placed a small coffin. This cheerful +display was intended to indicate that the Jamestown undertaker was to +be found within. + +As Mrs. Deans entered a bell hung over the top of the door rang, and as +its note died away in a harsh tinkle steps began to come from the rear +of the shop--slow, solemn footsteps, the echo of one dying away before +the other succeeded it, which gave a sepulchral effect to the tread of +Mr. Muir. They were indeed a fitting herald of the little undertaker's +appearance, which distinctly suggested his vocation. + +He was short and broad, without being in the least stout. He had a +sandy colored beard, so shaggy as to be almost woolly, and which he +wore parted in the middle and brushed on either side into the semblance +of a gigantic Dundreary. He wore habitually a broadcloth suit, and of +these he had always three, one in the last stages of dilapidation that +he wore when doing his "chores" in the morning, attending to his two +spare-ribbed black horses, oiling the wheels of the hearse, etc.; +another he wore when he "kept shop," and when attending to the private +offices of his profession; the third was the holiest, and reserved for +his public functions at the funerals. The suit always consisted of a +frock coat, which fell below his knees and hung around him in folds; a +waistcoat buttoned up to the neck, and a pair of trousers that were +always too short, but which made up in width for that deficiency. An +odd little bird of ill-omen he was. His face was settled into an +expression of unalleviated gloom; his features had assumed an attitude +of mournful resignation. From this funereal countenance his eyes shone +forth strangely--little bright eyes, keen and acquisitive. + +He advanced, rubbing his hands slowly together. "Mrs. Deans," he said, +and bowed. + +This bow was an acquirement much thought of in Jamestown. What more +palliating to bereaved feelings than to behold Mr. Muir, in all the +black glory of grief, ushering in the funeral guests with a succession +of these bows! He had a clever knack of including the "remains" in +each of these genuflections, which were always performed at the door of +the room where the dead lay. His appearance upon these official +occasions was little less than sublime; the way in which he removed his +tall hat from his head was in itself a poem--hardly ostentatious, yet +most impressive--exalting the act to a ceremonial and dignifying the +performance unspeakably. + +Mrs. Deans never cared much for Mr. Muir. The little man's eye held a +certain proprietary look that chilled one's blood; it was as though he +viewed one in the light of prospective "remains"--as who should say, +"Go your way in your own fashion _now_; some day you will go _my_ way +in _my_ fashion." A tape-line always showed itself from one of his +pockets, and this in itself brought as grewsome a suggestion as any one +cared to contemplate. + +"How d'ye do, Mr. Muir?" said Mrs. Deans. "How d'ye do? How's the +world treating you these days?" + +"Oh, well, very well," replied Mr. Muir solemnly, still rubbing his +hands together; then he nodded towards the rear of the shop: "Will you +go in?" he asked. This was Mr. Muir's way of inviting customers to +inspect the coffins. + +"No, not to-day," said Mrs. Deans hastily. "I haven't called about any +work for you, Mr. Muir, but on business." + +Mr. Muir looked puzzled, the terms evidently bearing some relation to +each other in his estimation. + +"It's for old Mrs. Holder," went on Mrs. Deans. + +"If it's to do any burying for her, I won't do it unless the council +guarantees it," interrupted Mr. Muir, with decision. "Here I have +waited and waited for Jed's money, and only got the last of it last +week--got it by fifty centses. It ain't satisfying, getting a bill in +fifty-cent pieces; it ain't business. They get the coffin in a lump; +they ought to pay in a lump. No, I can't do it, Mrs. Deans, not +meaning to disoblige you, though; and I hope you won't hold it against +me and keep back the favor of your business. Of course doing for you +and doing for such as Holders is two stories. Now, for you or your +husband, something more after the style of General----" + +Mrs. Deans broke in hastily. Once upon a time, Mr. Muir had travelled +seven hundred miles to see the funeral of a great general. That +funeral was to Mr. Muir what a visit to Rome is to an artist; and his +description of it was a story to outlast the passing of the pageant it +pictured. All Jamestown knew the story, and Mrs. Deans felt that +prompt action alone could save her. + +"It don't concern burying people at all, Mr. Mnir, but burying ground." +Mrs. Deans gurgled over her own joke. "And I'll just tell you about +it, if you'll wait a minute. You see," looking confidential, "it's +like this: Mrs. Holder takes it terrible hard about Myron's goings-on, +and when she dies she can't bear to think her and her young one is +going to be put right a-touching her, as you may say, which ain't to be +wondered at when one considers the importance of the thing." Mrs. +Deans paused for breath and to give this time to have due effect upon +Mr. Muir, who was once known to complain because people spent more on +marrying than on burying. + +Mr. Muir nodded his approval, and Mrs. Deans continued: + +"That being the case, Mr. Muir, as I said, it ain't to be wondered at +that Mrs. Holder is uneasy and wants to fix it so she 'n' her son'll be +undisturbed. So, having asked me about the matter, I siggested to her +that you could fix it, if any one could; and so she wants you to call +up to see her, because she can't leave My, and she won't bring him out." + +"Who's My?" asked Mr. Muir. + +"Why, that's the young one! Didn't you know? That's more of Myron +Holder's slyness. But pshaw! What's the use of talking? Them kind's +all alike. But fancy naming it after herself! Well, as I said, old +Mrs. Holder, she wanted you should come up to see her and make a trade. +Now, I hope you'll go, Mr. Muir, being as I specially siggested t' her +that you could help her out." + +"I'll go, Mrs. Deans; I'll go," said Mr. Muir. "Think I'll just slip +up by White's and see the lot first; nigh-hand to Warner's, ain't it?" + +"Yes, nigh close to old man Warner's, which was filled when Ann Eliza +was buried. Mr. White did say that Ann Eliza overlapped his lot. But +there! it doesn't do to say them things; it ain't me to spread talk. +She had a queer look, though, Ann Eliza did when she was laid out, +hadn't she, Mr. Muir?" Here Mrs. Deans nodded with much sinister +meaning at Mr. Muir. + +"Yes, a very wretched-looking body she made. I like to see a +cheerful-looking corpse; something more after the style of Jed Holder. +Now, when he was ready, he was a real credit to me, though his pay was +onsatisfactory--very onsatisfactory." + +"Yes, Jed did smooth out most wonderful," agreed Mrs. Deans. "Then +you'll go up to Mrs. Holder's? Better go soon, Mr. Muir; old Warner'll +be after more lots some of these days." + +"Yes, without a doubt, Mrs. Deans," said Mr. Muir. Mrs. Deans pulled +the door open, again the harsh bell rang, and she heard its dying +tinkle through Mr. Muir's farewells, for he came outside the door with +her, and after she betook herself down the street, he still lingered, +gloating critically over the arrangement of the coffin-plates in his +window. + +Mrs. Deans proceeded down the street, and soon reached the store. As +she paused at the store door, she looked back and saw the undertaker +just entering his shop. + +"He'll never handle any job for me," Mrs. Deans said, recalling the +rudeness of his interruption during their conversation. "I'll get +Foster from Ovid for Henry." + +She entered the store, purchased her dyestuffs quickly, and then, all +business cares off her mind, set her face steadfastly to go to Mrs. +Wilson's. + +Now, Mrs. Deans was extremely eager to find out if Mrs. Wilson's +anxiety about the naming of Myron Holder's child sprang from any +knowledge or suspicion of the boy's parentage. As she trod heavily +along the sandy footpath to the Wilson farm, she turned the matter over +in her mind and considered the best means of getting at the truth, or +at least all Mrs. Wilson knew of it. Gossip is something more, +perhaps, than a vulgar propensity--there is art in it, as in everything +else. There are several ways of inducing others to talk freely of +their affairs. Mrs. Deans thoroughly appreciated the distinctions +between the methods. One way which Mrs. Deans had found very effective +in some cases is to assume high ground; treat the discussion with the +careless condescension of one to whom it is an old story; acknowledge +every tid-bit of information with a nod signifying thorough +acquaintance with the whole matter; the victim, oftentimes irritated by +your show of superior knowledge, goes on supplying detail after detail, +in the hope of startling you out of your apathy. This plan has +however, as Mrs. Deans knew, been known to miss fire, and when it +fails, it fails completely. She hesitated to try it with Mrs. Wilson. + +Another very seductive plan is to assume an air of great meekness and +draw your subject out by seeming to believe she knows all about the +mooted question--whilst lowly you know nothing. Few women can resist +this--the desire to flaunt the knowledge imputed to them is too strong +to be denied. + +Mrs. Deans slowly entered the Wilson gate. The path from the road led +up to the house between two rows of large stones, placed at regular +intervals from each other, upon the grass at the side of the path. +These stones were whitewashed every now and then by Mrs. Wilson, and +were considered to give quite an "air" to the place. The spring +house-cleaning being just over, they shone dazzlingly white from a +fresh coat; their ranks were broken half-way up to the house by two +small "rockeries," over which grew "Live Forever," "Old Man," "Winter +Verbena," and "Lemon Balm;" they were each crowned by a geranium, the +one a sweet-scented one, the other a single scarlet. Close to the +house grew two plum trees, one on each side of the path. From the +branches of one was suspended a hanging-basket made out of half of a +cocoanut-shell, in which grew "Creeping Charlie," whilst the other tree +was adorned by a tin pan filled with the luxuriantly-growing jointed +stems of the "Wandering Jew." On each side of the steps--for Mrs. +Wilson was fond of uniformity--stood a brown shilling crock, one almost +hidden beneath a green mat of a trailing vine called "Jacob's Ladder," +the other holding an upright and sturdy "Jerusalem Cherry Tree" (known +to unimaginative botanists as Solanum), around whose roots were +appearing the tiny rosettes of portulaca seedlings. + +Mrs. Deans noted these things not altogether approvingly, Marian Wilson +being in her estimation somewhat perilously given up to vanities. + +Her knock brought a speedy answer in the person of Mrs. Wilson. "Well, +Jane," she ejaculated, "come right in. I was jest expectin' you some +of these days; come right into the setting room and lay off your +things, and we'll visit together for a spell." + +"Oh, I ain't come to stop," said Mrs. Deans, suffering herself to be +led into the sitting-room. "I ain't come to stop, only as I was just +at the store for dye, I thought I'd come on and see you." + +"You done right," said Mrs. Wilson; "you done right there, and I'm real +glad you've come. Got your rags all sewed?" + +"Yes, forty-two pounds," replied Mrs. Deans, who all this time had been +mechanically untying her bonnet-strings and affecting to be oblivious +of the actions of Mrs. Wilson, who was unpinning her shawl. Presently, +the bonnet-strings being unloosened, Mrs. Wilson dexterously switched +away bonnet and shawl, and said triumphantly: + +"Now, Jane, come and set down." Then, and not till then, Mrs. Deans +awoke with a start to the fact that her outdoor garb had been removed. + +"Why, Marian, I declare," she said, "you do beat all!" + +Having suffered herself to be led to and installed in a rocking-chair, +Mrs. Deans settled herself comfortably for a talk. + +"What colors are you going to dye, Jane?" asked Mrs. Wilson. + +"Well," said Mrs. Deans, checking off the list on her fingers, "I've +got hickory bark for yellow, and walnut shucks that I saved last fall +for brown, and barberry stems to mix with bluing for green; and I've +bought red and magenta and blue, and I was thinking that, being as I +didn't want much color, that would be enough." + +"Yes," said Mrs. Wilson, "I never care for a carpet that is just a mess +of colored rags. I like a good deal of yellow, though. I seen one in +the market the other day; a woman from Ovid had it for sale, and it was +real neat-looking. It had a brier twist of yellow and black in the +middle of the pattern, and a stripe of red at each side; then there was +a wide piece of purple and a narrow stripe of green; the filling up was +mixed, with a lot of blue in it, and she had it wove with red warp." + +"I didn't get any purple," said Mrs. Deans, "but I might get it----" + +"Say, wouldn't red and blue mix for purple?" asked Mrs. Wilson. + +"Why, I don't know but they would! Where did she have hers wove?" + +"Up to Skinner's at the Pinewoods," said Mrs. Wilson. "They do say the +Skinnerses keeps back the rags and helps themselves to the warp; but +the way I do is to weigh the warp and the rags, and then when I get the +carpet back I weigh that." + +"A very good way, too," agreed Mrs. Deans. "I'd like to see the +carpet-wearer that would cheat me!" + +"Have to get up early in the morning, eh, Jane?" said Mrs. Wilson, +approvingly. + +"Yes, earlier than before night," chuckled Mrs. Deans. "Suppose you +heard Dan Follett was gone?" + +"Yes, Homer seen the funeral; 'twas a most terrible big one, and +nothing would do Homer but he must follow on with it to the cemetery. +It do seem hard to think how one's son'll go on doing sich things. The +idea!" Mrs. Wilson concluded between a sniff and a snort. + +"Yes," said Mrs. Deans, sympathetically. "Well, there's one good +thing, no one would hold you responsible for Homer's doings now. I +tell you when men gets his age, they're bound to go their own ways." +Then abruptly, "I was at Mrs. Holder's to-day." Here Mrs. Deans looked +full at Mrs. Wilson. + +"You was?" said her hostess. "You was? Who did you see?" + +"I seen old Mrs. Holder and the young one; it's named----" + +"What?" asked Mrs. Wilson, breathlessly. + +"Well, you'd never guess," said Mrs. Deans, maliciously prolonging her +hostess' agony. "You'd never guess. I'm sure I never suspicioned +she'd call it that. I suppose it's fitting, most fitting, I should +say--but there! What's the odds what it's called? I wouldn't let it +worry me, no matter what she called it." + +"What is its name, Jane?" asked Mrs. Wilson, with such directness that +Mrs. Deans could not disregard it. + +"My," answered she, "My--short for Myron." + +"Well, Jane," gasped Mrs. Wilson, in relief, and affecting that her +exclamation was one of surprise; "well, it beats all!" + +Mrs. Deans felt satisfied on one point: Mrs. Wilson had certainly had +grave fears in regard to the naming of the child--too grave to be +causeless, Mrs. Deans assured herself. Well, Mrs. Deans had never +thought much of Homer Wilson--he was altogether too conceited, and he +never spoke in revival meeting any more than that once; and he was too +sure of himself, and too independent. So it was Homer Wilson, then! +Why hadn't he married her? Why hadn't Myron told? Now, if she--Mrs. +Deans--could only expose the two of them, how meritorious that would +be! A hazy plan to attack Homer on the question flitted through her +brain; to ask him suddenly, when he was unprepared, point-blank--would +that startle him into a confession or a betrayal of the truth in spite +of himself? + +Mrs. Deans and Mrs. Wilson talked the afternoon away, peaceably and +amicably, and in the twilight Mrs. Deans went home. She met Myron half +way to the village and stopped her. + +"I been in to see your grandmother to-day," she said. "I wonder at +you, Myron Holder, that you ain't ashamed to show your face; she's +failing fast, your grandmother is, and no wonder! Well, I wouldn't +have your conscience for something. Poor old woman, slaving herself to +death over a young one like that. But you'll be found out yet, Myron +Holder; and when you do, don't look to me, thinking I'll back you up, +for I won't; the time for that's past, unless you want to take your +last chance and own up the whole of it now." Mrs. Deans paused--her +very attitude an interrogation. + +"Good-night, Mrs. Deans," said Myron, in her soft English voice, and +passed on with down-bent head. + +Mrs. Deans stood for quite a minute amazed, looking after the quiet +form going wearily into the dusk of the gathering night--to be left +thus was a trifle too much. "I'll take it out of her for that!" said +Mrs. Deans, flushing with wrath. "I'll let her know what's what, or my +name ain't Deans. The idea! She'll walk off and leave me standing +talking to her, will she? Well,----" + +Mrs. Deans resumed her irate way. Myron Holder held on her path to the +village. She was numb alike in mind and body; the accumulated +weariness of days of toil and nights of painful thought pressed upon +her; it was marvellous how she endured the fatigues of her life without +breaking down physically. "As thy days so shall thy strength be!" has +hidden a germ of bane as well as blessing. Does it not often seem as +if sorrow imbued life with its own bitter tenacity? Was ever such a +fearful doom pictured as that of the Eternal Wanderer "mocked with the +curse of immortality"? + +So Myron Holder went home in the twilight, and Mrs. Deans went home +revolving fresh schemes for her humiliation, inventing new burdens for +her overtaxed shoulders. "God," they say, "builds the nest of the +blind bird." Is it man who lines it with thorns? + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + "A sleepy land, where under the same wheel, + The same old rut would deepen year by year." + + "A life of nothings--nothing worth + From that first nothing ere his birth + To that last nothing under earth." + + +The Jamestown people, in making a pariah of Myron Holder, were not +urged to the step by any imperative feeling of hurt honor or pained +surprise. + +Such faults as hers were not uncommon there; but never before had the +odium rested upon one only. Besides, there had always been some +"goings on" and some "talk" indicative of the affair. In Myron +Holder's case, the Jamestown people had been caught napping. In such +cases a marriage and reinstatement into public favor was the usual +sequel, arrived at after much exhilarating and spicy gossip, much +enjoyable speculation, much mediation upon the part of the matrons, and +much congratulation that all had ended so well. + +For another thing, Myron Holder was an outsider, and there was no +danger that a word spoken against her would provoke any one else to +anger. The Jamestown people were all the descendants of some +half-dozen families, the original settlers of the country. They had +stagnated year after year, generation after generation marrying and +intermarrying. The Jamestown people of Myron Holder's day bore a +strange resemblance to one another. The descendants of the same +families, subjected to the same mental influences, the same conditions +of life, the same climate, the same religion--it was not to be wondered +at that every prominent or individualized feature of mind and body had +been obliterated and averaged down to a commonplace uniformity. + +Distinct physical types were rare here, very dark or very fair people +being seldom seen. The features were coarse and ill-defined, the +nostrils merging into the cheeks, the chins into the necks, the pale +lips into the dull-colored faces, with no clear line of demarcation, no +pure curve to define form. + +Certain peculiarities appertained to certain families, however. When +one of the few--very few--Jamestown men who had gone forth to the +outside world returned, he had not much difficulty in approximating at +least the parentage of the children he encountered in the streets; for +one had the Deans nose, a pinched-in, miserly, censorious feature, +given to the smelling out of scandal; another had the Warner walk, a +gait that in a horse would be termed racking; a third might have the +Wilson scowl, a peculiar expression that seemed to emanate from +sulkiness; a fourth was evidently a scion of the Disney stock, for he +gazed out of the Disney eyes, always rheumy and without lashes. + +There appeared in Jamestown families every now and then an imbecile, +presenting, as in a terrible composite picture, the mental and moral +weaknesses of his related ancestors. + +Nearly every family counted, in some of its branches, one or more of +these unfortunates. + +Jamestown's attitude towards these maimed souls was characteristically +utilitarian; they were fed and clothed until they arrived at an age +when, if they were harmless, they became useful, or if they were +violent, their mania became dangerous. In the former case they were +given a full quota of work, and kept out of sight so far as possible, +toiling early and late, horrible brownies, working unseen, unpaid, +unthanked, unpitied. If they were violent, they were sent as paupers +to the governmental institutions and forgotten. + +Jamestown was stirred by no noble ambition, thrilled by no eager hope, +excited by no generous impulse, moved by no patriotic enthusiasm, +undisturbed by visions, unmoved by wars,--craved neither glory nor +fame-- + + "Though fame is smoke, + Its fumes are frankincense to human thought." + +And how poor a potsherd the human temple is, when savored with no +incense of endeavor! Better the bitter breath of failure than the dank +vapor of stagnating faculties. The haloes of defeated effort are +sweeter than the lotus of inaction. + +Jamestown's religion? If the God of whom preachers prate so familiarly +really exists, with what awful scorn must _He_ behold such worship! As +monkeys, mowing and moping, might mock a pageant, so did these people +simulate religion. Old Eliza--Mrs. Wilson's mad cousin--worshipped +better when she dabbled her hands in the wayside horse-trough, +rejoicing in its coolness; when she smoothed with tender fingers the +torn fur of a half-shot rabbit; when she replaced the unfledged birds +in the nest from which they had fallen--nay, even when she sped across +the sunlit fields, her sodden face irradiate with an inarticulate +feeling of the warmth and freedom of the air. + +Nature spread about and before these people all her beauties, unfolded +to their gaze all the enchantment of her seasons, but in vain; their +eyes were darkened, their hearts hardened; the magical mystery of +Spring left them ineloquent; Summer came and lingered, and went +reluctantly; Autumn browned, and Winter fulfilled its bitterness, and +they were unmoved save by the effect upon the crops. + +The site of Jamestown and the country surrounding it was historic +ground. Here men had fought and bled and died. The fathers and +mothers of the present generation told how, when children, they had +been hurried off to the woods, to hide there whilst the soldiers +ransacked the deserted houses, eating and appropriating all they +fancied, and spitefully spilling milk, wantonly cutting holes in the +cheeses, and throwing the frying-pans and flatirons down the wells for +mischief. These leisurely warriors were not, however, the ones whose +blood had darkened the soil in so many adjacent spots. The Jamestown +people had no personal reminiscences or knowledge of these sterner +fighters, but evidences of their existence and warfare were plentiful. + +Year by year, the neighboring farmers, in tilling their land, found +bullets, broken bayonets, portions of old-fashioned guns, military +buttons, and Indian arrow heads of flint. These latter relics were +often defaced, pointless, and chipped, but sometimes they had preserved +in perfection their venomous pointed form, sharp to sting to the death +when hurled through the air from a hostile bow. Year after year, these +tokens of conflict were found in the fresh furrows; the supply seemed +inexhaustible. It was as though the earth was determined to cast forth +from her bosom those deadly fragments whose mission had been to maim +and slay her children. Yet Mother Earth is but a cruel stepdame to +some of us, less kindly than the bullet, more cruel than the flint +arrowhead. + +The people in Jamestown thought little enough of these relics, though +in springtime they were to be found in the pockets of every ploughman; +but little Bing White had a collection of some hundreds of them. They +had a strange fascination for the little elfish boy. People said he +had just escaped being an idiot: that was far from the truth. + +A keen and acute intelligence shone from his eyes, but perverted by +morbid and horrible cravings. He was of a Newtonian and speculative +turn of mind also, and was perpetually pondering upon problems of +weighty import, suggested to him by the simplest manifestations of +every-day life: Why dogs barked at bakers? Why blacksmith-shops were +never new? Why buttered bread falls butter-side down? were questions +that he strove with. The wonder of the arrowheads appearing year after +year in the furrows was to him a source of never-ceasing thought. How +was it they came to the surface? What strange grinding went on below +the grain and the grass, to produce that flinty grist each springtime? +He brooded much over the matter, turning his many specimens over and +over with lingering, affectionate touches. + +Bing kept his treasures in the space between the lath and plaster of +the second story and the roof of his father's house. There was no room +for garrets there--but there was a space in which Bing's diminutive +figure could stand erect. The ingress to this long, low, dark chamber +was through a tiny trap-door, in the ceiling of one of the back rooms. +Through this, he would wriggle swiftly, replace the trap-door (in +reality only a broad board), speed like a cat from joist to joist +across the whole length of the house to where, through the round panes +of the little gable window, the light fell full upon his collection, +laid out in rows upon boards placed across the joists. + +Each arrowhead of the lot had an individuality for this boy; every +misshapen fragment a story. Indeed he dwelt longer over the pointless +and defaced specimens than over the others, for more fascinating than +any perfection of curve or point was the speculation as to where the +fragments of the broken ones rested. Could it be possible that the +long tapering point of the arrowhead he held in his hand had pierced +some red-clad bosom, some dusky naked breast brought low, some helmeted +head, some feather-decked crown, and won a costly coffin for itself to +be buried in? Those notches on the side of the heavy white flint one, +were they the scars of a conflict between the arrow and armor? + +Bing White was not an imbecile, but he had strange fancies in that +dusky treasure chamber of his, gloating over his arrowheads, whispering +to himself of bloody deeds wrought and cruel blows dealt by these +flints he held in his palms. + +There was one long, narrow arrowhead, sharp and keen-edged, that he had +a great affection for. He used to take it up lovingly and, baring his +forearm, draw it lightly--lightly--close to the skin, his eyes +dilating, his nostrils quivering; now and then, his hand faltering, he +let it touch the flesh, and the keen edge swiftly brought blood. + +At the pain he would drop the flint, but at the crimson drops which +showed its bite he would gaze hungrily, delightedly, tracing them out +in tiny red lines upon the white flesh of his meagre arm until the last +vestige had disappeared; and then he would start and tremble, his +fingers twitching strangely, his eyes peering here and there through +the dusky perspective of his refuge, as if hoping to see some blur of +the crimson fluid he loved. Then he would kiss the vicious arrowhead, +and fondle it, until, hearing his mother's call, he would lay it down +gently and flee across the joists, surefooted and nimble, to the +trap-door. + +By the time he descended his face would have lost the wild irradiation +of his hidden joy; but his eyes followed any small creature, the cats, +the chickens, the self-satisfied ducks. He whispered to himself in his +dreams of a day when he would not deny his desire for blood. + +A strange impish development of character was his: dangerous by reason +of the stubbornness of his race, and strangely blended and nurtured +with and by a love of vivid and bright color. This latter +characteristic was instilled into the White blood, when one of the +far-back Whites, who had been to the war, returned, bringing with him a +gypsy camp-follower as his wife, making her the great-grandmother of +this boy, who cherished the flint arrowheads for the pain they could +inflict, and who dreamt long dreams, the atmosphere of which was +crimsoned with blood and vocal with cries of pain. + +This unhealthy mental state found for itself plenty of sustenance, as +all vile plants and animals do, sucking the virus of its unhealthy +existence from every phase of nature, every homely incident in village +life. He let no chance escape him to enjoy his ghoulish pleasure; the +killing of the poultry twice a week for market was a festival he never +missed. + +At the village shambles he was a frequent guest; at a pig-sticking he +was always on hand, interested, helpful; no scientist in a clinic ever +watched with greater enthusiasm the performance of a new experiment +than did Bing White the bleeding of a horse--of all these events he had +accurate information. If all these failed him, he sped far down the +margin of the lake, to where the gillnets were, and appeased his +craving by watching the slow, turgid drops that fell when they prepared +the fish. + +In autumn, when the paths through the ample woods were overhung with +crimson canopies of leaves, which the winds brought down like blots of +blood to be trodden under foot; when the brambles clung red about the +fences or trailed scarlet along the ground; when the bitter-sweet hung +in vermilion clusters from its bare stems, and the Virginian creeper +clothed the cedars in a fiery mantle--at this time Bing White's eyes +were ever gleaming with unholy happiness, only no one ever noticed it. + +It is from such material as this boy that those morbid murderers are +evolved who do murder for murder's sake. Just where in his ante-natal +history the love of color flamed into a love of blood, who shall say? +But it burned within him, a consuming fire; if quenched, to be quenched +only by the annihilation of the being that embodied it. If left to +burn? ... + +He had much knowledge of and liking for animals, but it was the liking +of the instinctive vivisector. Inexplicable cases of maimed and killed +animals attested his devotion to the gratification of his curiosity. +The sudden elongation and apparent telescoping of a cat's paw was a +subject that for hours had kept him sleepless. + +He had solved the riddle first by putting it down to some trick of his +eyesight, but the keenness of his vision was proverbial in Jamestown, +and that did not long content him. Then he took a tape-line and +measured a paw, and waited for the stretching process. It came. The +huge Maltese stretched out his forepaws in languorous indolence. Bing +promptly caught one and began to measure; the cat instantly contracted +its muscles. Bing strove to hold the paw out by force, with the result +that the cat (which was of the giant order, and no degenerate +descendant of its wild progenitors) fixed its teeth through the fleshy +part of his thumb, from which it was with difficulty disengaged. The +wound inflamed and festered, but the symptoms disappeared in a week or +two. Shortly after the cat died in a fit. + +The dilation and contraction of the eyes of animals was a source of +continual speculation to Bing; a matter he strove in horrid ways to +elucidate. There was something hideously repulsive in this boy's +secret cruelties, horrible to relate, sickening to contemplate. But +the creatures he tormented, maimed, killed, knew neither anticipation +nor remembrance; the "corporeal pang" was all. + +There was a strange and horrible parallel between his nature and the +nature of the women who tortured so ceaselessly the woman whom fate had +made their victim; a little difference in method, a little divergence +of application, a slight change from the physical to the mental +world--that was all save a dreadful difference in the victim; but the +instinct of cruelty was the same. + +There is an organized society in one of our great cities for putting +dumb animals out of pain--out of existence. It had been well for Myron +Holder had she been one of those creatures to which a merciful death is +vouchsafed. The lilied purity of her womanhood might be gone, but we +do not rend the petals of even spent flowers. It is hard to tread upon +even a crushed blossom, and painful to see a broken lily flung to +smother in a sewer. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + "Desolation is a delicate thing. + It walks not on the earth, it floats not on the air, + But treads with killing footsteps, and fans with silent wing, + The tender hopes which in their hearts the best and gentlest bear; + Who, soothed to false repose by the fanning plumes above, + And the music-stirring motion of its soft and busy feet, + Dream visions of aerial joy, and call the monster Love, + And wake, and find the shadow Pain...." + + +"The smoke is falling, the ducks and geese are flying about, the maple +leaves are turned underside up, the cocks are crowing, the cat is +eating grass, the gulls have left the lake and fly over the land, the +flies sting, and the cement on the cellar floor is damp, so I think +it's going to rain; and if it does, I ain't a-going to begin to color +my rags," said Mrs. Deans, standing arms akimbo on the doorstep. + +"Yes," said her husband, "it's a deal like rain; the moon had a shroud +on it last night, and the frogs croaked terrible, and my rheumatics has +just been ramping." + +"Yes," went on Mrs. Deans, "my corns has ached intolerable, and the +cows have been lowing since daybreak; there's no doubt but what it's +going to rain. I wonder if Myron Holder is a-coming, or if she ain't!" + +"Oh, she'll be here in time for breakfast!" said Mr. Deans, with +would-be sarcasm. "How you can abide that girl and Liz I don't know, +Jane; no mortal good's fur's I see. That Liz eats her head off every +day she rises, and as for Myron Holder, she picks and pecks and turns +up her nose as if the eatin' wasn't good enough for her; it beats me +what's the good of 'em." + +"Well," said his wife, sharply, "there ain't no great call, fur's I +see, for you to see whether they're any good or not, an' no need for +you to worry over the victuals, for that I'll make shift to attend to. +I suppose you'd like me to slave myself to death, and git along without +'em? Well, if that's what's on your mind, just relieve your feelings +of it right away--for be a slave to no man I won't, and that settles +that!" with which Mrs. Deans betook herself out to the gate to look for +further manifestations bearing upon the weather, and to see if Myron +Holder was coming. + +Mr. Deans shrunk up in his chair, blinking as he chewed, and taking his +rebuff very philosophically. He was accustomed to his wife's +"onsartainness," and when any of his remarks proved a boomerang, he +simply consoled himself with the thought of "better luck next time" and +subsided. + +Mrs. Deans went out to the gate. It was early morning, and the sun was +rising unseen behind heavy masses of water-charged clouds; there was a +soft grayness of impending rain in the air, a fresh smell of springing +grass, and new leaves, and newly turned earth; the gulls had deserted +the lake, and were soaring in oblique circles through the gray, +glisteningly white; the swallows from under the eaves of the barn were +journeying forth to the pond for the clay to coat their nests; the +sparrows were chirping saucily, as they robbed the young chicks of the +grain scattered for them; from the field behind the barn came the +bleating of the lambs, and now and then there sounded a distant voice +as Gamaliel or the hired men shouted to their horses. + +The bound girl, coming in from milking, paused to make grimaces at the +unconscious back of her benefactress, an accomplishment at which Liz +was an adept. After contorting her face horribly for a few moments, +accompanying herself mentally with unflattering epithets addressed to +the same unconscious back, Liz went on her way to the cellar, having +very much enjoyed the relaxation of her facial muscles. Mrs. Deans +stood looking down the road. Her eyes were red and watery this +morning, and she wiped them on the corner of her apron. Far down +towards the village she could descry a vehicle of some kind, but no one +on the footpath. She returned to the house, and, satisfied that Myron +Holder would not arrive for some time at least, went up to the garret +to "sort over" the contributions that had been sent in for the +mission-box that was going to the far West. First, however, she called +to her husband to watch for Myron Holder's appearance, and rap on the +wall with his stick when he saw her, so that she might come down and +"be ready for her." Mrs. Deans always welcomed Myron Holder with +sneers or rage in the morning, just as her grandmother greeted her with +reproaches or revilings at night. There would have been something +comic, had it not been so cruel and so sad, in the way these women +played battledore with this girl as shuttlecock and tossed her from one +to the other to be buffeted. + +That morning Myron Holder had just got clear of the village, when she +heard behind her the rumble of wheels; they drew nearer, and at last +her down-cast eyes caught the image of a wagon, but she did not look +up, and did not know whose it was until she heard Homer Wilson's voice. + +"Good-morning, Myron," he said; "are you going out to Deans'?" + +"Good-morning. Yes," she answered, blushing and ill at ease, for he +had pulled up his horses. + +"Then climb in and have a ride; I'm going to town," he said. + +"Oh, no; no, thank you!" said Myron, hanging back. + +"What for? Come, get in," he said. + +Myron was so well used to being told what to do, and so little used to +refusing, that she half made a step towards the wagon then--"No, I +mustn't"--she paused--"you know--I----" + +"Don't be a goose, Myron," returned he with decision. "Climb in here! +I never see you these days, and we used to be good friends----" The +infrequent tears rushed to her eyes. Without more ado, she went to the +side of the wagon and set a foot on the step; the impatient horses +started, and she felt herself half lifted in by Homer's strong arm. +The horses sprang forward, to be soon checked, though, for Homer was +evidently in no hurry that morning; indeed, the horses were restrained +to an unwilling walk. + +"How's things getting on with you, Myron?" asked Homer, trying to speak +in a commonplace tone. + +"Oh, just the same," she answered, unsteadily. "Mrs. Deans kindly +keeps me on." + +"Oh, she does, does she?" asked Homer. "Very good of her, I'm sure; +she's a most charitable woman, Mrs. Deans is!" + +Myron somehow felt her heart sink at this. Of late, aroused from the +first bewilderment of her shame, she had wondered once or twice if Mrs. +Deans was so wholly admirable in her life and intentions as she said +she was; if she herself was so utterly vile. Homer's reply showed her, +or so she thought, that she was wrong in doubting Mrs. Deans. + +"Yes," went on Homer, "Mrs. Deans is what Ma calls a 'mother in +Israel,' and no mistake. How many she's mothered! All these Home +girls! And now struggling with you! Really, Myron, you might be +thought most fortunate to get into such a household." Something in his +voice gave Myron courage to look up. She did--but let her eyes fall +before the bitter sneer that lurked on his lip, the scorn that shone in +his eyes. In that instant she gathered, however, that none of it was +for her; the next she was conscious of a desire to say something to +Homer of Mrs. Deans' meanness, backbiting, insincerity, hypocrisy. +Myron Holder had naturally a sweet disposition, but the happiest of us, +even, have sometimes a longing desire to pull another down, and for a +moment this temptation assailed her with almost irresistible strength. +She was so inured to blame herself, that to hear another dispraised, +and that other the woman who embittered each hour of the day for her, +was perilously sweet. She half parted her lips, but the generous +spirit that had survived so many blows, so much injustice, yet endured +and stifled the impulse. She sat silent. A jingling of loose tires, a +rattling of loose bolts, and the uneven beating of a lame horse's hoofs +struck upon their ears; some one was coming from the village. + +"Hullo," said Homer, without looking round, "here's old Crow Muir +coming!" The young men of Jamestown had an irreverent habit of calling +Mr. Muir "Crow"--due to the solemn hue of his garb. A poor compliment +any self-respecting crow would have deemed it, at least, when Mr. Muir +was attired, as he was this morning, in his oldest suit of black. + +Mr. Muir's vocation compelling him to travel usually in a silent and +slow way, he liked, when not bent upon an official errand, to go as +swiftly and noisily as he could. He had an old piebald mare, the +original plan of whose anatomy was so obscured by lumps and distorted +by twists as to be almost obliterated; she was very lame in the nigh +forefoot and had the stringhalt in her off hind leg, so that her gait +was somewhat startling to behold; her neck was long and lean, her head +heavy, her nose Roman, her eyes set close together in a bald face, her +tail was more like a mule's than a horse's; but despite these +peculiarities, which by some people might have been considered +disabilities, she was the fastest animal in Jamestown, and her progeny +was noted far and wide among the local sports. The vehicle behind this +gallant steed was as direct a contradiction to the stately hearse as +could be imagined. It was a light wagon, set upon ridiculously high +wheels, which, being always adjusted loosely at the axle, had a lateral +as well as an onward movement; the body of the wagon was not more than +five inches deep and painted a bright green (the same paint that coated +the undertaker's veranda made his wagon a thing of vernal beauty). The +seat was uncushioned and had rungs in the back, like a chair--in fact, +it was a section taken from one of the long, old-fashioned desks that +had been removed from the school a few years before this time. + +In this state and equipage, then, did Mr. Muir overtake Homer and Myron. + +"Homer, good-morning!" said Mr. Muir, solemnly, as he came abreast of +them; and then he was past, his wagon jingling crazily, his knees +nearly touching his chin, each wheel running at a different angle and +leaving wavering tracks in the dust. + +"Oh, Homer," said Myron. + +"Well," said Homer, "what's the matter?" + +"Mr. Muir--he'll talk," she said. + +"You're quite right there," said Homer, with a vicious tightening of +the lips. "It'll do him good." He gave the restive horses a slap with +the reins, but the next moment checked their sudden speed. + +"Don't mind me, Myron," he said, flushing under his brown skin as he +felt her nervous start. "I am in a bad temper this morning, and +disgusted with the way people gabble about nothing." And then they +drove on in silence again. As they passed the little cemetery, they +saw the piebald mare, in a ridiculous "stand at ease" position, tied +beside the gate. + +"Hear of any one dead?" asked Homer. + +"No, not a word," said Myron, her thoughts reverting painfully to her +last visit to her father's grave. + +"Well, maybe old Crow's gone to see if any of 'em are coming up," said +Homer. Then, the thought suggested to him by the field of young +springing grain opposite, he added, "Not much of a crop from old Crow's +planting." After this grim speech there were no further words until +they were opposite the wire fence of Deans' so-called garden. + +"Myron," said Homer hastily, "any time you want a friend for anything, +come to me, will you?" + +"Yes," she said simply, looking at him with ineffable gratitude and +wonder in her eyes. "But have you forgotten----" + +"My memory's as good as most folks' is," said Homer gruffly; then, +wishing once for all to let her see he accepted the facts of her life, +he said: "What do you call your child, Myron?" + +"My," she answered, with the indescribable mother-voice of love, +"little My." + +"A very good name, too," said Homer, with conviction. "I'm coming in +to see him some day." + +Myron fairly gasped in terror. + +"Oh, no," she said, with entreaty in her tones and eyes; "oh, no, +promise you won't think of such a thing--promise you won't"--he was +drawing up the horses at the Deans' gate, and she clasped both hands +over his arm in her urgency. "Promise," she urged. He looked down at +her, his face sombre; he gathered the beauty of her face and pleading +eyes, his old self awakened for an instant from its bath of bitterness, +and his old natural smile made his stern face bright and gentle as he +said: + +"Of course, I won't, if you don't want me to. Is it your grandmother?" + +"Yes, and----" she unclasped her hands and began to descend. "Thank +you so much," she said. + +"For not coming?" he asked. His face was dark again. + +"No; for speaking to me," she answered, as she turned quickly to the +house, and he went on to the city, as fast now as his horses could +spurn the miles, and he had gone some distance before his face lost the +expression caused by her last speech; but long ere he reached the town, +the old gloom again settled upon his countenance. + +From the high window Mrs. Deans had watched Myron and Homer as they +drove from the foot of the garden; as they passed the corner of the +house she sped to a more advantageous window, arriving in time to see +Myron unclasp her hands from his arm and descend from the wagon. Mrs. +Deans could hardly restrain herself from calling aloud to them, and +proclaiming her discovery of their "brazenness," if not from the +house-top, at least from the attic window; but with much strength of +will she denied herself and kept silent until Homer's wagon vanished, +and she heard a vigorous rap-rap down stairs. Then she collapsed upon +a heap of winter quilts that were piled in the attic, and communed with +herself. + +"She was doin' some rare begging, but the Wilsons is strong set when +they've made up their minds. But such cheek! To drive her up to my +door as bold as brass, and in no hurry out of sight, either; at least," +bethinking herself, "he did drive off mighty quick, when once she got +out; wonder if she wanted me to see him! Well, if that's her idea, +'twon't do her no good! She should have told me when I asked her; I +won't take no notice, now; she can't get me to back down from what I've +said; it's a terrible disgrace on Marian Wilson--well, they _did_ talk +about Marian and that stonecutter one time, but he went away, and it +was all smothered up, but I had my own thoughts. Well, this is a +judgment on her now; she was too set up when Homer came back to the +farm; like's not, he was druv to it! Fine goin's on, I warrant, he had +in the city! Thank the Lord, Maley's not sich as Homer Wilson; but +then he's been brought up different, and it's all in the bringin' up. +And there was something very queer about that stonecutter business; +that would account for Homer's being so bad." + +Mrs. Deans went about her work dreamily, struggling with the problem of +Homer's depravity; her philosophy--like some other philosophies--first +created a result, and then strove to invent circumstances to justify +and explain it. + +Mrs. Deans was sorely tried to decide what course was best to pursue: +she would have liked to go at once to Mrs. Wilson, and proclaim her +son's iniquity to her and see "how she took it"; she longed to go to +Mrs. Holder's and announce that she had discovered the secret which had +so puzzled the village; she would have dearly loved to shower upon +Myron Holder the new and expressive epithets that were trembling upon +the tip of her tongue, but the peculiar view she had adopted of the +situation suggested to her that Myron Holder wanted the secret she had +kept so long and so well discovered; and greater than her desire to see +her lifelong friend disgraced by the proof of her son's fault--greater +than her desire to vindicate her own superior cunning--greater even +than her desire to berate Myron Holder, was her determination to make +Myron Holder suffer; so she decided to take no active step in the +affair, no matter how hard the repression of her righteous wrath might +prove. + +She felt, however, there could be no harm in giving Mrs. White a hint +of how things stood, for the Sunday before this Homer Wilson had tied +up young Ann White's buggy shafts when he found her at a standstill on +the way home from church. Here Mrs. Deans wandered a little from the +main track, and dwelt a while on the enormity of Homer Wilson tearing +along the roads, or through the woods, or along the lake shore, the +whole Sabbath day, instead of going to church; here she recalled, with +a shock, that Myron Holder never went to church either, and Mrs. Deans, +putting two and two together, decided that not only of sin, but of +sacrilege, were these two guilty. + +Mrs. Deans felt fired with a great zeal for young Ann White's soul: if +she should be led into marrying Homer Wilson, what a dreadful thing it +would be! Not but what the Whites needed something to take them down a +peg; still the pleasure of balking Homer, if he had any thoughts in Ann +White's direction, would be something. Besides, although Mrs. Deans +did not formulate this to herself, it would relieve the pressure of +restraint to tell Mrs. White the circumstances, and Mrs. Deans +concluded to herself: "It can't do no harm to let Ann White know. I +miss my guess if she has her sorrows to seek; that Bing isn't ten +removes off an idiot." + +So Mrs. Deans contented herself all the forenoon by staring at Myron +Holder with a concentrated glare of contempt and triumph, varied only +by sudden calls to Liz to "come back from there" whenever she +approached Myron, and when Liz "came back," which she did in a hasty +and indefinite way, not knowing very well why Myron had suddenly become +so dangerous, Mrs. Deans would say: + +"Haven't you got enough evil in you, but what you must learn more bad +off of her?" or, "There ain't no use my striving to bring you up +decent, when your natural bent is to be bad," or some other remark to +the same effect. + +In the afternoon, the rain heralded by so many infallible signs made +its appearance, and Mrs. Deans perforce remained at home. She took her +sewing to the kitchen, and set Myron and the bound girl to work to mend +the grain bags; and as the storm outside whipped the maples, and +struggled with the oaks, and stripped the horse-chestnut trees of their +brittle blossoms, so the storm of Mrs. Deans' vituperation raged over +the heads of the two girls sitting on the floor surrounded by the dusty +grain bags. Liz was in such a state of nervousness that she was +sticking her needle into her fingers at every second stitch, when Myron +Holder began to feel the floor rising with her--the bags whirled round +and round in a circle of which she was the centre; the floor ceased to +rise evenly and tilted up--up--on one edge--tilted until it was +perpendicular, and flung Myron Holder off--a long distance off--into an +abyss of darkness, through which whirled great wheels of light that +rushed toward her as if they would utterly destroy her, but always +passed by a hair's breadth; the last one passed, its light vanished, +the whirring of its rapid flight died away, even the darkness +disappeared--Myron Holder had fainted. She still sat, needle in one +hand, bag in the other. Liz reached across for another bag and chanced +to knock against her slightly; Myron fell over like a log. + +"She's dead!" screamed Liz, and sprang up with hysterical cries. + +Mrs. Deans' face blanched. + +"You fool, get out of the way!" she said, and pushed Liz aside +savagely, as she rushed toward Myron's prostrate figure. "Take hold of +her," ordered Mrs. Deans, in a voice that quelled the bound girl's +hysterics. Together they got her to the door; Mrs. Deans flung it +wide, and Myron opened her eyes with the summer rain beating in her +face and the waving masses of green trees and tossing branches before +her eyes. To that blankness succeeded a quick memory of its approach, +a shuddering recollection of that final plunge into darkness, to be +obliterated by physical weakness and nausea; she clung to the door to +support herself, and Mrs. Deans released her hold of her arms. + +"You can go lie down on Liz's bed till you come to," said Mrs. Deans, +"and then you can go home for the rest of the day." + +"Thank you," said Myron, and Mrs. Deans went to the dining-room, while +Myron crept to the tiny kitchen bedroom--each unaware of the horrible +bathos of Myron's speech. Mrs. Deans did not come to the kitchen for +some time, and when she did Myron was gone--out into the storm unseen +of any, to struggle through rain and mud to the village, "a reed shaken +by the wind" indeed. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + "All things rejoiced beneath the sun--the weeds, + The river, and the cornfields, and the reeds, + The willow leaves that glanced in the light breeze, + And the firm foliage of the larger trees." + + +The rain that brought back sense and sound to Myron Holder lasted for +three days, falling steadily during that time; it was succeeded by the +most joyous of weather. The spring was past; the grass grew lush and +green beside the little waterways that the rain had created by the +roadside; these mimic rivers had in miniature all the diversities and +beauties of their greater brethren. There was a gradual decline from +the inland to the lake, and adown this many of these evanescent streams +found their way. + +The stream that passed the Deans farm was the very epitome of Life. +Now a large stone obstructed its course and divided its shallow flood, +which crept sadly round either side of this rocky islet, to gush gayly +together beyond it; after a short space of calm it rushed against an +upturned sod and, broken and ragged, fell in tatters over the brink +into the little pool below, in whose tiny vortex floated twigs and bits +of last year's grass, and perchance a glistening white feather from the +breast of a gull; freed from its durance in the pool and not yet +schooled to peace and patience, the stream sped on hastily and noisily, +striving to find its way between the interlaced red roots of a cedar; +its haste to get out into the sunlight defeated its object, and the +close-knit fibres flung it back again and again, but it returned to the +charge with tiny banners of foam and ripples of defiance; so the strife +continued until the gathering ranks of water rose strong enough to toss +the foremost clear over the barriers, and the stream went on its way +cheerily until the dark culvert that took it across the road was +reached, and as souls that plunge into the darkness of death leave all +behind them, so this little stream left its foam, its ripples, its +burden of twigs and wisps of grass and all its infinitesimal flotsam +and jetsam, and essayed the darksome passage, a naked little stream; +once out in the light again, it rippled on reflectively, until at last, +its "tribute wave delivered," it merged its identity in the +lake--losing (and here we cry with breathless lips, "Let it be like the +soul in this also!") losing all puny consciousness of individual +existence, only aware of being a part of that shining reservoir, +dispensing beneficent gifts to air, and blessing and being blessed by +the sun, that shone down more sweetly now upon it than when it was a +vain and fretting brook. + +The broad burdock leaves grew so rapidly in these days that their +unstable stalks could not sustain them, and they trailed near the +ground, bleached and unhealthy-looking, defacing the plant they should +have adorned, like purposes unfulfilled for lack of will. + +The wood violets spent all their surplus sap in leaves, and their later +blooms were smothered in this luxuriance of foliage, as good resolves +die 'mid many words. + +In the maples, besides the singing of birds, there was now to be heard +the "lisp of leaves" murmuring nature's alphabet. The swallows did not +fly about so wildly, nor the bob-o-link, singing, soar so high--for the +swallows hovered ever near the gray eaves of the barns, where, in their +clay houses, the white eggs were being patiently warmed to life, and +the bob-o-link (that slyest of birds) lingered ever in the grass +meadows, where, upon a nest hid most cunningly, its mate sat listening +to its singing. The ponds and the margins of the lake were alive with +wriggling tadpoles, and Bing White hung enchanted over a pool left at +the foot of his father's field where, when the sun was high, the water +spiders darted hither and thither. It was not the insects Bing +watched, but the shadows cast by them upon the sandy bottom of the +pool; for, by a conspiracy between the water and the sun, the minute +disks that form the feet of these creatures, and enable them to "walk +upon the water" in very truth, were magnified a thousand times, and +this enlarged refraction, like spots of gold, wavered through the water +in consonance with the spiders' movements on the surface. When the sun +shone brightly, the spiders came out in force, and darted about +untiringly; it was as though the spiders wove a web of shining water, +flinging round golden bobbins through the woof and weft of their fabric. + +A little fawn-colored wild duck, belated in its journey to the north, +came to this pool, a solitary but contented little bird, until Bing +stoned it so persistently that it flew away one day, never to return. +The spring grains were growing strongly, and the fall wheat was tall +and vividly green, except that patches, bare save for knotty roots +upthrown upon the surface, showed where, upon the high ground, it had +been "winter killed," or spaces of bleached and yellowed blades +indicated where, in the hollows, the heavy rains had "drowned it out." +The blossoming of the fruit trees was past, that marvellous season of +efflorescence and beauty, when the air is heavy with perfume and the +paths strewn with petals--the rose and white of the apples, the +mother-o'-pearl purity of the cherry, the fragrant ivory of the pears, +loose-leaved plum flowers, and the hiding, faint-pink quince +blooms--these and the peach blows that made gay and glad the gardens +and the orchards. + +And the woodlands and the lanes rejoiced also--for theirs were the +cloyingly sweet blooms of the pea tree and the insignificant-looking +but honey-smelling flowers of the locust, the bitter-sweet blossoms of +the wild plum, so finely cut in tiny petals, so filled with snow-white +stamens, so thickly massed together as to make the tree seem a fragrant +snow cloud; then there was the red and pink of the "natural" apples, +the ungrafted trees that had sprung up in every neighboring woodland; +their taste was insipid, and had a peculiar, smoky flavor, but their +blossoms were not less sweet than those of their cultured kinsfolk, and +side by side with them stood the "choke cherry" with its long sprays of +fragile blossoms that nauseate with their odor. Best of all, either in +woodland or garden, orchard or lane, there was the wild crab-apple, +upon whose gnarled and thorny branches grew its unspeakably sweet +flower. The pink-veined petals folded about its perfumed centre, or +opening but an hour or two, to disclose its golden heart, then, paling +and falling, overcome by its own breath; for in the perfume of the wild +crab-apple there lies all the story of the year, all the life of love; +it has taken to itself all the sweetness, the bitterness, the languors, +the fever, the desire, the satiety, the distaste, the joy, the sting of +winter, the swoon of summer, the expectancy of spring, the overcoming +of autumn, taken all, and mingling it with that we dream of, but know +not, offers it to us upon thorny branches. And the fruit of these +blossoms is bitter. + +When the bloom was gone from all the trees, then the bees began to hum +about the currant bushes, sipping the sweets of their green flowers, +and there rose from orchard and field the savor of grape bloom. For +Jamestown sent many hundred tons of grapes to the wine factories every +year, and around the fences or over the cedars, there grew the "fox" +grape, the "chicken" grape, and the bitter wild grape from which they +distill a syrup for the throat. + +Mrs. Deans' garden was "made," planted from side to side with +vegetables, daily growing higher; the leaves were thickening on the +currant bushes, and the young grape leaves were losing their downy +whiteness and growing green and thick. Young turkeys, goslings, ducks, +and baby chickens disputed with each other for the food dispensed so +liberally to them; but Mrs. Deans ruled her poultry-yard, as she did +her other belongings, with a rod of iron. The turkeys were the +aristocrats of the place; they ate milk, white curds and chopped +lettuce, and boiled eggs minced fine, with pepper; the rest fared on +common meal--only all the spare time the bound girl had was spent in +digging worms for the ducks. + +"See that big worm there, Myron," she said one day, pointing to a huge, +wriggling worm that two ducks were disputing possession of; "see that +worm? Well, that's Mrs. Deans; of all the trouble that contrary +critter give me I can't tell! It near wore me out, a-digging and +a-digging; now it's in trouble its own self--you see--it'll be torn in +two yet, yes--glad of it--there it goes! That'll happen to Mrs. Deans +some day, when the Lord gets hold of her. Hush? I won't hush! Ain't +she always a jangling? Jangling is something I can't abide, and how +she goes it about nothing at all! She'll be tore in two along o' her +ways, see if she ain't." With which satisfactory and encouraging +prophecy Liz betook herself indoors. + +Mrs. Deans had never found the time to go to Mrs. White's, but when one +day her son Gamaliel told her he had seen Homer Wilson and Myron +talking together in the "open village street" the heart of Mrs. Deans +burned within her, and she reproached herself that she had not gone +sooner; if she waited any longer it might be stale news; if they were +brazen enough to talk to each other on the street--people--Jamestown +people--would not fail to notice it; now that there was a possibility +of other lips telling "young Ann White" of Homer Wilson's badness Mrs. +Deans felt it incumbent upon her to act at once, to arise in her +strength and baffle the designs of the evil one upon the unsuspecting +citadel of young Ann White's heart. Mrs. Deans called it, to herself, +"putting Homer Wilson's nose out of joint in that quarter anyhow," but +the phrase matters little, the intention expressed being identical. + +To "stir up the lazy and strengthen the weak" is a proceeding much to +be admired doubtless, being enjoined by no less authoritative edict +than the Westminster Confession; and however Mrs. Deans regarded the +latter half of the injunction, she had nothing to reproach herself with +in view of one of its requirements. That Mrs. Deans regarded all +people under her as being lazy, as well as the majority of her +neighbors, may be taken as granted; it will therefore be seen that she +had little time for the latter half of the command. Before she left +for Mrs. White's that day, she went to the kitchen and gave Liz and +Myron an eloquent extempore narration of their past sins and +shortcomings, their present delinquencies, their future state of sin +and misery, proceeding to a peroration regarding the probabilities of +their immortal lives, and rounding off her address with a pleasant +prediction of eternal perdition for both of them. Having given them +tasks they could not possibly perform before her return, Mrs. Deans +turned her attention to her husband. As he could not move about much, +and as he had a maddening gift for holding his tongue, Mrs. Deans was +often exasperated by him; upon this occasion, having absolutely no +handle to hinge her remarks upon, she contented herself with a few +well-considered and audible reflections upon his utter uselessness, +"either to God or man" as she put it, which threw such a burden upon +her "helpless" shoulders; then she picked up his plug of chewing +tobacco and narrowly regarded how much of it was gone, with a view to +gauging the quantity he consumed in her absence. He squirmed under +this; it affected him more than bitter words. + +Having made every one as uncomfortable as possible, Mrs. Deans went her +way. + +Myron and Liz went out to their hoeing, Liz saying when once out of +earshot of Mr. Deans: + +"Did ye hear her jist, Myron, with that talk about 'eternal lakes of +burning'--what's 'eternal' but 'continual?'--an' if Mrs. Deans ain't a +continual burning torment her own self, I'll never drink water! Ain't +she now, Myron? Why don't you speak out and say what you think? Keep +still? Told us not to talk? Of course she did! She'd stop the dogs +from barking if she could; I'll talk all I like! Old Stiffen can't see +me till I get past the third currant bush, and I'll take care to be +quiet then--old wretch he is! I'd like to scald him some day to see if +that would limber him up and take him out of the kitchen, a-watchin' +and a-watchin'." Liz, as a matter of fact, talked more than she hoed; +but she had worked hard in a compulsory silence since daybreak, so it +was hardly to be wondered at that she should be both slow and voluble +now. + +Myron's own eyes were heavy, and as she bent above her hoeing, her +hands were none too eager for the toil, nor her feet too ready to +advance; she worked on steadily though, and was beginning a new row +before Liz completed her first one; as Liz passed her after some time +to begin her second row, she said in an explosive undertone: + +"You can't scare me with no hell-fire after living along o' Mrs. +Deans;" then seeing Myron paid no heed, she muttered to herself, "and +old Stiffen, too, he'd sicken any devil, a-watchin' and a-watchin'." + +Liz, it will be seen, was not the model child of story book fame; the +girl was the ordinary type of her class, with a thousand inherited +failings, a dozen minor vices; but against these she had a heart that +ached for love, a tongue that told the truth though it earned a blow; a +generous and impulsive soul: but, alas, in Mrs. Deans' house she +absorbed naught of good to offset her faults, save the virtue of +courage and endurance, which, seeing Myron Holder's bravery, she +cultivated through shame. + +The hours passed. + +Watching the girls as closely as he could, Henry Deans sat blinking in +the sun, like a malevolent lizard lying in wait for flies. + +Mrs. Deans meantime made her way along the road to Mrs. White's. The +White house stood back some distance from the road, and was approached +by a long, narrow lane, bordered by weather-beaten rail fences, none +too well kept, Mrs. Deans thought wrathfully, as she stumbled over a +broken rail; the grass had grown so rank about it that it was almost +entirely hidden. Mrs. Deans inveighed against shiftlessness in +general, and the White type in particular, all the way to the front +door, whose iron handle and heavy knocker bespoke the age of the house; +it was, indeed, one of the old landmarks, built at a time when the +settlers hewed the finest oak trees in the wood for their kitchen +rafters, and begrudged not to use the magnificent black walnuts for +their stairs. This house had been the first one in Jamestown to have +shutters--massive, solid affairs of oak, adjusted and held in place by +heavy bars of iron that extended diagonally across them; the Whites, +however, were much distressed by the old style of these shutters, and a +year or two previously had substituted modern green slatted shutters +upon the front of the house. + +[Illustration: MRS. DEANS CALLS ON MRS. WHITE.] + +Young Ann White answered Mrs. Deans' knock, and ushered her in with +awkward cordiality. Young Ann White's name was Ossie Annie Abbie Maria +White, named after "four aunts and her pa" as Mrs. White said. The +Jamestown people pronounced the first three names with a strong accent +upon the first syllable, and the middle syllable of Maria they clung to +until they lost breath and relinquished it with a gasp; as they uttered +it, Miss White's name was a sentence by itself. + +Mrs. White came bustling in before Mrs. Deans got seated, and after +expressing her pleasure at seeing her, saying, "I declare, Jane, the +sight of you's good for sore eyes!" entered with great zest into the +discussion of village gossip. Mrs. White's sitting room was an +apartment that evidenced loudly the taste and industry of Mrs. White +and her daughter. It had a "boughten" carpet on the floor, and upon +this were strewn hooked mats of strange and wonderful design, trees +with roses, daisies and blue flowers of name unknown, growing +luxuriantly upon every branch; bright yellow horses and green dogs +stood together upon the same mat in millenium-like peace, undisturbed +by the red birds and white cats that enjoyed the same vantage ground +with them; but finer than any of the others was the black mat placed in +the centre of the floor, as being less likely to be trodden upon there; +its design was a salmon-pink girl in a green dress. By what was little +less than inspiration, Mrs. White had formed the eyes out of two large +and glistening black buttons. The chairs were black haircloth, each +adorned with a crocheted tidy worked by Miss White; the making of these +tidies was her life--by means of them she divided her life into times +and seasons. Her one tragedy was compassed by the unholy fate of one +which, being just completed, fell into the paws and from thence to the +jaws of a mischievous collie puppy, and was speedily reduced to rags. +Her great achievement was the making of a "Rose of Sharon" tidy out of +No. 100 thread. She could always fix any date by recalling what tidy +she was engaged upon at the time. There was the "Spider-web tidy," the +"Sheaves of Wheat," the "Rose of Sharon," the "Double Wheel"; one she +called a "Fancy patterning tidy," and another was known as the "One in +strips." + +The room had a large old-fashioned mantel-piece of heavy oak; beneath +it had been a huge square fireplace, big enough to hold a roaring fire +of logs, but the massive fire-board stood before it winter and summer +now, for it was never used. The fire-board was also of oak, darkened +to that tint that the virtuoso loves and the dealer in spurious +antiques strives after in vain. But this year, Mrs. White had papered +it over with wall paper, pink roses on a white ground, and a blue +border. + +"It does look so much more genteel and cheerful!" said Mrs. White, and +Mrs. Deans agreed with her. + +The mantel was decked with a gaudy china vase, with paper flowers in +it; a lamp, in the oil of which was a piece of red flannel, thought to +be decorative as it showed through the glass; a cross cut out of +perforated cardboard, and two curious round objects like spheres of +finely carven wood; these were clove apples. It was common in polite +society in Jamestown to ask "How old is your clove apple?" The answer +was usually given in years, and would have greatly surprised any +stranger to clove apples. To make a clove apple, they selected the +largest specimen of apple to be found (and in Jamestown that meant a +very big apple indeed). Having got the apple, the next proceeding was +to stick it full of cloves, as closely as possible; that was all--the +cloves absorbed and dried the juices of the apple--the apple shrunk and +shrunk, wedging the cloves tighter and tighter together; until at last +they became so tightly welded together by the pressure that it was +absolutely impossible to pull, pry, or cut one out; they were popular +ornaments in Jamestown sitting-rooms. Mrs. White, when any reference +to clove apples was made, invariably said that she remembered the time +when tomatoes were called love apples, and kept for "ornamings," by +which she meant ornaments. + +The walls of Mrs. White's sitting-room were hung with pictures; there +was a highly colored print representing a pair of white kittens against +a red velvet background, playing with dominoes; there was a glazed +chromo of a preternaturally blonde baby, sleeping in a preternaturally +green field, bestrewn with preternaturally white daisies; a woodcut of +Abraham Lincoln, one of Queen Victoria, and a diploma for the +excellence of Mr. White's fat cattle completed the decoration of the +walls, except above the door, where purple wools on a perforated +cardboard asked again the piercing question, "What is Home Without a +Mother?" + +There was a centre-table, with a large Bible overlaid with a crocheted +mat upon it, and a home-made foot-stool that tripped you up every time +you entered the room. + +Mrs. Deans had brought no work with her, and when Mrs. White produced a +basket and began to piece a block of a quilt, Mrs. Deans begged for +thread and needle. Young Ann White rose to get them, and Mrs. Deans +said: + +"Well, Ann, now who's this quilt for?" The girl bridled and tossed her +head until her rough hair stood on end; her dull skin and phlegmatic +temperament made blushing an impossibility. Mrs. White broke in with +boisterous good humor: + +"Oh, Ann knows who it's fer all right enough; it's a poor hen can't +scratch fer one chick, and that's all Sam and me has got--one +apiece--Ann and Bing. Ann's got eight quilts all pieced now; this is +the album pattern. When I finish this, I'm going to work on a 'Rising +Sun' and--show Mrs. Deans that lace you made fer pilly cases, Ann." + +Ann went to obey. + +"She's so set on them things," continued her mother in an undertone, +with many nods and headshakings; "so set on 'em. It's really +wonderful; it makes me real nervous sometimes. There was Sarah--my +cousin twice removed by marriage on Sam's side--and when she had +consumpting, nothing would do but she must have a boughten feather; +time and time again I argued with her, but never to no account--a +boughten feather she would have, and being near the end, and being the +only one the Clem Whiteses had, why they took to it that they'd humor +her. So one day off Clem started and got the feather; he went to a +millingnery store, and he says, says he, 'If the feather don't suit the +lady--if it ain't becomin,' he said, for the clerk looked up sharp; 'If +it ain't becomin,' Clem said, being always one to use fine language, +'if it ain't becomin,' I'll bring it back and change it for something +else.' + +"So he took the feather home, and three days after Sarah died, real +reconciled 'cause she'd got the feather; they was real afraid she'd ask +them to bury it with her, she thought so much of it, but they'd head +her off if they thought she was going to speak of it, and remind her +her end was near, which didn't make her enjoy the feather any the less, +but just made her say less about it. Well, when the end came, it came +suddent and she had no time to ask any promises; but she held on to it +and when they drawed the pilly away, she still had it in her hand; +well, her mother took it back to the millingnery store and got a whole +black bunnit for the price of that feather. It's terrible what they do +ask for them; they say Sam Warner's wife had more than an idea of +getting one in the city when they went down to sell the wool, but I +guess she thought that would be just a little more than his people +would stand, and give up the idea--but pshaw! I wouldn't be surprised +any day to see her with a feather; she's bought buttoned shoes for that +young one of hers; why, my land! our Ann never had a pair of buttoned +shoes till long after she had spoke in after-meeting. + +"But Ann's so set on them things, it fairly makes me wonder if it ain't +a warning that she'll be cut down. You know how 'tis with us all, +Jane, 'the flower fadeth.'" Here Ann returned with various rolls of +crochet trimming for Mrs. Deans to see; she unpinned the ends, extended +them upon her black apron, and waited the praise she deserved. Mrs. +Deans gave it liberally, but did not fail to describe the work she had +seen at Mrs. Wilson's, left there by one of her market customers who +came out to spend the day. Mrs. Deans described this production in +such marvellous terms that Ann gathered up her treasures quite sadly, +and as she pinned up each fat little roll wondered if by any +possibility she could get the pattern. + +Ann sat down to a tidy of intricate design--her mother babbled on about +Bing and Ann, and her chickens and her garden; Mrs. Deans felt +irritated. The door of the sitting-room opened upon the veranda; it +was flung wide open, and held back by a cloth-covered brick, and the +sunshine streamed gloriously across the gaudy mats. + +Mrs. White was flowery of speech, being much given to the quoting of +Scripture and apt to indulge in poetical similes drawn from the poetry +of Mrs. Hemans, as used in the school-books. She was herself a poet of +wide local repute, having composed the epitaph for a son lost in +babyhood; engraved upon his tombstone it read: + + "Good-by, young William Henry White,-- + The fever took you from me quite. + The time has come for us to sever; + But, William Henry, not forever." + + +Mrs. White wore her hair, still dark and abundant, in rows of curls. +It was only after Ann grew up that she discarded the blue ribbon she +had affected since her own girlhood. + +Sitting in the sunshine, Mrs. Deans felt this comfortable +self-satisfaction to be an unholy thing upon the part of the Whites. +So she said abruptly: + +"Isn't it a terrible thing about Homer Wilson? Well, it'll teach +Marian a lesson; she set too much store on Homer altogether. I knowed +what Homer Wilson was long before this came out!" + +"Why, Jane, I never heard anything against Homer! What do you mean?" +asked Mrs. White, looking over her spectacles at Mrs. Deans. + +"Why, they say--but I don't want this mentioned, Ann; I want this kept +particular confidential between us two, and no one else to be the +wiser, though the talk's getting round, as others can tell beside me. +But what folks tell is that if Myron Holder's young one ain't named +Homer, it ain't because it hadn't ought to be." + +"Well, my lands!" said Mrs. White, whilst her daughter said nothing, +but got up and went out of the room. + +"Yes," said Mrs. Deans, "that's what they say, and I could tell things. +But standing in the light of one who's tried to do the best she can for +everybody, I never said a word! But there--there's no use talking over +them; the point was, I felt it a duty when I heard he was sitting up +with your Ann." + +Mrs. Deans paused--there was no reply--so she continued: "I felt you +ought to know the truth of how things stood; so putting aside my own +feelings, as I have to do very often, I came to let you know what sort +of a fellow Homer Wilson is." + +"To think of it!" said Mrs. White. "Truly 'this life is but a fleeting +show!' Homer Wilson! What he has said to Ann I can't say, not +knowing; but as for sitting up, whatever sitting up was done was done +irregular, now and then, as luck chanced; there was nothing regular, no +promising, no conversational lozenges, no buggy drives. No, Ann ain't +no call to be worried, though it's terrible to think how he'll suffer +when he knows Ann is not for him, can never be his; no, that hope is +gone--no, Homer Wilson, thou must go thy ways withouten help from Ann." + +Mrs. Deans felt exasperated. "Such stuff and nonsense," she thought. +"Homer Wilson would never look at Ann White, if he could get another +girl; Ann White, indeed!" She woke from her silence with a start. + +"Well, I'm glad it's no worse," she said; "only you'd better tell Ann +to be careful, for people are so ready with their tongues." + +"Jest let me hear any one mention Ann's name and his'n," said Mrs. +White; "jest let me hear 'em, they'll have to prove their sayings! +'Tell it in the country, tell it in the court,' is my motto. I'd never +stand no creepin', sneakin' talk about my folks!" Here she was +interrupted by her son Bing, who dashed along the veranda, flung +himself down on the open door-step, and ejaculated: + +"Bats bring bedbugs." + +"What?" said Mrs. Deans. + +"For the land's sake, Bing, what are you talking about?" asked his +mother. + +"Bats," said Bing, chattering his words out with his customary +rapidity. "Caught one in the back bedroom, between the shatter and the +window; bites like the mischief; got round ears that stick up--got fur +on it--got leather wings, and bedbugs under 'em." + +"Well, it beats all," said his mother, and Mrs. Deans looked at him +curiously. But keen as her eyes were, they saw no change in him from +the boy of four or five years back. For although Bing was between +sixteen and seventeen, he was no larger than a child of twelve: an +ill-conditioned, withered, hard little figure. His frame was spare, +his little face, with its high cheek-bones, was always flushed, as +though fevered by a dry and burning heat; his eyes were very light +blue, very small, very cruel-looking. They were set in a network of +wrinkles. His hands were horny and thin. He stayed but a moment, then +rushed off as quickly as he had come. + +"Bing don't grow much," said Mrs. Deans, with a curious intonation in +her voice and a covert glance at Mrs. White. + +Mrs. White looked a little uncomfortable, and answered rather hastily: + +"No, the Whites is all slow growers. Sam grew after we was married, +and Sam's brother grew till he began to get bald!" + +Mrs. Deans preserved a disagreeable silence. + +Young Ann entered the room as composedly as she had left it. + +"Where have you been, Ann?" asked her mother, a little sharply. + +"Fixing curds for the turkeys," said the girl, placidly. + +"Well, I declare, I'd forgotten it entire!" said Mrs. White. "I am +glad to find that you have such a thoughtful mind." + +"Oh, ma!" said young Ann, in an acme of admiration. Mrs. White smiled, +as who should say, "I can't restrain my muse," and continued in the +same voice: "Shall we go out and see the feathered tribe eat their +humble portion?" + +Mrs. Deans rose gladly, and out they went into the sunshine. It was +one of those days--so perfect, if one can enjoy it without toil, in +darkened rooms or shady nooks--so intolerable, if bodily toil beneath +the blazing sun is demanded. They went about leisurely, watched the +melancholy young turkeys picking daintily at their food, encouraged to +the attack by the solitary little chicken that was domiciled in their +coop. When the turkey eggs were hatching, careful poultry-keepers put +one hen egg in with them, so that the chicken might "show them how to +eat." This one, vigorous little black Spanish chick, certainly +performed its duties nobly--its compact little body darting here and +there among the turkeys, staggering about on their long, fragile legs. +They passed Bing, lying on his back under a chestnut tree. + +Mrs. Deans and Mrs. White grew very affable over the poultry, and the +clouds dropped down, with the dewy darkness of a moonless summer night, +before Mrs. Deans went home. + +She was, upon the whole, dissatisfied with her visit. Those Whites +were so disgustingly equable--so ridiculously pleased with +themselves--and that Bing White! of all the objects! Mrs. Deans slept +at last, her brows drawn in the ill-natured pose her thoughts suggested. + +The Whites slumbered peacefully, save where Bing lay, his eyes gleaming +in the dark, as he dreamt long, waking dreams of ghastly pleasures; but +he too slept at last, his fingers twitching as he slept, his lips like +two streaks of blood. + +Myron Holder slept the too-sound sleep of weariness, her yellow-haired +baby on her breast, her face placid and calmed into severe lines of +beauty. + +Homer Wilson tossed and flung his strong arm above his head and +murmured a woman's name, and crossed it with another, clinched his +upraised hand; and, murmuring, slept. + +Deeper and deeper fell the silence; darker and darker grew the +midnight; heavier and heavier sleep sank upon those different hearts; +until they all beat with the measured cadence of oblivion--until, +albeit delayed by devious paths and difficult gates, they all reached +the poppied meadow of deep sleep. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + "Lo! where is the beginning, where the end, + Of living, loving, longing?" + + "But were there ever any + Writhed not at passed joy? + To know the change and feel it, + When there is none to heal it, + Nor numbed sense to steal it, + Was never said in rhyme." + + +It was late summer. The whirring of reaping-machines sounded upon +every side; the roads were strewn with grain from the harvest wagons; +the air was murmurous with insects; the ground, parched and thirsty; +the grass, sere and harsh; the leaves, laden with dust; the birds sang +only in the hours of earliest dawn or in the twilight. At noontide, +the horses' flanks dripped sweat, and the men's faces and necks were +blistered with the heat. The cows stood knee deep in the ponds, and +flicked at the flies with their long tails. The ponds were low, and +their wide margins of mud were alive with tiny frogs, that hopped about +in thousands. Upon the surface of the water was a glaze of curious +animalculæ, as red as blood. Clumps of bullrushes and tasselled tufts +of reeds grew in the water, and dragon-flies flitted through the green +stems, like darting flashes of blue light. The Jamestown children +called them darning-needles; and being assured of their propensity for +sewing one's ears up, viewed them with serious apprehension. Often the +birds, their breasts panting with heat, came to the ponds, and, +fluttering to the margin, splashed the water over their little backs. +They were timid, though, and liked better to find a spot where the deep +imprint of a hoof was filled with water than to bathe in the ponds. + +The little streams by the roadside had long since disappeared, and the +famous stream on the Wilson farm, that welled up from the "living +rock," stole along so sluggishly that it scarce stirred the +watercresses that grew along its course. + +It was the culmination of the year's endeavors: a hard season on man +and beast; from day-dawn to dark was heard the shouting of men, the +trampling of horses, the noise of machines--a feverish season, the +fruition of a twelvemonth's expectancy. + +"A good harvest, and fine harvest weather," said one and all. + +It was natural that these weeks of incessant labor should tell upon the +men--indeed many of them looked utterly worn out, with red rims +encircling their eyes, and faces from which each drop of moisture +seemed to have oozed; but Homer Wilson, during the excessive heats of +that summer, looked worse than any of his neighbors. His blue jeans +hung loose upon him; and when he threw aside his smock, his shoulders +seemed sharp and thin under his shirt. The outline of his strong jaw +was clearly defined, and by reason of the lack of superfluous flesh the +contour of his head was strikingly apparent, and suggested almost +unpleasantly the dominant force of his character. His eyes were +sunken; and although at the end of a long day's work his face might +grow ashen, his muscles twitch nervously, and his strong fingers +tremble, yet the fire in his eyes remained undimmed. + +He could not sleep. At night he used to go to the lake--very solitary +then, when the fishing season was past--and plunging into the water +swim far out in the moonlight. Sometimes he beat his arms upon the +water at each stroke, striving to communicate his own excitement to the +water, that shone up with such maddening placidity to the stars. +Sometimes he would swim out until the shore behind him was but a +dimness, seeming as unsubstantial as the clouds; then, turning on his +back, he would float there, silent, his eyes searching the sky. The +harvest moon-- + + "The loveliest moon that ever silver'd o'er + A shell for Neptune's goblet; she did soar + So passionately bright," + +floated above him. Silence was upon the face of the water, and he, in +the embrace of the wave and the night, was alone indeed. + +"The lidless train of planets" passed him by; the moon drew a mantle of +mist about her and sailed away. A premonitory shiver crept along his +limbs; he reached the shore, chilled to the bone; but the heat at his +heart still parched him with thirst, for there had awakened within him +a great longing for loving eyes, a great hunger for woman's touches, a +great dread of his own solitariness, a great disgust of himself. He +was realizing slowly, numbly, his own decadence, groping for some rope +by which he might pull himself up out of the abyss into which he had +fallen. + +It is doubtless nobler to dispense with the rope and climb out of the +pit unaided; the rockiest precipice may be hewn into painful steps, but +in shifting sands who can form a stairway? + +"Seems to me, Homer," said Mrs. Wilson one day, as she stood moulding +her bread in the early morning, "seems to me you need something; now +there's yarbs just hanging up and spilin' for the want of drinking; +there ain't anything more buildin' than yarbs is--'The yarbs of the +field,' it says in the Bible, which means all yarbs, and I have them +mostly there." Here she glanced at the long row of paper bags which, +tied round the stems of the dried plants, hung along one side of the +kitchen. "Maybe it's ague workin' on you, or m'laria you're sickening +for; I'll make up some boneset agin noon and----" + +"Don't make any brews for me, mother," said Homer. "I don't need any; +it's the heat." He was putting oatmeal into the water-pails for the +men to take to the field. + +"There," said his mother, "I knowed it! I'd no hope as you'd be led by +me in this any more'n anything else. Well, it's to be expected, I +suppose. I know who the nursin' and settin' up will fall on, but I kin +stand it; I've had to bear with a good deal in my time, and the Lord +'ll give me strength for this, too--but it does seem hard." She +sniffed, and, wiping away an imaginary tear with her floury apron, left +a smudge of white upon her rubicund countenance. + +"It is hard," said Homer, very quietly, and went out, pails in hand, to +where the horses stood ready harnessed for the day. The hired men were +sticking branches of walnut leaves on their bridles and in the +backhands, and bathing their flanks and breasts with smartweed oil, to +keep off the flies. + +Homer gave the men their pail of oatmeal and water, and went to his own +team. As he passed his horses, he put out his hand to take the nearest +one by the bridle. It started and swerved nervously from his extended +hand. His face lowered for an instant; the next moment it flushed as +though his swarthy cheek felt the impatient blow he had given the horse +the day before. He took the lid off his pail and let the horses drink +the contents, giving them the pail alternately; each pushed its nose +down through the cool water to get at the meal at the bottom, making a +great sucking as it did so, and resisting stubbornly the efforts of the +other to usurp the pail. They made short work of the draught, but were +loath to give up the pail, and stretched their noses after Homer as he +hung it upon a fence-stake. He took their bridles and proceeded to the +field, their harness-chains clinking, the leaves on their heads and +backs rustling, their noses quivering as they licked at the grains of +oatmeal sticking to their bits. + +Homer was reaping the west field. A forty-acre expanse of growing +grain it had been a few days before, but now it was all down save a +little square in the hollow, at one corner of which stood the +self-binder, an ungainly affair, with its windmill-like arrangement for +pushing the sheaves along. + +The shocks of grain stood round and round this square of standing +wheat, as if they fain would protect it from the fate that had laid +them low; but Homer and his horses threaded their ranks, and soon the +lumbering machine was in motion, leaving a track of prostrate sheaves +that presently the men would take in pairs, and, putting eight +together, leave them for the sun to dry. + +Through all that long forenoon Homer thought of his mother. It was not +"yarb tea" he needed, but + + "To take in draughts of life from the gold fount + Of kind and passionate looks." + + +The heat grew intense. The horses were panting, the sweat lathering +from beneath the harness-straps; a stifling dust was rising from the +wheels and covering Homer's face with a grayish veil; the grasshoppers +fled in thousands before the machine; the grain gleamed dizzily golden +in the sun. It was just the color of her hair--perhaps the +feverishness of the heat made the thought unpleasant. That hair had +been bright enough to drive him almost mad, but it was not brightness +he wanted now, nor gayety, nor laughter; he wanted the benison of calm +eyes, the shadow of cool hair, the tenderness of tears, the strength of +a tried soul, and out of this chaos of longing was slowly evolved a +figure. + +Beginning with a dark cloud, that hovered for a time before him and +then floated away fragment by fragment till all was gone save enough to +halo round a pale and steadfast face, with dark locks of hair, and the +face at first only outlined by the curving tresses, gradually assumed +features--dark eyes and + + "most tender brows, + Meant for men's lips, to make them glad of God + Who gives them such to kiss"-- + +pale, sorrowful lips, and a chin which told of strength to endure, yet +pleaded most eloquently against a test; and then came patient shoulders +and the bosom of a mother. He gazed at this figure long--or so it +seemed. It eased his eyes, and the heat was really blinding; even this +vision could not blot it out. He closed his eyes. The next moment +frightful sounds confused his ears, he felt a sharp pain in his head, +heard a cry--surely from the lips he had just seen in his waking +dream.... With a great gasp, Homer Wilson came back from his momentary +swoon to find himself lying on the ground, his machine a few yards in +advance, and Myron Holder bending with tears raining down her white +lace. + +"Oh, Homer--Homer," she cried, "are you killed?" + +"What is it, Myron?" he said, and tried to put his hand to where the +pain was--but failing to reach his head, it faltered and fell upon one +of Myron's arms, over which it closed. He realized that her arm was +under his head, and that he was leaning heavily upon her. He tried to +gather himself together, but one of his feet was held fast. He looked +at her inquiringly. At that moment she was the source of +life--knowledge--everything to him. The blood was streaming from a cut +in his temple. She replied to his unspoken question promptly. + +"The reins are tangled round your feet," she said. "Oh, I thought I +couldn't get here in time! I thought they would surely drag you to +death; and you fell so near the wheels, I----" here she gave way to a +paroxysm of tears. She tried to stifle them. The sight set Homer's +manhood for a moment again upon its throne. He untied the neckerchief +he wore, clumsily dried her tears, and then applied it to his own head. +She rose. Just then two men came in sight; they had been on their way +home to dinner. Turning at the gate, they had seen something was +wrong, and hastened back. As they approached, Myron snatched up her +sunbonnet from where it had fallen and tied it on with trembling +fingers. + +"How was it, Homer? What's up?" called the men as they drew near. +Homer's evanescent strength was gone; he was supporting himself on one +elbow, upon which he seemed to be whirling, as on a pivot. He looked +at Myron, and she answered for him: + +"I was looking for Mrs. Deans' turkeys; they've strayed," she said. +"As I came over the knoll, I saw him drop the reins and fall; I ran as +hard as I could and stopped the horses; they were dragging him; he must +have struck on a stone when he fell." She paused; her voice was +trembling. "It's the sun," she said; and, turning, was over the crest +of the knoll, her sunbonnet disappearing among the stacks on the +opposite side, before the men made any comment. + +As she disappeared, Homer's long-tried elbow gave way, and his head +sank upon the stubble. + +The men untied the leather rein from his foot, tied up his head as well +as they could, steadied him as he rose to his feet, and helped him to +mount the gray horse. + +A day's rest set him right. The touch of sunstroke had been +neutralized by the cut, whose bleeding had relieved the pressure on the +brain and in a measure from his heart, for he no longer battled with +intangible desires and maddening uncertainties of purpose; he yearned +with his whole heart for the clasp of Myron's Holder's arms. + +His mother heard the story of his accident and by whom a much more +serious one was averted. She was thoroughly enraged and excited. She +harped upon the one string until Homer's new-found store of patience +reached an end, and he was fain to betake himself out of doors in the +evenings until sleep stilled his mother's tongue. + +It was a week or so after his fall--the wound on his temple had already +healed in the wholesome skin--when, one night as dusk fell, he was +beset with desire to see Myron. The vision he had had in the field +returned to him often now; that strange vision--compound of reality and +dream, part wrought of the needs of his own heart, part woven of the +glimpses his reeling eyes caught of the woman's figure in the distance. +As he had emerged from the chaos of indefinite yearnings to a definite +desire, so he had put aside all women for one woman; to his credit be +it told, he thought of Myron Holder as she was--the disgraced mother of +a fatherless child. He could draw no fine distinction between letter +and spirit, deduce no hair-splitting arguments to bear out his views, +being only a rough countryman, unused to subtle mental processes. But +he decided for himself that it was not muttered rites and outward forms +that made the mother, but all the dolorous agonies of maternity. Which +of them had this woman not endured? What jot or tittle of woman's +horrible heritage had not been hers? And what more holy than a mother? + +"God knows," he said to himself, as he strode along that night to the +village, "a woman needs to be pretty bad before she's not good enough +for the average man!" He had reached the fence round the Holder +cottage--that fence in which the gaps grew greater and greater as old +Mrs. Holder used the pickets for kindling-wood--and was just about to +enter quietly, when Gamaliel Deans drove up. He recognized Homer and +called out: + +"Hi, there! Ho! What are you lookin' for?" + +"A lift out to old Carroll's," said Homer promptly, cursing Gamaliel in +his heart. + +"Well, I'm yer man, then," said Gamaliel. "I'm just goin' for the vet. +The sorrel mare's bad--sunstroke." + +"Too bad," said Homer, springing into the light wagon. "Who was +driving her?" + +"I was--worse luck," said Gamaliel, sulkily. "I seen her stagger, but +I thought she could make it to the end of the swathe; but she dropped +in her tracks, and there she's laid since, with us pouring water on her +head. It don't seem to do her much good, though, and she was beginning +to kick out when I hitched up and started." + +"Well," said Homer, and he had a grim satisfaction in saying it, "if +she was beginning to strike out, you may as well go home, for she'll +die!" + +"I guess she will," said Gamaliel, philosophically; "but things was +gettin' pretty hot round there, and I thought it safe to make tracks. +Marm's in a regular ramp over it!" + +"No wonder," said Homer severely; "she's a fine mare." + +The twinkling lights of Mr. Carroll's window were in view. They neared +them swiftly. Gamaliel half-pulled up and Homer sprang out. + +"So 'long!" said Gamaliel. "This is a matter of life and death, ye +know," he added, chuckling at his own wit. He drove on quickly, +speculating as to whether the mare was dead. She was. + +Homer meanwhile stood a moment irresolute, as the wagon disappeared. +He had spoken upon impulse when, in answer to Gamaliel's inquiry, he +said he was going to Mr. Carroll's. It was the first name that entered +his head, and chosen for that reason. + +Homer had once gone a great deal to old Mr. Carroll's, but never had +resumed the visits since his return to the farm. He shrank morbidly +from observation then, and old Mr. Carroll's eyes were sharp. This +night, however, he decided to go in; he feared no man's eyes now. He +rapped at the door and waited. He could hear the tapping of the old +man's cane, then saw a light beneath the door, as Mr. Carroll called +out in well-rounded tones for so old a man: + +"Who goes there?" + +"Homer Wilson!" shouted Homer. + +"Pass Homer Wilson!" said the old soldier, and pulling back the simple +bolt, let his visitor enter. Through a dusky narrow hall, to a room +with very heavy wooden rafters and whitewashed walls, he led the way. + +Those walls were a great saving of paper to him, Mr. Carroll was wont +to say; and that there was reason in his statement could be readily +seen, for all the farm accounts, the taxes, the mill accounts, the +dates of any events he wished to remember, with any stray memorandum of +a chance reflection or idea he wished to see in words, were pencilled +upon the walls. + +On the last night of the old year, Mr. Carroll had the walls +whitewashed, and began a "clean sheet with four big pages," as he said, +every New-Year's. + +One of his pleasantest reflections was that he had never yet needed to +begin the new year with any debts staring him in the face, "and no one +owing me, either," he would say, as though that too were a triumph; but +certain people said old Mr. Carroll was a fool in this; he was so set +on carrying out his whim that he whitewashed over accounts that were +still due him, because, of course, it was for his own selfish +gratification, and not from any generosity that he forgave certain +needy families the little debts they owed for flour, and hams, and +chicken-feed! + +Mrs. Deans considered this sinful; and, impelled by her usual sense of +self-sacrificing duty, spoke to him upon the subject once, saying, to +clinch her argument, that "he'd have more money for foreign missions, +if he didn't throw his substance away on those miserable, ailing, +complaining paupers over Stedham way." But Carroll had speedily +brought the discussion to a close by demanding, with some heat, what +possible interest he could have in "a batch of naked niggers, +ma'am"--an irreverent way of referring to the interesting heathen, +surely. + +"Sit down, Homer; sit down!" said his host, pushing a chair toward him +with a gesture of genuine hospitality; "sit down, and we'll have a +glass of something." + +He went to a cupboard, whose diamond-shaped glass panes were backed by +faded green silk, produced an old-fashioned heavy glass decanter, two +glasses, some sugar and old silver spoons--talking all the time. His +lameness necessitated several trips to the cupboard, and as he brought +each object and set it down on the table he would pause a moment, feign +a start, and say--"Tut--tut--how forgetful I am!" and jauntily journey +back, until he had all the requisites for a brewing of hot whiskey. So +well he did the little by-play that he almost believed himself that it +was forgetfulness that caused him to make repeated trips for the few +articles and not the necessity for a cane, which left him only one free +hand. + +"A cold drink for a cold day, and a hot drink for a hot day; that's my +idea," said the old man, settling himself into his chair with a +suppressed twinge as he twisted his lame leg. "So now, you put a match +to the fire, and we'll see if it's a good one." + +Homer lit the fire, already laid, and the copper kettle placed upon the +stove soon began to sing. Homer had talked readily enough at first, +but he was growing absent-minded, his thoughts wandering back to that +dilapidated cottage in the village. Presently the glasses of hot +whiskey steamed between them. During the process of concoction Mr. +Carroll related, with many strong expressions and much richness of +detail, the idiocy of Male Deans, by whom he had sent to town for lump +sugar. Lump sugar was an unknown commodity to Male, and he insisted +there was no such thing, and declared Mr. Carroll couldn't "get the +laugh on him that way." At last Mr. Carroll resorted to strategy. He +wrote out a list of things he wanted from the grocery store, and +smuggling loaf sugar in at the bottom of the list, gave it to Male and +told him the grocery man would have all ready for him as he passed from +the mill. So he got the lump sugar. Homer was a little hazy himself +as to the existence of, or necessity for, lump sugar, but evidently it +was of vital import to Mr. Carroll. + +"Yes," the old man said, splashing another lump into his second glass +of hot whiskey, "the ass! I've no doubt he'd put filthy loose sugar in +this--floor-sweepings." Then came silence. Homer felt he must say +something; he cast about for a subject; an accident of the day +suggested itself. + +"We killed a copperhead snake in the rye, to-day," he said; "the first +I've seen in years. I was cutting a road round the field for the +machine with the cradle, and it darted at me. I killed it with a +fence-rail. It was an ugly beggar, and a good three-foot long." + +"A snake!" said old Carroll. "A snake! There's many kinds of snakes. +Copperheads are dangerous, and rattlesnakes are, but there's worse +snakes than either. You killed it with a stick? Did I ever tell you +about the man I knew who killed so many snakes?" + +"No," said Homer, looking at him, for his tone was strange. "No. Who +was he?" + +"He was a man," said Mr. Carroll, looking fixedly at his guest, "he was +a man that overcame many snakes of many different kinds, and how he +fared at last I'll tell you." + +He rose, snuffed the two candles, snipping off their wicks adroitly +with a pair of old brass snuffers, and sat down, again fixing his gaze +upon Homer's face. The tinderwood fire in the stove had died away to a +mere glow of crisping embers; the kettle sang in dying cadence; its +steam and the steam from the glasses floated athwart Homer's vision of +Mr. Carroll's body, seeming to give greater keenness to the alert face, +and the eyes which, always bright, seemed to glint to-night with +absolute brilliancy. + +"It was some time ago," said Mr. Carroll, "that this man I speak of +used to kill the snakes. He had a peculiar dislike to all snakes, for +a friend of his had had the life squeezed out of him in the folds of a +serpent, and another friend had been bitten by one, so that he too +died, having first gone mad; and another had the very breath of life +sucked from him by a sly snake, so that he died--died himself, body and +soul, and never knew it: only his friends saw the corpse of his old +self, and knew their friend to be gone from their midst and only his +semblance left, and they rejoiced much when at last this semblance died +also, and they could bury it decently, like other corpses. + +"There was no wonder my friend hated snakes. + +"He waged war upon them; and it was his method when he found one, to +take it by the tail and, with a sudden jerk, snap its head off. He +killed a great many in this way; and it was always his habit to search +for the head. He longed to look into the eyes, and learn wherein the +power lay by which they deceived and deluded men until they stung them; +but he never could find the head. Between disappointment at this, and +despair because the more snakes he destroyed the more there seemed to +be, my friend grew very sad. He had a horrible pain at his heart too, +that no drug could ease. Time went on and the pain grew no better--it +even shot through his head sometimes; but my friend persevered, and no +snake escaped him. + +"Well, one day he was walking in his garden, under his own trees, +within his own walls, where it would be thought no snake could come, +when a snake, more brilliant in color than any he had ever seen, +crossed his path. For the first time, he understood a little of the +feeling that makes a man spare a snake because it is beautiful; but he +put the thought from him, and, catching it by the tail, jerked off its +head and flung aside the body. Then he began to search for the head, +feeling if he could but look into the jewel eyes of that snake that all +the mystery of men's delusions would be revealed to him; and, knowing +the secret of their delusions, surely he could dispel them. + +"He bent to his search, but felt such a great pain in his heart that he +stood up, casting his eyes down upon himself, for the pain was so great +it seemed his heart would burst the bonds of his ribs; and as he +looked, he saw the swelled eyes and forked tongue of the snake's head, +for it had fastened on his breast above his heart. He looked again; it +was gone. With wild haste, he tore off his coat. + +"It was not there. His waistcoat--no sign of it. He dragged his +clothing from him till he stood like Adam in the garden, and then he +knew that that snake's head and all the others were in his own heart. +Standing naked in his garden, he felt the snakes in his heart, and knew +that his labor for mankind was vain--knew that not till he could rend +and read his own living heart would he understand and dispel the +delusions of men. The disappointment made him mad. It was the +disappointment, nothing else--not the pain of the snakes, for many men +have snakes in their breasts, she snakes, that amuse themselves by +seeing how tight they can tie their hair about the heart." + +The old man drained his glass. Homer was glad there was a little left +in his tumbler--he swallowed it hastily. + +"Rattlesnake oil is a grand thing for weak eyes," Mr. Carroll said, +composedly; "and for horses' eyes it hasn't any equal." + +"That's true," said Homer, "but it's pretty expensive--five dollars an +ounce." + +"Yes," returned his host, "old Dargo used to try out the oil and then +eat the cracklings; but the best oil for medicine is got after letting +the snake hang a while." + +"So they say," said Homer; "but I never could bring myself to have +anything more to do with a snake than to smash it with the first thing +I could catch hold of." + +They talked on a little longer, then Homer rose. "I must be getting +along," he said; "I've quite a walk before me." + +"Well, come back soon," said Mr. Carroll, lighting him to the door with +a wavering candle. Homer had his hand on the latch, when the old man +said suddenly: + +"Hold the candle a minute." He felt in his pocket, and drew forth a +small black case, opened it, and thrust it before Homer's eyes. "Look +at it," he said, "look at it well, and then you'll know a snake the +next time you see one--one of the dangerous kind, not a simple +copperhead, or a gentle rattler." In the midst of the glow of a golden +background, dimmed here and there by a pearl, was a painted face--fair +enough to woo a king, false enough to sell a kingdom. Homer looked, +and somehow understood all its beauty and treachery. + +[Illustration: "LOOK AT IT," HE SAID, "LOOK AT IT WELL!"] + +Mr. Carroll shut the case with a snap, took the candle, and Homer let +himself out. + +"Good-night, Homer," called the old man. "Come back soon." + +"Good-night. I will," said Homer, and the door closed between them. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + "Pleasure is oft a visitant, but pain + Clings cruelly to us--" + + "Whoso encamps + To take a fancied city of delight-- + Oh, what a wretch is he!" + + +Church was in. That meant that all the respected and self-respecting +people of Jamestown had come forth, morally and physically clothed in +their best, and bestowed themselves as comfortably as circumstances +permitted in the wooden pews of Jamestown's only church. + +From the preacher's desk, the congregation looked like a human theme +with variations, the original motif being a stolid, expressionless mask +of flesh, unanimated, immobile, with rudely carven features, and no +decided tints. Upon this primitive scale nature had rung every change +her shackled hands could compass; but between the highest note, struck +perhaps in Ossie Annie Abbie Maria White, whose face was inoffensive, +and the lowest personified by old Ann Lemon, whose countenance was a +mere mass of flesh, there was but a short thought. The men were +sandy-haired, meagre, undersized; or heavy, florid, dark, with +lack-lustre eyes and coarse lips. + +It was a delightful autumnal day--a day more provocative of tears than +laughter, more suggestive of retrospect than anticipation; a day to +dream old dreams, feel old heartaches, read old books, tell old tales, +hear bygone singing, recall lost voices; a pure, sweet day--the air +rarefied by the first touch of frost; a day, in short, to remind one of +the sweet, the sad, the strange in life; but withal, a day to perfect +the tint on the apples, mellow the juices of the late grapes, and +promising a "fine spell of good weather for the fall ploughing," as +each male member of the congregation had said to each other male member +that morning. + +Mother Earth got but little rest at the hands of these eager seekers. +Hardly had her bosom been shorn of its crop of a yellow grain before +the keen ploughshares were again plunged into the soil and it was +lacerated afresh, and the man looked best content that morning behind +whose plough there lay the greatest number of brown furrows, for the +fall ploughing was of great furtherance when the rush of the spring +came on; so the horses, loosed from the lumbering reaping machine, were +yoked to the plough, that most graceful of all farmer's implements, and +strained at their collars as it turned the furrow, sending its earthy +fragrance to mingle with the fruity savor from the vineyards. + +Light mists, prophetic of the later haze, floated in shreds and wisps +across the fields, and gathered and lingered about the trunks of the +trees in the woodland. + +The birds were silent, and daily V-shaped flights of ducks and wild +geese passed over the village, winging their way to the south. + +Service went on in the church, to the staid and sedate measure of +well-understood and long-established usage. + +Ann Lemon was nodding off the intoxication of the night before in a pew +well to the front. Ann felt she needed to assert her religious +feelings lest there be some doubt of their existence. + +Behind her sat Mr. and Mrs. White, young Ann, and Bing--the first three +mentioned of the family looking as gloomy and downcast as their +self-complacency permitted. Bing blinked wickedly in his corner, +making sly swoops at the sluggish flies, and tearing them in bits when +he captured any. + +Across the aisle Clem Humphries flourished. Clem was one of those +world-worn wrecks that are cast away and left stranded in nearly every +small village the world over. How they drift there no one knows; +whence they come no one cares; why they stay they could not tell +themselves. Fate rattles us all in her dice-box, and we lie where we +fall. + +Clem was by turns a fisherman, Mr. Muir's assistant, a knife-grinder, a +peddler; he had superior skill in making axe-handles, and out of wire +he could twist and twine the cunningest of traps. He was acute and +wise in his day and generation--at heart a scoffing old vagabond; yet +he professed to be most religious, and evidenced it in the same way as +the people about him did, by going to church with painful regularity, +where he sat, a sore rock of offence to Mrs. Deans, for Clem was fain +to relieve the tedium of the service and aggravate Mrs. Deans (whom he +hated) by a succession of tricks that irritated her almost beyond +endurance. + +Mrs. Deans sat immediately behind Clem, and pursed her already +pursed-up mouth, sniffed her already pinched-in nose, and glared at him +fiercely from her chronically inflamed eye, but all to no effect. He +was full of offence, and Mrs. Deans had several times accused him in +after-meeting of "conduct misbecoming in a Christian," but Clem had +answered to the charge so volubly, so diplomatically, so humbly that +the rest of the church members, and particularly Mr. Prew, the minister +(to whom Clem always ostentatiously removed his hat), decided that Mrs. +Deans had "a pick" at Clem, and regretted a little that such a pious +woman should stain her noble record by such complaints as she made +against this humble follower. + +He had an evil habit of setting his stout stick upright beside him in +the pew, balancing it with a skill all the boys of Jamestown emulated +in vain, and then placing his hat upon it, so that in full sight of the +congregation, it stood perilously balanced, but never falling, during +the entire time of service. + +A strange minister had once been sadly disconcerted by the sight of the +immovable hat in that pew. He could see nothing of what supported it, +and could hardly restrain his wrath at the irreverence of the dwarfish +individual who sat covered in the Lord's house. Animated by the +thought, he seized the sword of the Spirit and began to fight against +this evil one. He dilated upon the perils of irreverence until the +majority of his listeners dared hardly breathe. He thundered forth the +denunciation of the wicked and stubborn of heart until all the women +wept, led by Ann Lemon, who, by reason of excessive piety and much gin, +had no nerves left at all, and who showed her emotion by a series of +subdued howls. He exhausted vituperation and himself, and sat down--a +beaten man, for the hat was unmoved, whilst Clem beside it was rolling +up his eyes and trying to induce a tear--an effort beyond even his art. + +When the preacher discovered the true state of affairs, which he did +when he saw Clem pick up the cane and its burden, carry it to the door, +give it a jerk, bending his head at the same time, and so receive the +hat at his own peculiar angle, he felt as if all good was but a dream +and a delusion. + +Clem every Sunday produced a large and not over-clean handkerchief tied +in many intricate knots. These he untied painfully and laboriously +with teeth and fingers, until he reached the last, which, when untied, +disclosed a copper cent, which was his weekly contribution. This +performance he made an absolute torment to Mrs. Deans, but with the +cent he made her life a burden. He dropped it, and scrambled around on +his hands and knees for it. He polished it on his trousers until it +seemed as if he might wear the fabric through. Worst of all, he put it +on the back of the seat before him, where Mrs. Wilson's plump back must +inevitably knock it off. Mrs. Wilson, despite her many trials and the +multitude of diseases she believed were concealed about her person, was +very stout, and therefore subject to all the fatigues incident to +bearing such a burden of flesh. In spite of this, however, Mrs. Wilson +was animated by an eager desire to do her duty as became a "mother in +Israel," and by her deportment convey the impressive lesson of example +to the less holy members of the flock. With this end in view, she +strove to attain an upright and rigid position of an uncomfortable +piety; but the flesh is weak. Presumably the weakness increases in +ratio to the flesh, for before the first prayer was over Mrs. Wilson +was beginning to settle. When the preacher announced his text, she +usually took a fresh grip of her failing resolution, and assumed a +ramrod-like pose, but it was of short duration. She gradually +collapsed, her shoulders drooped, the back of the pew dented further +and further into the broad black expanse that leaned against it. + +Clem's penny crept nearer and nearer the edge as the encroaching back +advanced. Presently Mrs. Wilson, worn out in her efforts to listen to +the sermon and fight against her own lassitude at one and the same +time, gave way, and, with a sigh, leaned back restfully. The penny +flew off, and Clem, whilst apparently gazing at the preacher so +attentively as to be oblivious of all else, reached forward and caught +it adroitly, to place it again in jeopardy, and then again to lose +sight of its peril. This performance, being repeated a half-dozen +times during one service, enraged Mrs. Deans beyond expression. One +unlucky day, she prodded Clem in the back with a rigid forefinger, and +upon his turning round, which he did with an exaggerated start that +vibrated through the whole congregation, she made a sharp gesture of +withdrawal, and gazing at the offending penny, just then trembling on +the edge, left the rest to Clem's understanding--a perilous thing to +do, for Clem chose to interpret the signal in quite a different way +than she intended. + +Down Mrs. Wilson's black merino back there strayed a long light brown +hair. To Mrs. Deans' consternation, Clem reached gingerly forward, +took the hair, and, with the suddenness Mrs. Deans' gesture had +indicated, withdrew his hand. Now the hair had merely strayed, and was +not lost from Mrs. Wilson's knot, hence the sharp jerk brought a +smothered exclamation and a sudden start from her--a start which sent +the detestable copper spinning. Clem caught the coin dexterously with +one hand, whilst he turned to offer Mrs. Deans the hair with the other. +That worthy woman looked positively apoplectic, and, giving Clem just +one look, turned her attention markedly to the preacher. Clem turned, +with a fine expression of bewildered disappointment upon his face, +replaced the hair on Mrs. Wilson's shoulder and the coin on the ledge, +and lost himself in pious meditation. + +This occurred some time before this autumn Sunday, but Mrs. Deans had +suffered in silence since then. She was prone to leave church with her +temper thoroughly on edge. Clem was surpassing himself that day: he +wore a long-tailed coat of the fashion of many years before, and, when +he arrived, which he did just as the first psalm was announced, he +deliberately stood up, and, pulling round first one coat-tail and then +the other, emptied them of a multitude of small articles--tobacco, +pipes, balls of twine, lead sinkers, little twists of wire, a big +jack-knife, stray nails, and a varied assortment of bits of iron and +buttons. Having put these all on the seat beside him, he deposited +himself with the air of a man who puts aside worldly things to listen +to better. Hardly was he seated before he imagined the flies were +troubling him. He made several spasmodic slaps at his bald head, and +then drawing forth his handkerchief, folded it carefully in four and +laid it on the top of his head. Thus adorned, he rose to sing, knelt +to pray, and finally listened with reverential attention to the sermon. + + "Few are thy days, and full of woe, + O man, of woman born; + Thy doom is written, 'Dust thou art + And shalt to dust return.'" + + +So they sang; and the wailing air, upborne by the harsh, untrained +voices, reverberated from the bare walls of the church, its jangling +cadence pierced by one pure and bell-like voice, for Bing White, with +the heart of a vulture, had the voice of a lark. + +One passing outside smiled--half amusedly, half sadly--as he heard the +singing, and went on his way with the music following him in ever +fainter notes, forcing itself upon him. + +* * * * * * + +On Sunday Myron Holder had her only relaxation. Her grandmother, +preserving the prejudices of the little Kentish village from which she +had come, detested all other religions save the Episcopal. Her folks +had all been strong for Church and State, and she scorned the idea of +going to the Methodist church, or, as she contemptuously said, "to +chapel." Her vocabulary knew no more derisive epithet than "a +Methody." This in itself was enough to isolate the Holders in the +midst of a community that regarded Episcopalians as being "next door to +out-and-out Catholics," and Catholics as surely doomed. As Mrs. Holder +did not go to church herself, neither did she allow Myron to go after +the work for the day was done, so she was free to lavish her heart on +her child. It was her custom, whilst church was in and the streets +empty, to take the boy and go out into the fields or lanes with him, +severing herself from the house that had held such agony for her and +from the woman whose stinging tongue kept her wound raw. Once with her +boy--alone in the air and sunshine--she gave herself up to +introspective soul-searchings. Upon one side she set herself, and upon +the other all things good; in the great gulf between there hovered the +shade of the man to whom she owed her misery. In the abandonment of +her self-abasement, she did not place herself even upon his level, +whilst as for little My--he shone amongst the holiest of those things +to which it seemed to her she was herself in such direct opposition and +contradiction. The great marvel of her life was this child, who owed +its existence to her. She looked at it with eyes of adoration--touched +it almost humbly, as the Madonna we are told of may have tended the +Christ-child on her breast. The child seemed to embody all the dead +delight of her own girlhood, to have absorbed all the peace, all the +calm, all the gayety she had lost. There seemed no varying moods to +cross its baby mind; it was the embodiment of trusting love. + +Myron, in the face of this miracle, this perfect blossom which sunned +itself in her eyes only and expanded beneath her tenderness, was +bewildered and amazed. She began to ponder over the matter, and +presently to wonder if there was any phase of the entire situation that +made her less blameless--to ask herself in what way she could possibly +obliterate shame from her record for his sake. + + "Are your garments spotless? + Are they white as snow? + Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?" + + +The words came to her as a personal and crushing query as the +congregation energetically sang them. Little My clapped his hands and +laughed delightedly; the music pleased him. So Myron stood outside +until the voices died away, and the murmur of prayer succeeded; then +taking My up in her arms, that they might make greater speed, she went +rapidly out of the village. She turned to her left, and, going a short +distance along the road, lifted My over the fence into Mr. Warner's +grass meadow. Through the centre of this field ran a deep ditch, to +carry off the surface drainage in spring. Its course was marked by a +thick growth of low-growing shrubs, among which grew short stubby oaks, +whilst here and there great graceful elms sprang up in lofty columns, +crowned with drooping branches; parasitic vines, sucking the life-juice +of the tree they adorned, crept up these elms; their delicate leaves, +already scarlet, showed vividly against the gray bark of the trees, and +looked like thin streams of blood trickling down. Particularly was +this the case where, upon one of the elms, the creeping-vine had +reached the point where a branch had been broken off by the wind. The +semblance was thus complete: there was the wound--there the blood, and +above, the sighing leaves deplored the pain. At the foot of this tree +was a huge and brightly green mound, which, as Myron approached, seemed +almost artificial, so close were the leaves set, so impenetrably were +the tendrils woven together; for this mound was formed of two oak trees +over which, completely hiding them, grew a huge wild grape vine, +forming a perfect canopy of dense green, and, more honest than the vine +that sapped the elm tree, the grapevine, by its luxuriant growth and +the vigor of its stem and branches, seemed to proclaim its settled +purpose to smother the trees that supported it if possible. + +To this Myron bent her footsteps. Pressing into the shrubs some +distance below, she won her way through them until she came to the foot +of the elm tree, and entered the green tent formed by the grapevine. +Between the trunks of the two scrubby oaks was a space of heavy green +grass, which, springing up before the vine leaves had shut off the sun, +kept green and fresh in their shadow through all the heats of summer. +Here she and her child sat down; they were completely shielded from +observation--the grape garlands at their backs, before them the masses +of shrubs on the other side of the ditch. + +Myron took a biscuit from her pocket and gave it to the boy, and then, +clasping her hands about her knees, lost herself in dreams. She had +cast aside her sun-bonnet, and the light, with difficulty piercing the +shade, shone upon her in pearly lights and gleams--a colder radiance +than shone elsewhere. + +The soft characterless face of the young girl had been frozen into the +enforced calm of passionless despair. Her face gave a strange +impression, as of features that would remain unchanged no matter how +long time endured for their possessor; as if the voice of pain and +shame had bade her life stand still, nor evidence its aging in her +countenance. No network of wrinkles, no deep marks of care, could have +been half so sad as these youthful outlines veiled by such grief. Her +eyes were heavy; her mouth would have been bitter, but that the +patience of the face belied all bitterness save that of self-contempt. +Underneath this mask of arrested life, vivifying it with tragic meaning +and rendering it inexpressibly sad, burned an intense suppressed +expectancy, as of one who doth + + "Espy + A hope beyond the shadow of a dream." + + +This lent her face the artistic value of motive, and transformed what +might, without it, have been but a sad-faced woman, such as the world +holds in countless thousands, into a creature of tragic force. + +Myron pondered in the shadow, whilst her child played at her side. It +was very still. The child's soft breathing as he plucked at the soft +grass was the only sound that broke the listening silence; opposite her +was a little maple tree; a single leaf near the top was whirling round +and round, caught in some miniature tempest that left unmoved the +leaves on either side. In the midst of universal calm, this lonely +leaf was tossed and troubled, singled out for unrest, as Myron Holder +had been set apart for pain. But Myron's thoughts were not upon the +leaf, albeit she saw it fluttering. She was struggling against a +futile wrath, which welled up in her heart and at times nearly mastered +reason--a hot rage against herself--_him_--the village. Her cheeks +flushed--her hands involuntarily closed. + +Why had this lot been meted out to her? In what was she different from +these other women whose fault had been no less than hers? Why was +continual bitterness her portion whilst they dwelt at ease? Simply +because, though tardily, their children had been given a name. She +felt a bitter wish spring up within her breast that all those jibing at +her were such as she; that all those cruel women might feel the touch +of shame; that they might be brought low, and taste the bitter bread +that was her portion, and drink the cup they held to her lips. And +then she sank into an evil dream. In it she beheld herself sitting in +the judgment seat of respectability and meting out judgment to those +who so lately had been her judges; for, in her dream, he had returned +and justified her; she had risen, and all the rest had fallen; and as +they toiled along the thorny path her feet had known, she beheld +herself pass by on the other side. How she would withdraw from them +(her eyes grew cold)! How she would avert her head (her lips were +scornful)! How she would look them up and down with contemptuous +condemnation, and turn and whisper her verdict into willing ears. That +would bring the blood to their cheeks. That would--she paused, +arresting her thoughts with a sudden knowledge of their shame; the cold +eyes filled with tears, the scornful lips drooped and trembled; she +realized the horrible wickedness of her own thoughts--thoughts--no +hope, she owned to herself, and crying aloud, "I am wicked, shameless!" +she flung herself upon her face in the grass and wept out the +bitterness of her soul. The child crept to her side and strove to turn +her face toward him; she kept it hidden, but stretched forth her arm +and clasped his little form. + +My, frightened at the silence with which his overtures were met and at +his mother's unusual attitude, and shaken by her sobs, began to cry. +Myron roused herself, and taking him in her arms, held him to her +breast, rocking back and forth in the abandonment of her grief. The +motion soothed and reassured the already drowsy child, and in a few +moments he slept, whilst his mother, stilling her sobs that she might +not disturb his slumber, bent above him a face wrung by pain. + +She mused over her late vision of retaliation. With what cruelty had +she hit upon the mode of showing her revenge! Alas, the lesson had +been well taught her, for she had known the averted gaze, the scornful +lip, the contemptuous regard. She had simply chosen those means from +which she herself had suffered moat keenly. There came back to her the +memory of an early morning, when, standing in the doorway, she had +looked out into the dawn and had seen + + "The horizontal sun + Heave his bright shoulders o'er the edge of the world," + +and had vowed herself to the service of others, and to the atonement of +her sin, and hoped for an early death. + +Here, under the cold rays, of the autumnal sun, and abased before the +memory of her late musings, she renewed those vows and scourged her +soul with stripes of self-reproach. + +When My woke, they went forth from their refuge, across the fields, up +the street to the village; the streets were empty. A shambling figure +in the distance, bespeaking Clem Humphries by the length of the +coat-tails and the thinness of the legs, was making toward the lake. +It was indeed Clem, going to indulge in a little surreptitious sport as +an antidote to the sermon. Clem looked upon his churchgoing as one of +his many professions, like the making of wire snares and the digging of +graves. "Only," he said to himself as he reflected upon the matter, +"give me a grave to dig for choice." + +Homer Wilson passed the church that day just as they were singing that +lugubrious paraphrase. He smiled a little to himself, and went on, +saying, "Very cheerful that--very; but they haven't anymore idea of +returning to dust than I have, at least not for a while." But it +seemed he could not get beyond the echo of the singing. The voices +followed him far through the rarefied air; there came to him little +snatches of the gloomy words, persistently forcing themselves upon him. +He quickened his pace, and was soon beyond the farthest-reaching note, +and yet it seemed to vibrate in his ears. Once clear of the village, +he struck across country. + +The sorrel showed red, the ragweed white, between the short stalks of +the yellow stubble; here and there in the lanes and by the gateways +were spots of bright green verdure, looking unhealthily brilliant among +these dull browns and yellows. + +This was where the over-ripe grain, falling to earth, had sprung up to +wither at the touch of the first frost. Homer frowned a little at +this. It bespoke careless management, and the instinct of the farmer +was strong in him; but his brow speedily cleared, for his thoughts were +of far other things. His walk was very silent; the earth had indeed +"grown mute of song," and all these resting fields were dumb; no +crisping cricket, no whirring insect, no singing bird, nothing +disturbed the serenity of the hour. It seemed a hiatus in the +processes of nature--a suspension of all activity, a breathless pause +of ecstasy or pain, like the instant before a first kiss or the moment +before a final farewell. + +Under these conditions thought was easy, and Homer went on and on, his +mind dwelling upon the one all-absorbing theme. + +"Myron--Myron," he said once, aloud, but his voice seemed at fret with +the quietude, and he walked on swiftly, to escape its cheerless echo. +Presently he found himself entering the woodland, and knew he was a +full ten miles from Jamestown. A straight course through the woodland +brought him to the margin of the lake, which bayed in here in a sharp +curve. + +Close to the margin lay great prostrate logs, whitened by wind and +weather till they looked like huge bleached bones. Beyond these were +stones and a narrow strip of gravelly beach, broken here and there by +boulders, against which the water lapped softly in a thousand ripples, +wearing away the rock into tiny cells, and honey-combing them with +gentle but resistless touches. Stretching out into the water, a +succession of large stones showed their stubborn heads, leading by +irregular steps out to where the last one, large enough to be a tiny +rocky islet, showed two feet high above the encircling water. + +Homer made his way across these perilous stepping-stones, until he +reached the largest; sitting down, he sank into a reverie so profound +that he scarcely seemed to breathe. His face grew pale as he sat there +minute after minute, the water lap-lapping among the rocks, the trees +silent behind him, the sky mute above. Once he murmured a few words, +paraphrased with no thought of irreverence: "As a lamb before its +shearer is dumb, so she opened not her mouth." His voice faltered in +what might have been a sob, but was resolutely forced back. + +The sun began to fall behind the trees before Homer rose. As he did +so, he cast a look at the rock upon which he had been resting; there, +caught in a crevice, lay an old-fashioned bullet. He picked it up and +looked at it lying in his palm. One could scarcely imagine it speeding +through the air upon a hurtful mission. It had wandered on to find a +victim, until, its impetus spent, it had fallen ingloriously to lie +upon this rock, mocked by the sunlight which it had been meant to +darken forever for some living creature. Homer slipped it into his +pocket and began to make his way shoreward, leaping lightly from stone +to stone. As he sprang to land again, he said between his teeth, "I'd +like to hear any she-cat in the crowd open her lips to my wife!" It +will be seen his reverie had developed its subject. + +Homer held his way home happily, his eyes alight, his face aglow with +his old generous spirit. He was once more the Homer of the past. +Realizing this, he recognized the debt he owed Myron Holder, and paid +homage to that strong soul whose mute endurance of ignominy and +betrayal had shamed his own sleeping soul into life. It is plain to us +that Myron Holder's shame was Homer Wilson's salvation. It is an ugly +thought, but inevitable, that such instances may not be rare. But may +not that virtue we hold "too high and good for human nature's daily +food"--may not even that be bought too dear? What an ugly complexion +it would put upon our intolerant attitude to those fallen ones, if we +dreamed for one moment that our immaculate virtue was preserved by +their vice! It would be hard to ask us to renounce heaven, but if +heaven for one meant hell for another, it were at least well for us not +to blow the fire. + +But Homer Wilson was not thinking of any generalizations; he was simply +concerned with the debt he owed Myron Holder and how to pay it; for, +and be it told with no thought of disparaging Homer Wilson, he felt he +would bestow an inestimable benefit upon Myron Holder by making her his +wife. He believed he would, at one blow, free her from the shackles of +shame. He never thought of the woman-soul that strove to justify +itself by rigid adherence to those vows that had seemed so sacred, +uttered, as they were, by lips that were almost divine to the listening +heart they had betrayed. + +It must be remembered that Homer was nothing but a plain countryman. +It was therefore natural that he should look upon himself somewhat in +the light of a deliverer when he considered himself in relation to +Myron; and yet, inarticulate but existent, there was a hesitancy in his +heart, not born of self-conceit or paltry self-seeking, but rooted in +the knowledge of his own weakness in time of trial. But he put aside +all this; and as he pushed on towards Jamestown mused happily upon the +happiness that was his, for he loved Myron Holder. Poor Homer! + + "Whoso encamps + To take a fancied city of delight, + Oh, what a wretch is he!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + "For thy life shall fall as a leaf, and be shed as the rain; + And the veil of thine head shall be grief, and the crown shall be pain." + + +It was late autumn. The grapes were all out, although their aroma +still filled the air, for stray bunches, super-ripened by the frost, +hung visible now upon the leafless stems where they had been concealed +by the foliage from the cutters. The late apples were all picked, and +in the orchards were great piles of new barrels ready to be filled. + +Bright green fields checkered the face of the sombre countryside with +vivid squares, showing the advance of the fall-sown wheat. The +chestnut-burs had opened in the woods, and the hickory-nuts were strewn +thick beneath the trees. All the boys in Jamestown had brown-stained +fingers, from the shelling of walnuts and butternuts. The Indian corn +was being cut and bound into tent-shaped shocks, so that the fields had +the appearance of a plain, set thick with tiny wigwams. Now and then, +along the roads, a great wagon passed, piled high with apples, +windfalls and culls going to the cider mills. Their drivers went out +to Ezra Harmon's and loitered about in his big barn where the cider +press stood, and watched their apples poured into the wide hopper, +heard them grinding and groaning between the wheels, and saw their +juices drain out through the clean rye straw into the pails beneath. + +People began to talk about the threshing of the grain, to bank up their +cellars, and to speak of the portents of a severe winter. The leaves +were all down. They lay a foot deep along the roads, where the maples +grew in regular avenues, and rustled, wind-blown, between the tree +trunks in the woodland. The squirrels skimmed about in their efforts +to secure their winter hoard. In the woods, great heaps of hickory-nut +hulls and emptied chestnut-burs, showed where, with their sharp teeth +and persistent paws, they had removed the superfluous covering before +storing away the nuts. + +The horses were growing shaggy and the dogs' fur lengthening. In +short, winter was drawing near. + +In Homer Wilson's orchard all was noise, confusion, and work. Homer +himself was packing the apples--putting in a layer of newspapers, then +carefully "laying" by hand several rows of apples, before emptying in +the pailfuls of picked fruit that were brought to him, for the bottom +of a barrel in the orchard is the top of the barrel when it is opened +by the dealers. Next in order to Homer was Sam Warner, who was heading +the barrels, the tap-tapping of his hammer ringing clear in the frosty +air, Homer shouting out directions every now and then in a sepulchral +voice from the depths of the barrel. There was a great gathering in +the orchard of the neighbors, for a fruit dealer had bought up all the +apples in Jamestown to send to England, and they were to be shipped by +the car-load upon a certain date. So, following the suggestion of the +buyer (to whom time meant money), they had agreed to help each other +with the fruit. This was not a usual custom in Jamestown; there was +too much jealousy to admit of such interchange of labor. + +It was Homer Wilson's benefit this day, and both outside in the orchard +and within doors all was happy, hurrying confusion. There was nothing +remarkable about the day or the scene; but exactly a year after this, +Homer Wilson was to act in a somewhat different scene, and after he +played his part in that his neighbors recalled this day "just a year +ago." They said, "Who would have thought it?" + +Bing White was in the Wilson orchard, and Si Warner, and other of their +cronies. No one ever expected Bing to work; his idleness was looked +upon with tolerant indifference, a perilous indication in this +neighborhood, where to be a hard worker and a good church-goer meant +perfection, and to fail in either grace was to be utterly lost. People +began to look at Bing White attentively now and then, and shake their +heads with ominous import, for the son and heir of the Whites was daily +becoming more elfish-looking, more evil-eyed, more mocking of speech, +more stubborn of purpose. After racing here and there over the +orchard, he climbed (not without scratched hands and torn clothes) into +the heart of a juniper tree that grew in the corner, and, hidden there, +began to make what was known among school children in Jamestown as a +"wolf-bite" upon his arm. This he did simply by baring the arm, +putting his lips to the flesh, and sucking at it until the blood showed +in red pin-points at every pore; this was a wolf-bite. There was a +thread of savagery running through these Jamestown children--hardly one +of them but had a mark of this kind upon his arm. But Bing White's +meagre arms looked hideously repulsive--like raw flesh almost--so +completely was the skin disfigured by his vampire-like amusement. The +fading marks were of an ugly unhealthy color, like a livid bruise, the +fresh ones fierily encarnadined and inflamed; for Bing pursued this +pastime to a perilous pitch. + +Another custom indulged in every now and then by the boys and girls in +Jamestown was the making of "fox-bites," which meant simply the rubbing +with a moistened finger of a spot upon the back of the hand until the +skin was worn away and a spot of red flesh left; this was a +fox-bite--no cut, burn, or bruise took so long to heal, and in the +little schoolhouse there were always some of those hungry-looking +sores, attesting the perseverance and fortitude of the sufferers. +Rather grewsome pastimes these seem--sprung perhaps from some Indian +custom, witnessed by some early settler, described by him to his +breathless circle of little ones, by them to be practised in their play +and perpetuated in the mysterious manner that makes a meaningless +mummery survive as a sacred rite. + +Myron Holder's grandmother had been failing during the entire summer. +She sank rapidly as the autumn advanced, her strength ebbing as the +days shortened. Myron went no more to Mrs. Deans', but stayed at home +to wait upon her grandmother. The old woman was a querulous invalid, +with no specific disease, only a gradual decline of her vitality. +Myron waited upon her untiringly, giving her every possible comfort she +could devise out of their scanty means and her scantier knowledge. +Bitter as her grandmother's tongue had been, harsh as had been her +rule, Myron yet shrunk with a sick feeling of defenselessness from the +hour when that tongue would be forever silenced, from the moment when, +that rule ceasing, she would be left rudderless. + +In these days of autumn quietude, little My grew dearer and dearer to +his mother; she caught him to her in the pauses of her work, to kiss +him for a moment. + + "O soft knees clinging, + O tender treadings of soft feet, + Cheeks warm with little kissings-- + O child, child, what have we made each other?" + + +This was the translation of her heart's mute cry above her boy. Myron +Holder, denied the religion of those about her, given no other in its +place, founded for herself a new sect, and created for herself a god, +and the god was this yellow-haired child, and the worship she accorded +him was expressed in every tender tendance of her loving hand. He +chattered away to her ceaselessly when he was awake, and the echo of +his uncertain tones mingling with her grandmother's bitter words robbed +them of their sting. + +Mrs. Holder sank daily. Her tongue was silent now, save for murmurs of +discontent or chiding, for her strength did not permit of much speech; +but her eyes shone balefully as they followed Myron's figure about the +room; and sometimes, when Myron bent over her, their depths were +lighted by malignant mirth, for her thoughts were turned to that little +plot in the graveyard where two tiny pine stakes stood now, marking a +new boundary. + +The day the first snow fell, Mrs. Holder's mind, hitherto fixed solely +upon her sorrows and Myron's shame, began to wander. She too, like her +dead son, began to speak of England, but not so sweetly as he. Old +bits of village scandal, flashes of old spites against this one or +that, the expression of old dislikes, broke from her lips with painful +force, together with reflections upon household affairs and daily +needs, which told that she was in spirit back amid the old manners and +the old people. + +One day Myron watched her fall asleep, and then crept out to the +kitchen to steal a look at the boy, who was also sleeping. She +returned in an instant, but in that time a change had come to her +grandmother's bewildered brain. She was awake again, and her eyes met +Myron's with cruel scorn, as she paused involuntarily upon the +threshold of the bedroom; it was an expression that spoke not only of +dislike, but loathing, fury, hatred. Myron would have approached to +replace the coverlets that were falling from the couch, but her +grandmother grew furious if she advanced a step. + +"Out of my sight, Myron Kind!" she cried. "Out wi' ye! What? Ye'll +follow my son within his own doors, to win him? Out, you! +Go--ou--out----" + +Myron retreated, seeing her grandmother was confusing her with the +memory of her mother. Thrice she tried to enter, and thrice withdrew +before the rage that seemed to shake the sick woman's frail form so +cruelly. Then, feeling she must have aid, Myron hurried to the street, +and going to the nearest house, which happened to be Mrs. Warner's, +knocked at the door. + +"Will you come over?" she said, when Mrs. Warner answered her knock. +"Grandmother's out of her head; she thinks I'm my mother, and won't let +me go near her." + +"Poor old woman!" said Mrs. Warner, catching at a clean white apron. +"Poor old woman! You've made her life a burding to her between you, +I'll be bound." + +In a few moments they were in the cottage again, and Mrs. Warner +installed herself in the sickroom, somewhat disconcerted because Mrs. +Holder persisted in calling her "Bet," but delighted that circumstances +had brought her to the front at such a time, for Mrs. Warner was one of +the matrons of the village who, not yet attained to the elect, like +Mrs. Deans, Mrs. White and Mrs. Wilson, was yet far in advance of the +young wives in experience, and thought herself quite capable of +sustaining any responsibility. + +To be present and assisting at the coming of a life or the passing of a +soul was the highest excitement and most precious pleasure these women +knew; but this was a height to be attained only after many years of +wifehood. And what novitiate of suffering experience--years, +knowledge--might fitly prepare for these mysteries! The taking up and +laying down of the burden, the beginning and the ending of the +spinning--for, from our first moments, our hands are bound to the loom; +we must weave our own webs, but Fate doles out the thread and +Circumstance dyes the fabric, not as we will, but as Destiny designs, +and Death spares no pattern, however lovely, but stops the shuttle when +our reel of thread is spun. + +By what holy purification, by what fastings, by what soul-searchings +may we prepare to enter Nature's holy of holies? Surely, ere entering +the meanest hut of clay and wattles wherein life springs or withers, we +should put the shoes from off our feet. + +But of all this Mrs. Warner recked nothing. It was not the spirit she +was interested in, but the body it was casting off; the gasping lips, +and not the vital breath that already almost eluded them. + +Mrs. Holder sank rapidly. The women began to gather in; Mrs. Warner +maintained her place as chiefest in the synagogue, and put aside, with +judicial firmness, all hands but her own. Most of the women +congregated in the kitchen, where they eyed the scanty furniture and +whispered of Myron's hard-heartedness, for she did not weep. She was +feeling bitterly her impending loneliness and isolation, for deep down +in her heart there yet lived that marvellous tenderness for kith and +kin that takes so much to kill. Of a verity, "blood is thicker than +water." The woman dying so fast in that inner room was her +grandmother, the woman who had borne for her father what she had borne +for My. She clasped My in her arms and hid her face in his curls. +Mrs. Holder's voice came fitfully through the half-closed door to the +women outside. Mrs. Warner came to the door just as Mrs. Deans entered +the kitchen, hurrying in from the outer air, and bringing a new +excitement with her to intensify the suspense. Mrs. Warner beckoned +and whispered: + +"She's speaking of hearing music and singing, now; they mostly don't +last long after that." + +"They," not "we"! Oh, strange race of dying people, that are set apart +from all men by death's approach, that we never identify with +ourselves! Oh, weird world to which they go, which doubtless we shall +never enter! Oh, dreary passage they must tread, upon whose threshold +we shall never stand! Oh, awful pang of severance they must endure, +which we will never have to bear--and yet + + "Fear not then, Spirit, Death's disrobing hand; + 'Tis but the voyage of a darksome hour; + The transient gulf--dream of a startling sleep!" + + +Mrs. Deans and Mrs. Warner entered the room. Mrs. Deans' experienced +eye told her how nearly time was ended for the dying woman. She turned +to the kitchen. + +"You better come in, Myron," she said. + +Myron, with her child in her arms, entered, fearful yet of her +grandmother denying her; but the old woman's eyes held no knowledge of +her presence now. They wandered from one to the other of the throng of +women impartially, and then as they fastened upon the child and +lightened, as eyes might do which behold long-lost ones once dear, she +held out wavering arms to the child. + +"Jed, my own little lad," she said. + +Myron went swiftly forward and laid My by her grandmother's side. He +nestled to her lovingly, and she muttered tender words to him, calling +him "Jed" and caressing him with fluttering fingers. He clasped his +warm arms about hers, in which the blood was already chilling, and +smilingly fell asleep, and a little later sleep came to her also. + +It was the night after her grandmother's death, and Myron Holder, with +a sinking heart, had watched the form of the last visitor pass out of +the gate. The early dusk of winter enveloped the house and promised a +long, dreary night--a night of terror she was to endure alone, for the +Jamestown women had gone each to her own house and left her with her +dead and her child. Her imagination, stored with transmitted +superstitions, peopled each familiar corner with horrors. She saw in +every flickering light a death fire, in every shadow a shroud; each +breath of wind spoke of ghostly visitants, each sound seemed to herald +a light. She lit the lamp in the kitchen, and proceeded to undress My +and put him in his cradle for the night, pausing to listen between each +movement. + +She had been anticipating and fearing this ordeal for days; now that it +had come upon her, she sickened at heart. + +The definite darkness of night set in, and the child slept. She began +to hear soft stirrings succeeded by shuddering silences. Beset by a +thousand fears, she pursued the worst possible plan: she constrained +herself to absolute inaction, and sat--her hands clasped in her lap--an +image of fear. The silence about her gradually gave way to a babel of +weird voices, through which there suddenly sounded the muffled +pat-patting of light footsteps. As she became conscious of this +definite sound, all the imaginary murmurs died, and she found herself +in deep silence, broken only by the muffled repetition of the soft +sound that chilled her heart. This noise, which she recognized as +actually existent, stood out against the background of those imaginary +fears with frightful distinctness. All the time of fear which had +passed seemed now to have been but an interval of listening for what +had come. + +At this moment, the flame of the little lamp which had been for some +time burning palely suddenly flared up--once--twice; grew for an +instant bluish, then went out, leaving her, in the acme of her terror, +in darkness. She closed her eyes and listened to the soft +sounds--coming now at intervals only, but linked each to each by fear +of the last and anticipation of the next, forming a chain that bound +her in the Place of Fear. But at last silence fell again, a silence +most horrible. She felt impelled to open her eyes, and did so, gazing +with wide lids straight into the gloom; there was nothing there. For a +moment her heart was reassured: then came the thought of that open door +behind her; slowly she turned her head. Does any one live who has not, +at one time or other, recognized that it may require, under certain +circumstances, the supremest effort of will to look behind one? + +That effort Myron Holder made, but sustained the gaze but a moment; +for, gleaming from the death chamber, nay, from the very couch of +death, shone two balls of livid light. With a moan of extreme terror, +Myron slid from her chair and, catching at the boy's cradle, fell +helpless to the floor. + +Homer Wilson did not stand long knocking at the cottage door: his heart +misgave him when he saw there was no light. Homer had returned from +town late that night; his mother had told him of Mrs. Holder's death. +She said no word of Myron, and Homer forebore to question. As he +passed his father's and mother's room that night, he heard his mother +close the shutters and say: + +"It's a mighty spooky night. I wouldn't like to be in Myron Holder's +shoes, a-settin' death-watch all alone over a woman I had worried into +her grave." + +Homer's heart stood still. Could it be possible those women had left +Myron alone? Surely not! When it was customary for five or six to go +and stay over night in the house where death was? Surely not! And +yet--"The hags!" said Homer to himself, and went down stairs. + +He was soon on the road, with a lantern. He recalled the death of his +sister, and remembered how the neighbor women had sat whispering +together in the brilliantly lighted kitchen, brewing tea for +themselves, and now and then stealing on tip-toe to look in upon the +silent one. + +Arriving at the gate, the darkness of the cottage gave color to all his +vague fears of ill to Myron. As he crossed the little garden, slinking +cats, drawn by their ghoulish instincts to the house of death, fled +before the light, but pausing as he passed, followed to the threshold, +their breath white in the frosty air, their phosphorescent eyes +gleaming in the dark. + +When he saw Myron, lying prostrate and silent, his first sensation was +one of relief. He had feared that she had fled into the desolate +night; he realized that she had been frightened and had fainted. +Raising her in his arms, he called her name softly. Her senses were +already reasserting themselves. She soon stirred, looking up at him +with eyes of blank terror, which faded slowly into wonderment as she +recognized him. She held her hands up to him, and pressed closer to +the shelter of his breast. He caught both her hands in one of his, and +groped for a chair with the other. In turning, his eyes caught a +vision of the open door of the death chamber. He saw dimly the couch, +with its rigid burden, and saw those dreadful glaring eyes. For a +moment, he caught his breath. Myron, seeing the direction of his gaze, +clung shudderingly to him, and hid her face on his arm. An instant +more, and Homer perceived the outline behind those gleaming spots. + +"It's a brute of a cat," he said; and Myron, understanding all at once +the origin of the sound, broke down in sobs of relief. She caught up +the lantern, whilst he went in and seized the bristling creature, +crouching upon the corpse, and flung it out among its lurking +companions. + +"How is it you are in the dark?" asked Homer. + +"The lamp went out," she answered. "There's some oil in the cupboard." + +He held the lantern, whilst she filled and re-lit the lamp. Then he +explained his presence. + +"How good you are!" said Myron. + +"Good?" he said, his eyes fastening upon her forlorn figure bending +over the cradle, for My was stirring. + +"Good?" Then he burst forth, "What beasts these women are to leave you +alone!" + +"It was dreadful," she said, trembling. "The darkness, the noises, the +loneliness--those eyes, and _her_!" looking towards the inner room. +Then suddenly she caught his sleeve: "Don't leave me till daylight, +will you? Oh, don't! I can't stay alone; I am frightened! I--oh, +don't leave me, will you?" + +"Leave you? Of course not. I wish----," he checked himself abruptly. +It was on his tongue to say, "I wish I might never leave you," but a +sense of her absolute isolation smote him so keenly that the words +stuck in his throat. Had he spoken then, how many things might have +been different, for Myron, in her utter loneliness, was ready to cling +to any outstretched hand. + +"I'm going to make you some tea," he said. + +Going to the bedroom door, he closed it, took his lantern out to the +little "lean-to" woodshed, and split up some bits of lightwood; with +these he roused the dying fire to life. With much precision, he put on +the kettle, and when it boiled asked in a matter-of-fact way for the +tea. + +Myron rose, with My half awake in her arms, and went to the +pantry-shelf to get it. It was chill there; she wrapped her apron +about My's bare toes. He soon went to sleep again, and Myron Holder +and Homer Wilson sat down together to drink the tea. Her eyes rested +upon him, as if well content, and he noted this with delight. The +truth was they dared not yet stray elsewhere, lest the spectres he had +banished might jibber at her from the dusky corners of the room. + +Love is served on strange altars, and the sacrifice of a heart was +again proffered in that lonely cottage, whose atmosphere was chill with +the dreadful influence of death, whose silence was broken by the soft +breathing of a child of shame. Homer looked upon the woman of his +heart and loved her. When the first breaking of the skies ushered in +the dawn, he left. + +The women returned early, for it was considered an honorable thing to +have the ordering of a funeral--to be able to speak _ex cathedra_ of +the mode of procedure. + +Mr. Muir came. The last ghastly toilet for the grave was made. +Nothing remained but to wait for the morrow, when the funeral was to be. + +The women looked at her curiously when they came that morning, and Mrs. +Warner expressed the sentiment of the rest when she said: "That Myron +Holder is bad clean through. Any other woman would have been drove +crazy last night; but look at her! She's a hardened one!" Mrs. Warner +did not consider that this speech cast any reflection upon herself and +her friends who had subjected a woman to an ordeal calculated to drive +her crazy. + +Night sank slowly down; and once more the women, departing, cast +wondering glances at Myron's pale face, steadfast in the knowledge that +she would have some one near her to chase those horrid visions away. + +When Homer arrived, she was sitting beside her sleeping child, sewing +upon an old black skirt of her grandmother's that some of the women, +with an eye to funeral effects, had pinned up to suit her shorter +stature, and bade her sew, that she might be properly clothed on the +morrow. The work was nearly done, and the needle hung loosely between +her listless fingers. Her eyes ached for lack of sleep; every joint +trembled from fatigue; every nerve tingled from overstrain. + +She greeted Homer more by a gesture than by speech, and perceiving her +exhaustion, he insisted upon her resting. She made some demur, but he +overruled it with a word. She rose a little unsteadily, and bent over +My. + +"Where do you want him taken?" asked Homer, and lifted him in his arms. + +She led the way to the little bedroom off the kitchen, opposite to the +one in which in which her grandmother lay. + +Homer laid My down upon the blue and white checked counterpane--spun in +England by Myron's mother. + +"Good-night!" he said. "Good-night, Myron!" + +"Good-night!" she answered in almost a whisper, for she was +inexpressibly weary. Almost before he had reached the next room, she +had sunk down upon her bed. + +It was broad daylight when Myron awoke and rose, chilled and stiff. +Utter weariness had overcome the discomfort of her cramped position; +she had slept as she had first thrown herself down; she shivered, as +one does who has slept in his clothes. The morning air was cold, and +the window-panes glistened with frost. + +Hurrying out to the kitchen, she found Homer had done what he could for +her comfort before leaving. The stove held a glowing mass of hardwood +embers; evidently the fire had been well banked up before he stole away +at dawn. The kettle stood singing on the stove; the table was drawn up +by the fire, and awkwardly set out with dishes for her solitary +breakfast. + +* * * * * * + +The hour of the funeral was at hand. + +Mr. Muir, determined to have nothing to blame himself for in regard to +his bargain, had come dressed in his official broadcloth. His horses +stood outside the gate in all the panoply of sable plumes and black +fly-netting, the latter surely superfluous, but ornamental. These +horses looked as if they had never appeared before a less stately +equipage than a hearse, yet every one had seen them pass that very +morning dragging an unpainted lumber-wagon. They looked as if they had +never known a baser burden than "stained cherry with mahogany finish, +plated handles and bevelled glass," yet an unplaned pine box had +constituted their load that morning; and as they passed, each on-looker +had said, to the other, "There goes old Mrs. Holder's shell." + +"Who's Myron Holder goin' with?" said Gamaliel Deans to his mother, as +they drove along to the village the day of Mrs. Holder's funeral. + +"I don't know," answered his mother. "Mrs. Warner's took a mighty lot +to do with everything, so like's not she'll take her." + +"Seems to me Mrs. Warner's been putting herself forward some," +suggested Gamaliel, diplomatically. + +"Indeed she has," agreed Mrs. Deans; "enough sight more'n she's got any +call for--considerin' all things." + +They passed the little graveyard, silent beneath the light snow. + +"Is there any track?" asked Mrs. Deans, looking across the white +expanse, with her hands shielding her rheumy eyes. + +"Yes," said Gamaliel, "the shell was took out this morning; you can see +it from here." He gazed interestedly across to where the corner of an +unpainted pine box showed as the terminus of an ugly black track which +the wheels of Mr. Muir's wagon had scarred upon the snow. + +They drove on without further speech. The first snow had fallen in the +night. It lay now white and untrodden, over field and lane, over bush +and tree, over house and barn. The air seemed spaced in vistas of +cloudy whiteness, a purity which suffused itself in the atmosphere, and +seemed to fill it with particles of impalpable white dust that the +motionless air held in suspension. The trees glistened in the sun, +whose rays were silver instead of gold. All the world was rimed with +hoar frost--nature presented, in beautiful parable, the story of the +iron hand in the velvet glove; for, despite the whiteness, the +softness, and the silvery sun, it was intensely cold. + +Presently through this white world there wended the gloomy little +funeral, the more gloomy for the lack of any real grief. They reached +the graveyard, where gaped an ugly brown gash, beside which the earth +lay in frozen clods. + +Mr. Frew's brief prayer was ended, and he departed, stamping his feet. +There was the bustle as the coffin was lowered; then, one by one, the +onlookers straggled away; one by one the vehicles departed, until Myron +Holder was left alone by the grave--yet not wholly so, for My shivered +in her arms, and old Clem Humphries was hastily pushing the earth atop +the coffin. And presently Myron became aware that there was another +patient one also, for Homer Wilson came to her side, carrying a buffalo +robe in his arms. He laid it down on the frozen ground, and, taking +her arm, drew her gently towards it. She looked mute thanks to him +from eyes round which the slow tears lingered, rimming them with grief. +He came nearer and held out his arms to My, but the child cowered +closer to his mother, and looked at Homer from the vantage of her +shoulder. + +The little group embodied all the stages in life's progression. There +was the child, cowering in a world already cold to him. There was the +woman, bearing in her countenance the ineffaceable traces of woman's +agony. There was the young man, strong in the choice of will and +heart; the old man, drawing the last coverlet over the last sleep; and, +severed from these by only a short depth of kindred substance, she who +had passed, her bed rapidly rounding to a grave. + +At last, Clem began patting the mound with the back of his spade; his +work was nearly done. Each echoless blow struck upon Myron's heart; +and, thinking of the shame she had wrought the dead woman, she dealt +herself those blows that she had been accustomed to endure from her +grandmother's bitterness. + +Homer broke the silence, which seemed deepened instead of lightened by +the thud-thud of the spade. + +"Come, Myron," he said; "you better go home." + +"Yes," she answered, heavily, "I may as well;" and she turned to the +footpath that led across the graveyard to the road. + +"Not that way," said Homer; "the horses are here." + +"The horses!" she said; "the horses! Is your mother waitin' for me?" + +"No," he answered, a little grimly. "No, she isn't; but I am, and the +horses are." + +He recalled the stormy little scene his mother had made but a little +while ago: her contemptuous words when he asked her to wait; the +scornful and bitter accusation she had flung at him; it had leaped +forth from her lips like an arrow held long at the bowstring. It was +barbed with all the poison of accumulated suspicion, and winged by the +impulse of unreasoning anger, such as springs within mean breasts +against hands that succor them; but it had reacted swiftly upon +herself, for at the words something came into her son's eyes not good +to see--a blending of surprise, indignation, denial, that paled his +face, and made it implacable. Before it Mrs. Wilson faltered in her +tirade, wavered in her steps, and finally turned and, crossing quickly +to where Gamaliel was waiting for his mother, was soon seated with Mrs. +Deans in the back seat. Gamaliel backed his horses slowly out of the +throng, and they drove away. + +The incident had not been unnoticed, but no comment had been made, +although meaning looks, of which Homer now knew the interpretation, +were exchanged. He had seen some such looks pass between his neighbors +of late. A hot, impotent rage filled his heart against the false +position in which he was placed, but it did not alter his determination. + +"Are you waiting for anything, Homer?" Mr. Warner could not refrain +from calling out before starting. + +"Yes. What of it?" said Homer, turning round sharply. His brows were +knit, his lips firm; an interrogation, not defiant, but direct, was +expressed in every line of face and figure. "Yes," he said again, and +unmistakable interrogation this time made the answer a question. + +Mr. Warner shook the reins hastily over his horses. + +"Oh, nothing--nothing," he said, "I was only wondering." + +Homer turned away abruptly. "Better keep his wonderment to himself," +he muttered, with a frown. "They better all keep their amazement to +themselves or----" his hand clinched in a very suggestive fashion. +Then he had gone for the buffalo robe for Myron to stand on, and as he +gazed at her forlorn figure his anger changed to deep and abiding pity, +to stern and righteous wrath. So Homer drove Myron home to the empty +cottage, with Clem Humphries sitting in the bottom of the wagon, with +his feet dangling over the tailboard, a quid of tobacco in his mouth, +peace within his bosom. Clem was, as he expressed it, "a dollar to the +good," and he was meditating unctuously upon the quantity of good +Canadian Rye he could buy with the money, and speculating where he +could beg, borrow, or (be it admitted) steal a jug. He had no mind to +pay for one out of the dollar. + +Mr. Prew, the minister, passed. He regarded Homer and Myron with +incredulous horror, and returned Homer's somewhat brusque greeting in a +very scandalized way. Clem took off his hat with a labored flourish; +Mr. Prew returned his salute with condescending affability, and drove +on to Mrs. Deans', where, presently, over hot soda-biscuits, doughnuts, +and other good things, he praised Clem as "an humble, but very worthy +old man." + +"Humbugging old hypocrite!" ejaculated the "worthy old man," as soon as +his pastor was out of hearing. "Miserable, designing old cuss he is. +I'd like to use him for bait!" Then this humble follower relapsed into +his reverie upon the _modus operandi_ of getting a jug. + +No other words were uttered during the ride. Homer and Myron were both +silent; both knew that Homer had flung down the gauntlet to the +gossips; both realized the import of the step; both pondered upon its +significance from the village point of view. + +Clem jumped off nimbly when they were opposite Mr. Muir's verdant +veranda. + +"You are not angry with me, Myron?" asked Homer. + +"Oh, no," she cried; "you are so good to me." + +"I'm good to you for my own sake," he answered. "Don't you see that? +Don't you suppose I am looking out for my own happiness?" He paused. +"Don't you think I am?" he resumed, an insistent note in his voice. + +They were near the cottage, but she felt obliged to answer. + +"But, Homer," she said, "I have no happiness to give anyone! What +return can I make for this sacrifice?" + +They were opposite the cottage. Clustered heads in the window of the +Warner house showed how their return had been waited for; Homer +discerned the white muslin rose in his mother's black bonnet, and if +the sight made his face hard, it softened the touch of his hands as he +lifted Myron down from the high seat, and then put the boy in her arms. + +The little gate stood leaning against the fence. It had been lifted +off its hinges, to leave free room for the coffin and its bearers to +pass. Myron paused between the gate-posts; Homer bent above her. + +"I will tell you some day," he said, "what you can give me." + +[Illustration: "I WILL TELL YOU SOME DAY WHAT YOU CAN GIVE ME."] + +"Good-by," she said; and, turning, passed down the desolate garden, +feeling remorseful that she had left him unthanked. + +Homer, now that the tenderness evoked by her presence was left +unsustained, felt a spiteful defiance waken in his heart. He walked +slowly to his horses' heads, pretending to adjust the harness; then, +after inspecting them with critical deliberateness, drove slowly past +the curious eyes at the window. + +"Might as well give them the full benefit of the sight," he said to +himself; "it seems to strike them as interesting." + +All day long, as he swung his axe in the woodland, he mused upon Myron +as he had seen her last, with pure, uplifted brow and chin, as she said +good-by. + +He returned at night, calm, and braced, as he thought, to receive a +storm of reproaches. He found a table "coldly furnished forth" for his +supper; the kitchen was deserted, and from his mother's room came the +hum of voices. + +Mrs. Wilson expected to crush her son utterly by this isolation, but it +was a treatment he could endure much longer than she could suffer to +inflict it, for to women of her type the expression of anger in words +is essential; any repression of speech is a physical pang. It was +well, though, for this one night that it should be so, for Homer's calm +was but as the brittle crust that forms on seething lava, that neither +controls nor cools it; that melts at a touch, and offers no restraint +to the force beneath. Too hot an anger yet filled his heart to admit +of peaceful argument; his hand was too ready to clinch yet when he +thought of Warner's tentative question. He ate his supper, smoked a +peaceful pipe, and soon slept, dreaming, even as he had done all day, +of the calm sweetness of those patient eyes. + +Myron was having her first of solitude, passing it in brief watches of +wakefulness and shorter spaces of sleep. + +And in the lonely little graveyard a new-made mound was slowly +whitening under the falling snow. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + + "This above all--to thine own self be true; + And it must follow, as the night the day, + Thou canst not then be false to any man." + + "Though Allah and Earth pardon Sin, remaineth forever Remorse." + + +Winter lay white over the land--a bitter winter. The road, beaten to a +glassy whiteness, glistened between unbroken plains of dull, lustreless +white, for the fences were hidden by the heaviest snowfall ever known +in Jamestown. The cold was intense; for twenty days the icicles had +hung unmelted in the sun. The crows, tamed by hunger, flapped their +sluggish wings over the barnyards. Here and there in the fields a +black blotch showed where one of them had fallen, half-starved, +half-frozen. + +The foxes, grown bold amid the silence, came to pillage the henroosts +in broad daylight. The rabbits, traced by their uneven tracks in the +snow, were easy game; numbed by the cold, they were quickly overtaken. +The sparrows clustered close together in the barns, winning their way +in at every cranny. + +The last year of Jed Holder's life, he had one day run into the +cottage, excitedly calling to Myron and his mother to "Come out and see +the sparrow--a real little English sparrow, a regular old-fashioned +little spadger." Tears ran over his thin, browned face as he watched +it upon the sharp ridge of the cottage roof. He could not cut his wood +that day for listening to the familiar fluttering of its wings as it +flitted hither and thither in the cottage garden, pushing its way +inquisitively into the thickest branches of the privet bushes and +bustling out indignantly when it found nothing there worthy of its +impertinent scrutiny. + +It eyed Jed with much friendliness. Two English exiles indeed these +were--banished from the red-tiled cottages, the hop orchards, the old +meadows, the sunken lanes, the hawthorns, the hollies; but in a few +days there came another fluttering sparrow, and resemblance ceased +between Jed and the important, bustling bird, busy now in building the +nest. Ere the summer was gone there was a chattering little flight of +them to swoop down among the placid hens and snatch the grain from +their very mouths. + +Now these birds were regarded by the farmers as a pest, and an +overzealous government offered a bounty for their little feathered +heads. Clem Humphries proved himself a valiant hunter of this puny +prey. He boiled barley and then drew a stiff bristle through each +grain. The sparrows ate and died, and Clem drank their blood-money. + +But they still flourished. The cats waged war against them, and many a +palpitant little breast was torn by their pointed teeth. The old +Maltese cat at Deans' had perpetually a downy feather sticking to his +cruel mouth, and his strong paws were ever stained with red. An ugly +brute he was: half of one ear was gone; from the other, hung a tiny +blue wool tassel fastened through a hole like an earring; his nose was +always scarred and torn, and of his tail only an inch or two survived +the teeth of the dogs with which he had waged war. + +He lay in wait for the sparrows by the hour at the doorstep of the +henhouse, and with depressed back and evil eye stole between the fowls +as they pecked at the grain; then came a pounce, the hens flounced +about hysterically, and the cat, with his captive, came out to sit in +the woodshed and devour it at his leisure. The first time he caught a +bird, he had tried to torment it after the tender manner of his kind; +but at the first toss with his paws the terrified bird had soared far +beyond his most vaulting ambition. But, alas, evil minds learn wisdom +soon. It was long since then, and now he always gave them short shrift. + +It was a bitter winter. The horses and cows were covered with +exceptionally long hair, and the dogs were shaggy as bears. The hens +straggled about with bleeding, frozen combs; the yellow feet of the +ducks were white from frostbites; the turkeys' wings drooped +dejectedly, and many died; the geese were disconsolate, their white +plumage soiled and unsightly, for there was no water for them to bathe +in. + +The snowbirds twittered cheerily for a short space at noontide, but +vanished as the day waned. Only where any crumbs or grain might be +likely to fall, their tiny footprints were woven in delicate tracery on +the snow. + +The gulls flew over the village, until, their wings wearied, they +turned them again to the lake, to rest upon a cake of ice. A long rest +it proved to many, for their feet froze to the ice, and they uttered +their hoarse cries as they strove in vain to rise. + +It was a bitter winter. Every pond in Jamestown was frozen solid to +the bottom. All day long there were slow processions of cattle passing +to and from the lake. + +The pumps were all frozen, and a great boiler stood on every kitchen +stove, melting snow for household uses. The rats swarmed in the houses +and the barns. Each person had tales to tell of frozen noses, +frostbitten ears, numbed fingers, aching feet. Mrs. Wilson brewed +"yarbs" and drank them all day long. Henry Deans grew stiffer and +stiffer, and seemed shrunk to a mere shell. Bing White had already +killed enough sparrows to buy him a pair of skates. + +But in the midst of all the winter's white desolation, there glowed the +hearth fires of home. Used to the cold, these hardy farmer folk defied +it; and if they might not brave its blasts, stayed warm and close +indoors. + +There were tea-meetings and socials, temperance meetings and the +half-yearly revivals, shooting matches with poultry as the prize, and +raffles for turkeys. Then there was the threshing to be done, and the +pig-killing, and next summer's fuel to cut in the woods. + +The women sewed carpet-rags, patched quilts, and knitted mittens and +heavy socks of homemade yarn. It was a terrible winter, and it was +going hard with Myron Holder. + +She had to endure all the rigors of the cold, all the solitude of +shame, all the privations of poverty, all the terrors of night's +loneliness, all the anxieties of motherhood, all the regrets of +remorse, all the hopelessness of dead Hope, all the apprehensions of +want: this in a solitary cottage, creaking at every blast, shivering in +every wind, swaying in every storm. + +Think of it, you holy women, who fare delicately, sleeping on soft +couches, guarded and consoled, caressed and kept from all evil! For +you are like Myron Holder in one thing: Not in suffering, nor shame, +nor sorrow; not perhaps in humbleness of heart, nor meekness of spirit, +nor in courage, in patience, in faithfulness, nor in hopelessness; not +in poverty, nor in endurance; but with her you share, despite +yourselves, a common womanhood. Remember that! + +Remember also she bore upon her brow the marks of motherhood's crown of +thorns. Remember who with tears washed Jesus' feet, and do not forget +to whom, we are told, He said, "Neither do I condemn thee." + +Homer Wilson, in defiance of his mother, public opinion, and Myron's +own objections, had taken her ample wood for the winter. Old Mr. +Carroll had given her a supply of flour and a ham, and hired her to +clean up his house and whitewash his kitchen walls against the New Year. + +She milked Mrs. Warner's cows at night and morn, receiving for this +service a small can of milk daily. This was for My. No drop softened +the harsh mullein tea she drank herself. Her life was inexpressibly +desolate. The wind whistling over the cottage brought her the +loneliness of the lost. Sometimes for days she saw no one to speak to, +and, worse than all, she began to lack the necessaries of life. Flour +means much, so does a ham; but for a woman and a young child more is +needed. My began to look white, and at times his face had that +expression we called "peaked." + +Seeing this, Myron took a resolution. It cost her much, for her +grandmother had often spoken of the disgrace of "going on the parish," +as she put it; but the sight of My's face was too much for his mother, +and she resolved to apply to the council for township aid. + +It was a bitter day's cold when she came to this resolution. Pile the +wood as high as she might in the stove, she could not banish the rime +from the windows. The latch of the door stuck to her fingers every +time she opened it. A tiny slanting rift of snow lay in the little +bedroom, where it had crept in through the badly jointed windows. + +It was Saturday. On Saturday nights the youths of Jamestown went +courting. As twilight deepened into night, she heard the frequent +jingle of sleigh-bells. They tingled through her heart and awakened a +new loneliness in her breast. She sat always in the dark now, for oil +cost money. She had but a lampful in the house, and that must be kept +in case of emergency. The light from the hearth of the wood fire shot +forth dusky little flashes into the darkness of the room. These feeble +shafts were not strong enough to banish the hosts of shadows, but they +so far prevailed as to leave them lurking in the corners of the room +only. But there they held silent carnival--mocking at the lonely woman +sitting silent within the wavering circle of the feeble light, +stretching out impalpable arms to embrace her, extending icy fingers to +touch her, waving their draperies over her head, and always biding +their time, until weariness should drive her to her bed; then they +sallied forth in their strength, and danced and gestured about her +until sleep closed her eyes to fears. + +My slept upon her knees. The sound of the latest sleigh-bells dying +away left the silence seeming still more profound, as a momentary light +intensifies the succeeding darkness. She heard footsteps crunching on +the snow; then a knock. + +"Come in," she said. + +Despite herself, she felt a momentary hope flicker in her heart. + +The door opened and, entering, Homer said: + +"It's me, Myron; Homer Wilson." + +So faint had been her hope that she scarce felt a sting in +relinquishing it. + +"Yes," she said. "Wait until I light the lamp." + +She did so, and Homer came forward into the light, his broad shoulders +seeming to fill the room as he stood, clad in a rough frieze coat that +enveloped him from shoulder to heel. He took it off silently, laid it +over the chair she had placed for him, and, going at once to her side, +put his hands upon her shoulders. + +"Well, Myron," he said, "do you remember asking what you could do to +repay me for what I had done?" + +"Yes," she said, knowing that her time of trial had come. + +"Then," he said, bending over her, his face flushing, his tones +vibrant, "I can tell you in a moment." He paused, to steady his voice. +"Will you marry me, Myron?" + +There was a moment of breathless suspense--an instant of absolute +silence. + +"No," she said, firmly enough; but her hands closed tremblingly upon +his sleeve. + +"Myron!" he ejaculated. "Myron! You do not mean it! Why--I love you, +Myron!" he broke forth, with passion; "I will have you! Do you think I +would be bad to you? Do you think I would be unkind to the boy? I +can't stand to see you live like this!" He glanced at the bare room, +which suddenly seemed to show all its gaunt corners, all its angles, +all the scantiness of its meagre comforts. It was the very skeleton of +a home. + +"Myron!" He stopped--she was looking at him with words upon her lips. + +"Listen," she said. "Do not be angry with me, but tell me one thing: +Would you ask Suse Weaver to marry you, or Jenny Church, or Eliza +Disney?" + +"Why, Myron, they're married already," said he, in a maze. + +"So am I," said Myron, throwing back her head so that her eyes met his, +whilst the color flooded her face, giving it a dangerous and triumphant +charm. "So am I. When he bade me be silent, he bade me be true. He +swore that he would be. He explained to me how little the saying of +marriage vows meant. He said it was the keeping of them that made the +marriage. I have kept them. I believed his promise under the sky, +whilst we were alone, was as true and binding as mine when I said I +would be silent and do all he wished me to; and he taught me to see +that in this twofold faith lay the real marriage, and not in words +spoken before people. He told me the stars were truer witnesses than +men. That heaven was nearer there, among the trees, than in the +churches; and it did seem near--so near I almost entered in. I +believed we were married as sacredly as though Mr. Prew had married us. +Believing that, I gave myself to him. He has been false to his +promise, but I will never be to mine. I thought myself married then. +I will hold myself in marriage bonds until he comes--or death. For the +rest, let him look to it!" + +As she had spoken, Homer's face changed with her changing words, but +the resignation of her last words inspired no calm in him; it woke +instead a fierce resentment. He was to lose her. She was to continue +to suffer the old ignominy; the village was still to have its +victim--and all for a brute who had deliberately deluded and deserted +her. Homer's next speech began with an impatient oath, but half +stifled. + +"Myron," he said, his tones so determined as to be almost harsh, "have +you not realized yet how false his promises were? How wrong his +persuasions? How utterly false and untrue all this fine talk about the +'stars as witnesses' and 'heaven being near' was? The stars are very +convenient witnesses for curs of his stamp, being silent in face of any +perjury. Do you not see the pit he prepared for you? Do you not fall, +pierced by the stakes at the bottom? Do you not see that his promises +are all lies? Can you not understand, then, that the rest of his +twaddle was no better? Why will you continue to bind yourself with a +wisp of straw? Your hands are free--give them to me!" + +"I realize all--I see everything," she cried, "and feel--God! what have +I not felt? But--oh, Homer, don't you see how it is? I could not kiss +my child--I could not endure to see my own face as I bend over the +well, if I thought of another man. Don't you see I would then be vile?" + +"No, I don't," said Homer. "Marry me--you and the boy will have my +name, and let me hear man or woman say one word against it!" + +"I can't," she said. + +"Marry me," he urged. "Let me take care of you. Let me show you what +a man is. Let me give you a heart and a home. You are lonely, you +will be lonely no more; defenseless, I will protect you; sad, I will +make you happy; shamed, I will compel them to respect you. Myron"--he +held out his arms--"marry me!" + +Myron Holder had thought of this hour ever since the day of her +grandmother's funeral. Her thoughts had all been of his pain. She had +never realized how it might mean almost intolerable temptation to +herself. + +The contrast between the picture his words presented and her own life +was poignant. She stayed a moment, gazing at that brighter scene, then +put it by and turned herself to the reality that she had accepted as +her bounden duty. + +The sense of sacrifice with which she did this showed her how strong +was the sorcery of the thought. + +"No," she said. + +"Myron," said Homer, paling, "don't you understand? I will take My as +my own. I will give him a name in very truth. I--for My's sake, +Myron!" + +It was the supreme temptation. In a moment Myron saw what it meant, +the materialization of her evil dream in the meadow--the stilling of +the scandal that else must attach itself forever to My; the ending of +all her own shame and solitude, or as much of it, at least, as appeared +to other's eyes. But sorrow and shame teach subtle truths; etched +clear upon the metal of this woman's soul, burned deep upon the tablets +of her heart, their acids had graven the symbols of their teachings. +Myron had battled against many fears, and knew, with the absolute +certainty of conviction, that after the first triumph there would come +a bitter reaction. She knew she would be forever at war with her own +conscience. She knew that life held no prize high enough to pay for +infidelity. There came suddenly athwart the dreary room the mirage of +another scene: A wide stretch of sky and water, blended in a far-off +blue, a mass of tossing tree-tops, a scent of fresh green ferns and +flowering grasses, a swimming sense of light, exhilaration, freedom.... +Homer was speaking. She did not hear his words; his voice was but an +obligato to other tones that struck across it. She paid no more heed +to Homer's voice than she had done that day to the rustle of the +leaves, the whispering of the water far below.... + +"Trust me," a voice was saying in her ear. "Trust me, I will never +leave you; believe me, I will never fail you. Why do you distrust me? +You do not love me. Do you not understand this is the real church, +more holy than any building made with hands. Do you not understand it +is the mutual faith makes marriage, and not mere maundering words? +Don't you? ... So long as you are true to me, you are in very truth my +wife?" ... The voice ceased there, it had said enough. + +The sky, the water, the tree-tops, and the fresh fragrance of the +woodland weeds passed in an instant; but they had left behind an +unfaltering resolution. + +"No," she said; and so brief a time had sufficed for that retrospective +vision that Homer did not remark any delay in her reply. Only his +heart shrank, for something in her tone bespoke the finality of her +decision. + +The disappointment was cruel. He dropped into a chair and buried his +face in his hands. She knelt before him, and pulling his hands from +his face clasped them close against her breast. She looked up into his +face from eyes that spoke of tears held back by bitterness. + +"You understand, Homer?" she said. "If I cannot justify myself in my +own eyes, I shall go mad. To do so, I must indeed remain as I am. I +must act as though I were in very truth his wife. What does a wife do +for her husband? Give up all? Have not I? Suffer? I have suffered. +Obey him? I have obeyed him. Be true to him? I have chosen him +before myself. Trust him? I have. I have trusted and waited. I will +wait to the end." + +She ceased. + +Homer's eyes left her face, to look about the desolate room. The wood +fire was dying for lack of attention, and the air was growing colder. + +"But how am I to make it easier for you?" he asked, at length. + +"You can't make it easier for me," she said. "'I have made my own +bed,' as grandmother often said, and must lie on it. I went against +the world's ways, and I suppose it's only right now to expect the world +to be against me. No one can help me but him." + +"Who is he, Myron?" asked Homer; and she saw a sly, venomous look light +his eyes. + +"Homer!" she said, her voice holding reproach and interrogation. + +"Yes, I would," he said. "I would kill him as readily as I would set +my heel on a snake. _Widows_ marry!" There was an ugly emphasis on +the word, an emphasis that held unconsciously somewhat of the derision +of a sneer. But the sneer was turned against his own impotence. + +"You are frightening me," said Myron, and the words brought him to +himself. + +He rose, drawing her to her feet beside him. "You are right, of +course, Myron," he said. "But--this is the second time I have +loved--you remember the girl I brought to the farm one day? Well, I +loved her. She and I were to have been married, but I had to come back +to the farm, and she changed her mind. Since then I have been a +fool--worse, indeed. I have set aside everything for the sake of +money. I was fast getting to be such another as old Haines or Jacob +Latshem--all pocket and no heart. But I saw your courage, and it made +me think shame of myself. You saved me--I thought to save you. It +would seem as if I had offered you another shame. You know how little +I care what people say of you! Poor girl, they can't say worse than +they have done. So, will you let me do what I can to make things +better for you? You know I have plenty. Will you let me be your +friend, to help you, comfort you, and to see you and talk with you, as +friend does with friend?" + +"Dare you?" she asked. + +"Try me," he answered. + +She held out her hand. He took it. It trembled in his grasp. + +"To think," she said, "of my having a friend!" The smile that lit her +face transfigured it. + +Homer put from him the desire that swelled within his heart to take her +in his arms, and began, to talk of her position. + +"You can't go on like this," he said. + +"If it was only summer," sighed Myron. + +"I'll tell you what," he went on, after a moment. "Clem Humphries and +Ann Lemon have both applied for help to the township. They'll have to +be boarded somewhere. Supposing I get them sent to you to board. The +township would allow something for yourself also." Then he added, +hastily, "Won't you let me give you enough to put you through the +winter? Do, Myron." + +"No," she said, answering his last proposition first, "but I would be +so glad if they'd let me work for Clem and Ann." + +"Well, I'll see about it," said Homer. + +A day or two after that, the council, of which Homer was a member, met, +and the applications of Ann Lemon and Clem Humphries were laid before +them. Homer rose and made a formal proposition on the lines which he +had suggested to Myron. It was carried at once. Mr. White was the +other Jamestown member of the council, and he was much more concerned +about getting home to take his cattle to the lake to water them than +about anything else. He made no objection, and the other members of +the council had matters relative to their own districts that they were +anxious to have considered. The council meetings were open to every +one, and the school-house was crowded with village people. Homer +observed the looks that passed from one to another, and could not beat +back the blood that reddened his swarthy cheeks as he put the formal +motion before the council "on behalf of one Myron Holder." + +"What about the kid? Don't it need any allowance?" a voice said in the +corner of the room, and another answered, "Oh, Homer'll attend to +that." A roar of laughter followed. Homer grew white enough when he +heard this, and turned a look toward the corner whence the voices had +come that made the group occupying it stir and shift about uneasily and +start fragmentary conversations among themselves, as if to disarm that +bitter look and disavow the speech that provoked it. + +In this group Homer discerned Gamaliel Deans and Lou Disney, the latter +the bully of the county. Lou and Gamaliel had been running together +all winter, and rumor spoke not very flatteringly of their errands. + +The meeting dragged along wearisomely to an end, and the men thronged +out from the close, warm schoolroom, where the air was heavy with the +fumes of tobacco and reeking with the moisture evaporating from the +coats hung against the wall, for it had been snowing when the meeting +began. + +Night was just beginning to fall. It had ceased to snow, and the air +was keen with intense frost, that crackled under foot and squeaked +beneath the runners of the sleighs. + +There was much stretching and talking and laughing as they went out, +and Homer, among the first, heard his own name uttered, followed by a +laugh. Then he heard Lou Disney's voice in a disjointed sentence-- + +"Pretty cheeky, that! First"--Homer lost the words here--"and then ask +the council to keep 'em." + +Homer turned in an instant, flinging himself through the crowd with the +relentless impetus of fury. He swept the throng aside regardless of +any obstacle, and seized Lou Disney's throat whilst the words still +lingered on his lips, choking in that first fierce grasp the laugh that +gurgled up to echo its own wit. + +In a silence that appalled the crowd, used at such a time to much +speech and few blows, Homer tore him from the door, to which, with the +instinct of a fighter, he had put his back. Pressing him backward +through the throng, Homer loosed him, with a curse, when fairly outside +the straggling group. + +"Now," said Homer, "eat your words, Disney, this minute--every lying +syllable of them--or I'll thrash the soul out of you!" + +Disney was no coward. The words had not left Homer's lips before he +was tearing off his coat. The next moment they rushed at each other. + +The fight was so fierce, so furious, so short, that few there could +afterwards tell the story of it. Disney was the bigger man, and quite +as clever with his hands as Homer; but the latter's arm was nerved by +every insult Myron Holder had endured. As Disney sprang forward, he +uttered her name, coupled with an epithet that simply maddened Homer. +There was no resisting the fury of his attack.... Many hands dragged +Homer from the man he had knocked insensible and bade fair to kill, if +left alone. + +He stood trembling, a great bruise darkening on his face, showing where +Disney's first savage blow, aimed at the jaw, had fallen. Presently +Gamaliel drove Lou off in his cutter, and the throng melted away. Clem +Humphries lifted Homer's coat and brought it to him. The old sinner's +face glowed with excitement and gratification. + +[Illustration: CLEM LIFTED HOMER'S COAT AND BROUGHT IT TO HIM.] + +"You punched him well and he needed it bad," said he. "Never seen a +man suffering for a licking more'n Lou Disney was; and he got the cure +for his complaint without asking twice, he did. There's something," he +went on, keeping pace with Homer, as the latter began to move away, +"there's something so satisfying in seeing a man get what he wants, and +get it like that, too, and--you should have seen Male Deans' eyes, +sticking out like door-knobs, the boiled idiot!" + +Clem paused in disgust, then went on again: "Why didn't you lick him, +too? That would have been oncommon satisfactory!" + +"There," said Homer hastily, "shut up, Clem! I'm going home." +Whereupon he lengthened his stride and set forward at a pace which left +Clem far behind, to make his way towards the other end of the village, +with much complacency. His wicked old heart was full of pleasure. He +had danced from one foot to the other, howling out a stream of +encouragement and curses during the progress of the brief fight; had +protested vigorously against the hands that pulled Homer from Disney, +and had pushed Gamaliel Deans forward with all his might in Homer's +way, hoping to enjoy a continuance of the battle. Failing this, he had +gone along behind Disney and Gamaliel for some distance, reviling them +as they drove off, until, remembering his religious principles, he had +arrested himself in the delivery of a choice gibe, to slink behind the +school-house corner until the crowd was gone. + +"He woke up the wrong dog that time," chuckled Clem, thinking of Lou +Disney, "and got bit." + +Clem had a bitter grudge against Gamaliel Deans and every one connected +with him. The day of old Mrs. Holder's funeral Clem had searched over +all the barns he knew, in the hope of finding an empty jug that he +could take to get his dollar's worth of whiskey in. But luck was +against him. The cider-jars that had figured at the last threshings +had seemingly all been carried away. He was quite disconsolate when, +in the late afternoon, he returned to Mr. Muir's. He had hardly +arrived there before Mrs. Muir sent him on an errand to Mrs. Deans. +Having dispatched his message, Clem sought the barn, and the first +thing his eyes lit upon was a fat and capacious brown jug. Gamaliel +was in the barn mending harness, and to Clem's request replied that he +might take it, adding that it was used at the last threshing. + +Clem returned to the village late, partook of the somewhat meagre +supper Mrs. Muir tendered him, and, going out at once, got his jug, +rinsed it at the pump, and with it under his arm, trudged off to town +to get it filled. + +Now, unfortunately for Clem, it had not contained cider, but black oil, +for the threshing machine. There was a thick coating of the oil within +it, but the cold had fastened it stiff to the sides, and Clem's +somewhat perfunctory wash with the icy water from the pump did not +remove it. All unconscious of this, Clem proceeded upon his errand, +got his whiskey, and started for Jamestown. + +Manfully he resisted the temptation to take a drink. Clem knew his own +weakness and the strength of his appetite when whetted by a taste. He +hugged the jug close to him and trudged on. At length he reached +Jamestown, and ensconced himself in the hay in Mr. Muir's stable-loft. +But the alcohol had acted very differently from the water. It had +completely dissolved the oil and incorporated it with itself. Clem's +first long mouthful was his last. + +The mixture was atrocious. Clem cursed till he exhausted himself, +arose and broke the jug into the smallest fragments, and ever after +hated Gamaliel Deans with a holy hatred, being firmly convinced that he +had been intentionally tricked. Thus it was that Clem's delight was so +genuine as he made his way to Mr. Muir's barn, where for the present +his headquarters were. He entered, and, with a view to a supper of +snacks from Mrs. Muir, proceeded to attend to the wants of the two +black horses and the piebald mare, stopping to slap his brown old hands +on his thin legs every now and then, ejaculating, "The boiled +idiot!"--a pet expression of Clem's, not inexpressive of mental +softness. + +Clem moved about stiffly, and it was some time before he sought Mrs. +Muir's kitchen door, his knobby old hands stiffened and glazed from +holding the handle of the hay-fork. But not only had Clem accomplished +his tasks in the barn, but eaten his supper, warmed himself and crawled +off to his bed in the hay before Homer Wilson arrested his headlong +walk. He had gone far beyond his farm--far, far beyond the farthest +light of Jamestown. But at last, his strength leaving him suddenly, he +paused and, reeling, turned towards home. It took him hours to retrace +his steps. + +The late dawn of the next wintry day fell upon Homer as he had flung +himself down upon his bed, fully dressed, and with shining drops drying +upon the livid bruise that disfigured his face. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + + "Piteous my rhyme is + What while I muse of love and pain, + Of love misspent, of love in vain, + Of love that is not loved again; + And is this all, then? + As long as time is, + Love loveth. Time is but a span, + The dalliance space of dying man; + And is this all immortals can? + The gain was small, then. + + "Love loves _forever_; + And finds a sort of joy in pain, + And gives with naught to take again, + And loves too well to end in vain; + Is the gain small, then? + Love laughs at 'never,' + Outlives our life, exceeds the span + Appointed to mere mortal man: + All which love is, and does, and can, + Is all in all, then." + + +The talk that grew out of the fight at the school-house, the scandal +that succeeded the talk, the gossip that spread the scandal, occupied +the attention of the whole village for weeks, and the darkest shade +possible was cast upon Homer's share of the affair. Every one felt it +a species of self-justification to rail at Homer and excuse Disney, who +had a devoted following among the young men of his own age and calibre. +His manner was more fortunate than Homer's, though his intentions were +far from being so generous. + +Certain mental preoccupations had kept Homer somewhat apart from the +men of his own age in the district--first, his ambitious dreams of a +course at the commercial college, which led him to try to keep up his +studies during the long summers when he was kept out of school to work; +then came his absence in the city, when all his knowledge of the +village filtered from the unready pen of his mother. + +Upon his return to the farm his eyes were yet blinded by the glamour of +_her_ hair, so that he found it sweeter to lie upon the grass, with his +hands beneath his head, gazing up at the skies and thinking of her, +than to join in any of the young people's enjoyments. He saw her eyes +in every star, her hair in every moonbeam, her form in every graceful +cloud. He felt her breath in every zephyr, he heard her voice in the +rippling of the leaves, her laugh in the babble of the brook or the +lapping of the lake. + +Enchanted thus with his own imaginings, he made no effort to grasp the +swiftly slipping cable of sympathy with his fellows. When his visions +were dispelled and desecrated by her infidelity, well--he had made one +or two futile snatches at the vanishing strand that had bound his heart +and interests to those of his old school friends. But either it sped +too fast from him, or he strove to grasp it too rudely, for he withdrew +his hands from the task and found himself loath to make an effort in +that direction again. This piteous outreaching for sympathy that is +withdrawn sears the soul deeply, even as sliding ropes sear the hands; +and yet we must not shrink from the lifeline that is to save us from +the flames. We must endure the hurt to escape the greater peril. And +it is better to live, even with torn and bleeding palms, than to +shrivel in agonizing flames or suffocate in smothering smoke. + +Withdrawn from temptation, Homer did not go forth to seek it, for he +was nauseated of all desire. Thus there was no danger of his soul +consuming in the evil fire of his own passions. But how nearly he had +succumbed to the miasmatic exhalation that rose from the Slough of +Despond into which his faculties had sunk! Now, indeed, he was winning +his way out. + + "Men may rise on stepping-stones + Of their dead selves to higher things." + + +But it is a painful progress, for each stone must be won from the +strong edifice erected by ourselves to bar our way, of which each block +is a passion, a sin or a folly, cemented together by selfishness and +self-indulgence, based upon self-pity, garrisoned by prideful spirits +that mock at our efforts. Driven from the ramparts, they throng about +our feet to jostle us from our hard-won stepping-stones. + +The Sir Galahads of life are much to be admired, and yet shall we not +crown those also, who, having fallen, have again found firm +footing--those strong souls, overcome once, that have struggled through +all this and at last sprung to shore? Let us hope, at least, that they +find those long-sought shores flowerful and pleasant. + +Alas! Homer Wilson looked but upon a barren prospect, waste and drear, +disappointing as the alkali lakes that mock the wanderer dying of +thirst in the desert. Therefore it was not much wonder that he grew +sad-faced and silent. + +Had the woman he loved been happy, his life would not have been wholly +desolate, for his love was of that unselfish type that desires rather +the happiness of its beloved than its own gratification. But from +Myron's desolate heart-fires there could come no joyful radiance. The +only light her life diffused across his path was a pale glimmer of +dying hope, that illumined the sorrows of their separate ways. Myron +was indeed relieved from the pressure of actual want, for Clem +Humphries and Ann Lemon were domiciled with her; but of comfort or +peace of heart she had none. + +Neither Clem nor Ann had ever been compelled before to seek township +aid, and, with the perversity of human nature, they agreed in +associating Myron with their downfall, and persisted in regarding her +as being in some way responsible for it. They both were devoted to +stimulants--Clem's choice being whiskey, Ann's gin. When the monthly +instalments of money from the council arrived, they both, with one +accord, set to work to wheedle some of it from Myron, with a view of +gratifying their spirituous desires. In this, however, they were +entirely balked. Beneath Myron's meekness and patience an iron will +was strengthening. + +Homer had said: "Don't give either of them any money. I'll give Clem +tobacco when he needs it, but don't you begin giving them the money, or +there'll be no stop to it." + +That was enough. No persuasion moved Myron after that, either to +yielding or to anger. + +"She be a fair devil for obstinateness," said Clem upon one of these +occasions. + +"Yes," agreed Ann, venomously, "and who be she to lord it over the +likes of us? We're decent, if we be poor." + +It was, however, only upon these occasions that Clem and Ann agreed at +all. They quarrelled continually, taunting each other with a fondness +for liquor, and each making mock of the hypocrisy the other displayed +in going to church, much upon the principle of one negro calling +another a "black nigger." + +The remarks they indulged in were, to say the least, personal, and each +displayed a fiendish aptitude for finding out the weak spots in the +other's armor. + +Ann still cherished the shreds and patches of youthful vanities, mouldy +remnants of adornment with which she disfigured herself on high days +and holidays. She had a little house in the village, and a lot with +some plum trees upon it. In summer she made shift to live very +comfortably, what with the plums, and her chickens, and odd days' work. +Indeed, she might easily have saved sufficient to keep her during the +winter, but Ann was not of those who "go to the ant," and, after due +consideration of her ways, become wise. + +Her habit was, when she had a few dollars by her, to adorn herself with +her best, go to town in the mail-wagon, get as much gin as she could +for the money, and then give herself over to the enjoyment of her +purchase. Upon these days it was no small excitement for the Jamestown +children to watch the going and returning of Mr. Warner and his +mail-wagon. + +Long before mail-time Ann might be seen arranging her finery. She wore +a black merino skirt, draggled into a tattered fringe at the bottom, +and stained here and there by the drops that fell more swiftly as Ann's +hand grew less steady. By some chance, she had once bought some bright +blue ribbon from a peddler. She put two rows of this round her black +skirt. Unfortunately the ribbon proved too short for the two rows, so +that in the second one there was a hiatus of some twelve inches between +the ends of the ribbon. This to some people might have been a somewhat +insurmountable difficulty, but not to Ann. Catching her skirt just at +that point where the ribbon failed to connect, she raised it gracefully +with one hand, displaying the edge of a red flannel petticoat and a +goodly length of robust limb. It is not recorded that she was ever +seen so drunk as to forget herself sufficiently to loose her hold of +the skirt, although upon several occasions she was carried helpless +into her house, laid upon her bed, and left, as the good Samaritans of +Jamestown expressed it, to "sober up and be ashamed of herself." Her +bodice was only an ordinary calico one, but she covered its +deficiencies by a black cashmere tippet of antiquated shape and ample +size. It had a tassel between the shoulders, and certain lonely +sparkles here and there showed that in the days of its youth and beauty +it had been be-bugled. At the neck of this she pinned a knot of faded +magenta ribbon, fastening it with a shell pin. + +But the crowning glory of Ann's holiday toilet was her "front." This +"front" was the only bit of false hair in Jamestown, and was regarded +as an unholy thing, a direct manifestation of "the Devil and his +works." Mrs. Deans always declared that Mrs. Wilson had "as good as +owned up" that she would like a similar front; and indeed Mrs. Wilson, +good woman, had been moved almost to defiance of public opinion by the +evil fascinations of that sinful scrap of tousled hair. As a matter of +fact, Ann's "front" was somewhat the worse for wear; the parting was a +parting indeed, and several curls being gone at one side, there was a +bare spot, where the black-net foundation showed. But Ann's bleared +eyes looked out right jauntily from beneath this lopsided coiffure. + +Perched upon her head was a bonnet. Originally covered with red silk, +it had grown glossy and dark from much wear. Upon one side of it was +stuck grotesquely a shapeless knot of black crape--limp, rusty, soiled +by mud and weather, yet a symbol still of the loss of husband and +child, and of a deeper loss than this--the loss of hope, the loss of +self-respect, the loss of self-control, and the triumph of an evil +appetite. + +For long ago Ann had had a husband and a bonny daughter, and she +herself was a big, buxom woman, fresh-colored and wholesome. But her +husband died, and the daughter was carried home dead to her one day, +with the water that had drowned her dripping from her long hair and +leaving a dotted line upon the floor as it ran from the hand that hung +over the edge of the rude bier. + +Ann never "picked up" after that. Despite the admonitions of her +Christian neighbors and their warnings against sinful repining, she yet +dwelt ever upon her loss, seeking oblivion when she could in drink. +Well, she was wrong, of course, but "the heart knoweth its own +bitterness," and in the empty niches of her heart there perhaps lurked +the shadow of an excuse for her. + +In a certain old neckerchief, mottled with gay colors and bordered with +purple, were tied a few tawdry relics, a string of black wooden beads, +a knot of discolored blue ribbon that had clung to a tress of the +drowned girl's hair, a dark pipe with the tobacco still in it, a +waistcoat barred with bright stripes of yellow, a heavy plated +watchguard--these were all that remained to Ann of the joy of life, and +yet upon them fell as bitter tears as ever dimmed a diamond-set +portrait or a pearl-clasped lock of hair. + +This woman, for whose coming husband and child had once watched, was +now an amusing spectacle for Jamestown boys. As Mr. Warner drove along +the street Ann would go out and await his coming in all the dignity of +conscious grandeur. She never started for town until she had enough to +pay for her ride there and back, besides the money for her gin, for, as +she often said, she wasn't much of a hand at walking. + +Before getting into the mail-wagon, which was simply an ordinary +two-seated light wagon, with a flat canopy upheld at the corners by +iron rods, she paid Mr. Warner fifty cents, which was the fare to town +and back. Then she mounted to the back seat, where she sat enthroned, +her feet upon the canvas mail bag. + +She enjoyed the drive thoroughly, nodding with much affability to every +one they met, irrespective of whether she knew them or not, and saying, +"Poor crittur! Who be he, I wonder. He don't know me," when any one +failed to return her salute. + +At the door of the Post-Office Ann got out, having paid no heed to the +gingerly hints Mr. Warner had given her about getting out when they +came to the town limits. + +"Wouldn't you like to stretch a bit, Mrs. Lemon, before we get into +town?" he would say, tentatively. + +"No, I ain't a mite stiffened up to-day," she would reply. + +"Because I'll stop and let you out if you'd rather," Mr. Warner +continued. + +"Oh, I wouldn't put you to no trouble," Ann demurred, politely. + +"It wouldn't be no trouble," he would feebly protest. + +But Ann only said: "I'm all right, Mr. Warner. No rheumatics in my +knees, thank Providence and red flannels! I can sit, walk, or ride +with the best of them yet." Then, animated by sudden concern for him: +"But look here, if you're crippled up, jest get out and walk alongside +and I'll drive. Do now, just reach the reins acrost here. I can drive +as straight as a string." + +But this ordering of affairs was still less to his liking; so, +resigning himself to the inevitable and comforting himself with the +thought of the fifty cents, he drove on to the Post-Office. + +Here Ann alighted, and then began making inquiries as to the precise +time of leaving, which side of the street he would be on, whether any +one else was going, besides many other details that suggested +themselves to her as legitimate excuses for prolonging the +conversation, during which she surveyed Warner haughtily. Finally she +sailed off, with, a last imperative injunction "to be punkshul." + +When she returned, she was usually pretty far gone. She rolled in her +walk, and fiery glances shot from her eyes. The tippet was usually +screwed around, so that the tassel depended like an epaulet upon one +shoulder, and the magenta ribbon did duty upon the other. Her bonnet +had a trick, that amounted to a habit, of cocking itself hilariously +over one ear, and the "front" usually pointed straight at the other. + +Mr. Warner took care always to be ready to leave when she came. He had +a painful recollection of a day when he loitered about the Post-Office +longer than usual, and came out at length, mailbag over his shoulders, +to find Ann the centre of an admiring group that applauded her whilst +she gave a full, particular (and, be it whispered, true) account of the +Warner family history. + +In every little village there are certain stock stories that are told +about certain families. If it be a scandal-monging little hole, the +stories usually have a tang to them. + +The tales about the Warner family were particularly spicy ones, the men +being notoriously cruel to their horses and "close-fisted" in their +dealings. Some of the women were not all they ought to be, and the +whole family connection so penurious as to be but one remove from +misers. + +Ann was giving a veritable epic illustrative of each of these family +failings, and had just got to the point bearing upon their cruelty to +their horses. + +"The bones of the horses the Warners killed stopped up the drains in +Jamestown." Turning, she whipped up the bit of felt saddle-cloth under +the harness of the mail-wagon horse, and showed the galled patch on its +back; then she drew attention to the raw places on the shoulders that +Warner had smeared with black wagon-grease, to render them less +noticeable. Warner was furious, and would right gladly have left her +there, but he did not know how far her tongue had taken her or how far +it could go, and he felt it safer to insist upon her getting into the +wagon. + +Then her mood changed. She insisted he was her best and only friend, +embraced him from behind with one arm round his neck until she nearly +strangled him, whilst she strove to give him a drink from her black +bottle with the other; wept because she could not climb over into the +front seat beside him, and finally subsided into maudlin tears of +repentance and retrospect, mingled with pious ejaculations of thanks +for the comfort she had that day received. + +Warned by this experience, Warner was always ready, waiting for her +when she appeared, and had acquired some skill in persuading her to +mount into the wagon immediately upon her arrival. Her untimely +demonstrations of affection, however, were never to be guarded against, +and his flesh crept upon his bones until he was clear of the town and +out into the country. It was decidedly a trial to have Ann for a +passenger, only there was one saving mercy about it--afterward Warner +had fifty cents more. To the Warner mind that meant a great deal. + +It was a popular saying in Jamestown that "a Warner would take a +kicking for a quarter any day." + +Without these occasional exhilarations Ann grew morose and vindictive. +She glowered at My as he played about the floor, gave Myron a myriad +pin-pointed stings anent his existence, saying, with pious unction, +that whatever little she had to be thankful for, she never should cease +being grateful that she was decent, and relieved the tension upon her +feelings by an active and aggressive warfare against Clem. + +Clem returned her complimentary attentions in kind, and exhausted his +ingenuity in planning to torment Ann. There were several battles royal +between the two that marked the history of their warfare, as great +victories star a campaign. There was the evening, when they all sat +round the little table drawn up close to the fire, and Clem, nodding +his head with drowsy satisfaction, took the first morsel of a plug of +chewing tobacco Homer had given him. Clem half-closed his eyes and +gave himself up to its enjoyment. Myron rose softly, to carry the +sleeping baby to bed. Ann's eyes wandered malignantly from Clem's +contented countenance to the plug of tobacco (so near her hand), and +from thence all round the room. She looked longingly at the fire, but +shook her head; discovery would be too prompt. Her eyes fell upon a +tub of water, set close to the fire to prevent its freezing against the +morrow. Her face lighted--an evil inspiration had come to her. + +Slowly--slowly--she put forth her hand. Clem's eyelids wavered--she +withdrew it swiftly--there was a pause. Again her itching fingers +approached the square of tobacco--again were withdrawn before a flicker +of those eyes. Another breath--then carefully, stealthily, she grabbed +the tobacco, withdrew her hand, and, bending far over, slid her prize +into the tub of water. + +Then, to all appearance, sleep suddenly overpowered her. Her head +began to nod, her eyes to close, she breathed heavily, and her relaxed +hand fell limply by her side. + +Clem rose presently to build a new fire, and, being extravagantly +inclined because of his plentitude of tobacco, ejected his "chew" into +the ashes, and, after putting on the wood, returned to his seat and put +out his hand for his tobacco. + +Myron entered at that moment from the bedroom. The fire crackled as it +caught the new fuel; old Ann sat like a nodding mandarin, oblivious +(outwardly) of everything. Clem's astonishment at its disappearance +was great. Nevertheless he did not grow wrathful until he had turned +out his many pockets and bestrewn the table with their varied contents. +He banged each article viciously upon the table, but Ann still slept. +She was somewhat overdoing her rôle, and Clem's smouldering wrath +flamed up into active indignation as she sat there calm amidst the +storm. + +"Get up!" he said. "Get up, you stovepipe, and let me see if it ain't +under your chair? You know something about it, I'll swear you do! If +'twas a glass of gin, I'll warrant you'd scent it out! Get up, will +you?" Saying this, he jerked her chair aside by the back, so that Ann, +who was feigning all the languor of one suddenly aroused from deep +sleep, slid off the chair to the floor. She improved the occasion, +however, by knocking the chair over on Clem's corns as she rose. Clem +gave a frightful oath, and Ann stood erect, with a jeering laugh. +Myron, anxious to preserve peace, joined Clem in his hunt, whilst Ann +stood by. + +"Call me stovepipe, will you?" she asked. "Stovepipe indeed, and me +the best figger of a woman in the village in my time! Stovepipe! With +my waist, too! Stovepipe indeed!" An indignant snort rounded off her +sentence. + +The little kitchen was so bare that any search was either easy or +hopeless. Myron and Clem searched and searched, going over and over +the same ground, as the wisest of us do when we look for something +lost--for pleasure in old pain, for joy in bygone voices, for hope in +withered joys. + +Ann waxed more and more derisive. + +"If 'twas a spoonful of whiskey, now," she began, plagiarizing and +paraphrasing his own words to her; "if 'twas a spoonful of whiskey now, +I'll go bail you'd nose it out. You'd ha' run ag'in it long ago. +You're better at getting whiskey than at getting clean jugs to put it +in, though." + +Clem turned to glare at her, and stubbed his toes against the tub. He +cast his eyes down, with a curse, but his gaze was held by something +which, even as he looked, sank to the bottom, thoroughly saturated. + +In a moment he had it out--his tobacco, bloated out of all semblance to +its dark-brown self. One glance was enough. With accurate aim, he +flung it with all his might at Ann's triumphant countenance. + +It struck her across the lips, parted for another gibe. She subsided, +sputtering, and Clem, gathering up his belongings from the table with +one sweep into his handkerchief, flung himself out of the room. + +Myron's life was passed in a continual jar and fret because of these +quarrels. She strove to interpose herself as much as possible between +them, for Ann's malice grew more and more venomous, and Clem's dislike +threatened to break bounds, and from speech become blows. Ann was +persistent in her demands for "somethin' warmin'," and do what she +could Myron could not satisfy them. + +But their bitter words did not sting as her grandmother's had done. +Love has a strong potency in pain and pleasure. + +There is poison upon the tongue of a friend when it turns against us. +No dart pricks so deep as one launched by a hand we love. Gall and +wormwood are mingled in the draught when the bitter cup is pressed to +our lips by the hand that has tended us in childhood. No thorns are so +sharp set to pierce our feet as those implanted in our path by one we +love. + +Some years ago there was a marvellous tale told of a woman in the +mountains of Africa, wondrous old and beautiful, and exceeding wise. +We are told that by the touch of her finger-tip _She_ blanched a snowy +streak athwart a girl's dark locks. Later, with another malignant +gesture, she reft the girl of life, so that she fell dead in an instant. + +Myron Holder's soul was being blanched by the pointing fingers of her +world. Would they stop there? Or would the cruel allegory be +completed? Would those merciless mockers not cease until, deprived of +life and hope, Myron Holder faltered and fell to what they pictured +her? For there was every chance she might. + +Her face had gained a pale and--inapplicable as the word seems--lofty +beauty. Her eyes held within their depths the secret of all pain, and +the storehouses of such knowledge are often more beautiful than those +that garner gayer truths. Her lips, softened by the love of her child, +were warm and red; his kisses kept them so amid the pallor of her face, +like a little hearth in a waste of snow. So small and sweet the mouth +was, so tremulous, so shrinking, it seemed the pallor of cheek and chin +encroached upon it daily. It did not seem a month for speech: there +was but space for sobs and kisses, and yet--it had had kisses, and +kisses leave strange savors sometimes, and it had parted in many a sob. +Who, then, could tell if the pressure of those lips brought pain or +pleasure? And what man but would dare all to know? + +Behind her lids lay love, too, gleaming through the veil of her +sorrows, as the reflected sun shines from a well. At present it was +all for her child--later? + +Nowadays, when on every side they talk so much of the force of +"suggestion," it almost makes us wonder if our fellows' lives are not a +reflex of our conception of them--if a consensus of opinion that a +person is guilty does not tend to make him what we assume him to be. + +It would seem the Jamestown people did the best they could to aid the +devil, whom they professed to sacrifice, when, with the pointed forks +of malice, they thrust Myron Holder forward to his fires. Each time +Homer Wilson came to sit in the cottage his heart ached more and more +for this woman. Against the background of Ann's slovenly form and +Clem's squalid coarseness she shone like a jewel in a rough clasp. +Each time he departed the wrench was greater, but he could not deny +himself the pleasure of seeing her. As for her, his visits were the +only alleviation of her life, his visits and My. For the child was +beginning to talk now, and pattered after her every step. She had +taught him a meaningless baby jingle--"Mama's My," she said; "My's +mama," answered My--and when he got to know it well, he would chatter +it out in swift alternation with her, until the simple words, +expressive of the absolute inviolate bond that united them, pierced her +soul with a sense of their isolation, and she caught him to her as of +old Hagar may have pressed Ishmael to her dishonored bosom. + +But out of Homer's visits fresh spite and scandal sprung. For old Ann, +denied money for gin, grew bitter and revengeful, and took to going +from kitchen to kitchen with the song of her sorrows. Finding her +welcome and entertainment proportioned exactly to the amount of news +she had to tell, she did her best, like a good laborer, to be worthy of +her hire. + +Every incident of Myron's life was noted and enhanced by Ann's evil +imaginings--was bruited from lip to lip. Myron knew this. In the old +days, whatever bitterness had awaited her within the walls of the +cottage, they had at least shielded her from the curious eye and +whispering lip of the village. They did so no longer. Her last refuge +was taken from her. She felt she lived in a veritable glass house, +pierced by day and night by relentless eyes. The knowledge made her +restless and ill at ease. + +Ann did her best, as has been said, to deserve the welcome she received +at Mrs. Dean's, Mrs. White's, Mrs. Warner's, and the other houses she +went to. She crawled up from her warm couch to listen at Myron's door +at night, and crept back, shivering with cold, and angry that Myron did +not justify the vileness of her suspicions. + +The "long glories of the winter moon" sent shafts of pale light to +illumine both the sleepers and the listener. Within the chamber were +the two shamed ones--the sinful mother, the child of sin. The two +faces close together, both calm--for one heart was ignorant of the +world and its cruelty, and the other for a brief space oblivious. Two +hands were hidden, close clasped, beneath the coverlet; two lay palms +up, so that the moonshine lit them palely--the one pink-palmed, +unscarred, unstained; the other so worn, so hard, having lifted such +heavy loads and borne such bitter burdens, having been stung by flowers +that change to undying nettles, having so often shielded shamed eyes, +having so often pressed against a breaking heart, having so often been +raised in fruitless supplication, so often wrung in despair. + +Without the door the listener, tremulous with eagerness, leant, holding +her breath, and longing for the confirmation of her evil thoughts. She +caught only the cadence of the breathing of mother and child--a music +sweet to the old gods long ago, they say, and sacred still to us, the +incense of love's devotion and sacrifice of suffering. + +And is the offering less sacred because ascending from an altar +differing in shape from the law's design? In what strange quality were +these commingling breaths lacking that they should rise in vain? + +Love bestows upon many things its own immortality. Why not upon the +air, that gives it life? The air that has been breathed by the mutual +lips of love can never again commingle with the grosser ether of our +earthly atmosphere. It ascends afar, and perchance shall form the +winey atmosphere of that fabled Land of Compensation, where, we are +told, "the crooked shall be made straight." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + + "All the secret of the spring + Moved in the chambers of the blood." + + "Lovely spring + A brief sweet thing, + Is swift on the wing." + + QUEEN ELEANOR--"...Some + Flowers, they say, if one pluck deep enough. + Bleed as you gather." + BOUCHARD--"That means love, I think. + You gather it, and there's the blood at root." + + +Winter was softening to spring. It was the dismal transition period, +when half-frozen mud and icy slush take the place of snow. The deep +drifts of the winter were gone; only in the fence-corners there yet +remained darkened icy ridges, showing their outline. + +The fields were bare, but the discolored snow still lay in patches on +the roads, where it had been beaten hard. The world never looks so +desolate and disreputable as at this time, when the earth, looking up +inquiringly to a comfortless sun, pleads--or so it would seem--for +heat, that its nakedness may be clothed with verdure. + +The tree-tops in the woodlands clashed together, and the blows seemed +to start the sap within them, for their buds began to swell, and all +along their branches the satiny receptacles, wherein were coiled the +first leaves, glistened. + +The sugar maples sparkled night and morning with tiny icicles, where +the sweet sap that oozed out at noon froze in the colder breath of +evening. Every schoolboy in Jamestown had swollen lips from eating +these icicles--dainty morsels they were, too, their flavor the very +essence of sweetness. + +All the trees in the forest seemed to stand at "attention," awaiting +the command of the sun to leap to life. Only the low-growing +witch-hazel, that uncanny tree, associated with the Black Art from time +immemorial, had taken upon itself to bedeck its limbs with fuzzy little +yellow and brown tufts of bloom. + +But none of the other trees followed its example. They waited the heat +of the sun. From all accounts, the root of the witch-hazel seeks less +celestial fires to draw its life from. At any rate, this overwise tree +knows all subterranean secrets, all the wonders of the water, all the +wind's weird whisperings. Passed along the surface of the earth, does +it not divine where, far beneath, the hidden springs gush forth? +Launched upon the water, does it not stop and tremble where the drowned +one lies? Before the coming of the storm, do its leaves not dance, and +nod, and rustle, though moved by no perceptible influence save the +intoxication of their own evil sap? Besides, what magical mysteries, +what eerie orgies, does it not share with hairs from black cats' tails, +and moss from gravestones, and teeth of dead people? Ugh! It is no +wonder that its deep, deep roots know where to seek for warmth. + +The moss upon the rocks that faced the lake front was vividly green. +Last year's dead leaves had rotted beneath the snows, and the empty +seed-vessels of the tall weeds served as bells for the jesting wind. + +Whatever suggestions of bygone beauty, whatever anticipations of unborn +flowers lurked in the woods, the village at this time looked +depressingly squalid. Relying upon the snow's charity in covering a +multitude of sins, the untidy housekeepers had imposed upon it. Now +they were shamed. The melting snow left exposed all the debris of the +winter. Heaps of tea-leaves cast forth by careless hands beside the +doors, ashes flung out hastily, bones, broken crockery, and the heads +of decapitated chickens bestrewed the streets. + +Outwardly, at least, Jamestown had been quite a decent village before +the snow melted; now, it showed like a hypocrite from whom the robe has +been torn away. + +With the first break in the winter weather, the men began to "go over" +the fences, rebuilding those the snow had broken, replacing the rails +and boards that the wind had torn off, and sinking new posts where the +frosts had heaved the old ones out of the earth. + +Clem Humphries had long been impatient to leave Myron's and get out of +the reach of Ann's irritating tongue, and his eager search for work got +the reward of being hired by Mr. White to bore post-holes. + +He stuck to his task until he earned a few dollars; then his long-saved +thirst drove him to town. The money went for the old purpose, and Clem +got gloriously drunk. A sudden brief but biting spring frost setting +in, he was found next morning in Mr. White's barnyard, lying by the +strawstack, his fingers clasping rigidly an empty bottle, his long +boots frozen to his feet. + +They carried him in beside the kitchen stove, cut off his boots, and by +noon old Clem was as sprightly as ever; only he cursed sulphurously +when he saw the wreck they had made of his foot-gear. This was +particularly annoying to him, because he knew that had he "only had +sense enough, he could have got a good quart more of rye for them very +boots they cut up, as if they weren't worth a cent." + +Many men might have suffered from this experience, but alcohol has +great preservative qualities and old Clem's system was saturated with +it. + +Clem being now "off the township" and exposed to all the inclemencies +of Fortune's variable winds, it behooved him to supply himself with a +new suit of religion, as the snake takes to himself a new skin. This +he did. He spoke piously of his failings, his experiences, his +backslidings and beliefs, so that Mrs. White held him in godly +commiseration, as one sore beset by the enemy. + +So Clem fed and fattened, whined diligently, and worked as little as he +could help, and laughed in his sleeve at them all. + +Mrs. Deans said to Homer Wilson, with sneering emphasis: + +"If you should see that Myron Holder, Homer, I wish you'd tell her I +want to speak to her." + +"Very well," said Homer, unmoved. + +"Will you be likely to see her?" pursued Mrs. Deans. + +"Yes," said Homer, in a matter-of-course tone. "Oh, yes, of course +I'll see her." + +"Still, after all," Mrs. Deans hesitated with a fine show of prayerful +reflection, "maybe I hadn't ought to ask you to call there? There's no +use making things worse than they are, and I'd never forgive myself if +I thought I put you in the way of wrongdoing." + +"I don't understand," said Homer, calmly. "Is there anything wrong +about your message?" + +"Not about my message," answered Mrs. Deans; "but, after all that's +come and gone, I dare say you would not like to go to the Holder place. +Well, I don't know as I blame you. It's terrible discouragin' to be +mixed up with such a story; but there, never mind, I can send Maley. +No one would think anything of his going." + +"Make your mind easy, Mrs. Deans," said Homer, contemptuously. "Ann +Lemon, I am sure, has let you know that I am in the habit of going to +Myron's as often as she'll let me. I'll be very glad of your message +as an excuse to go again." + +With this Homer departed, leaving Mrs. Deans as nearly dumbstruck as it +was possible for her to be. + +That afternoon Myron stood knocking at Mrs. Deans' kitchen-door, +holding My by the hand, whilst he struggled to get away to the collie +dog which lay on the porch, its front paws crossed in an attitude of +dignified leisure. + +From the poultry-yard came the mingled babble of the fowls' cries. A +thin blue banner of smoke uncoiled in a long spiral from behind the +house. It diffused an aroma of herbs and withered grass: the rakings +of the garden were being burned. Gamaliel and the hired men were +opening a ditch in the field next the house. Their coarse voices and +coarser laughing came clearly through the spring air. A sparrow flew +down and, laden with a long straw, flew up again to the woodshed eaves, +where its mate proceeded to help it to weave the straw into the walls +of their nest. The old cat, thinner now than in the winter, looked up +at their toiling malignantly. Every now and then the eye was conscious +of a dark speck above the line of direct vision, as the swallows soared +in long sweeps over the building. + +The sky was bright, but not very warm; and when one of the many +floating clouds interposed a veil betwixt its rays and the earth, there +came a quick sense of chill. The men's voices grew higher and more +confused. Then, clear above the murmur that they made, came shrill +whistles and shouts of "Bob! Bob!" The collie sprang up, and, +throwing dignity to the wind, wriggled between the boards of the garden +fence and darted across the field, to enjoy presently a hilarious chase +after a pair of water-rats that the men had found in the stopped up +drain. + +It was a spring day--all delicate sunshine and shimmering shadow, all +soft with tints of mother-o'-pearl, with hints of after-heats and +breaths of bygone bitterness. Above floated "the wind-stirred robe of +roseate gray," and beneath the earth lay murmurous, sentient, +expectant, and eager, with little streams finding their way to the +lake, each seeming the bearer of sweeter secrets than we know. + + "O water, thou that wanderest, whispering, + Thou keep'st thy counsel to the last! + What spell upon thy bosom should Love cast, + His message thence to wring?" + + +A spring day--yet somewhat sad, and strange with the uncertainty of +unfulfilled dreams. It was but one minor note in Nature's glad +interlude between "winter's rains and ruins" and summer's languorous +perfections, fleeting to the eye, elusive to the memory, but lingering +long in the heart. + +Myron knocked and waited. Presently Liz opened the door. She had a +knife in one hand, a potato in the other, and her fingers were stained +a deep brown. Liz was cutting seed-potatoes, and even as she walked +back to her place by the window, dexterously sliced the potato she held +into angled bits, preserving in each an eye for growth to spring from. +Mrs. Deans came, and when Myron left she had arranged for another +summer's toil under her benign influence. + +Mrs. Deans had decided to raise poultry more extensively than ever this +year, and, berate Myron as she might, she recognized fully how valuable +her faithful services were. Mrs. Deans proposed that My should be left +with Ann Lemon during the day, but Myron said humbly but very decidedly +that the child must come with her. Mrs. Deans demurred, but read +Myron's pale determination aright, and finally consented. It gave her +an excuse, however, for still further reducing the meagre pay she had +given Myron the summer before. + +Myron had been prepared for this, and did not grumble when Mrs. Deans +named the lower wage, whereat Mrs. Deans was wroth with herself that +she had not said still less. + +Ann Lemon went back to her own house, and Myron once more went back and +forth to the village. The winter had changed her. She no longer +shrank from before the gaze of those cold eyes that met hers daily. +Instead, she met their glances with firm lips and unmoved eye, not +boldly, not appealingly, but with an acceptance of rebuke and scorn +that was stronger in its endurance than wrath, with a patience more +pathetic than any appeal. + +No smile ever moved her lips, no anger ever raised her voice. If tears +ever dimmed her eyes, they were unseen. If any ray of hope yet +flickered within her breast, it was well hidden; its fires never +flushed her cheeks nor troubled her eyes, and those humble eyes were +"deeper than the depth of waters stilled at even." + +The spring advanced. Each evening whispered of a new beauty, each +night saw the birth of a new mystery, each morning revealed it in +nature's mirror, each day bespoke some completion of beauty, some +fulfillment of hope. + +Spring--"all bloom and desire"--is not the time for love to end. It is +rather the growing time of every tender joy, and Homer Wilson found +himself hoping against hope. He contrived to meet Myron very often +now, in the early mornings or late twilight, as she traversed the road +between the village and Mrs. Deans'. He had done what he could to +dissuade her from going to Mrs. Deans', but a refusal to do so meant a +full acceptance of his aid. Myron held back her hand from such +overwhelming alms. Homer had done, therefore, what he could for +her--ploughed the little lot about her house and planted it with +potatoes and vegetables for her, and mended the fence and piled great +heaps of split wood in the woodshed. + +He pleaded with her sometimes, but to no avail--at least none that was +perceptible to him. The water beating against a rock does not realize +its own victories; but we see the honeycombed cells that attest its +persistence, and predict that some day the water will have won a way +for itself over the fragments of the rocky barrier. But the springs +run dry sometimes, and the rock remains unconquered, but barren and +parched, thirsting for the water that loved it once. To each +successive plea Myron felt it harder and harder to say "No." + +When Homer asked for her love, his face shone with that seraphic light +that never yet "has shone on land or sea," and she felt it very bitter +to banish it. Sometimes he touched her to tears. Sometimes, dry-eyed, +she begged him so piteously to desist that he felt himself a cur to +have urged her. + +Indeed, in those calm spring weeks his heart was the abode of perpetual +conflict, the place of passion and pain, the home of love and longing-- + + "O fretted heart, tossed to and fro, + Rest was nearer than thou wist." + + +Through all these turbulent times Homer bore himself well. He had +again the old genial manner, the old patience, the old generosity. His +people presumed upon his unfaltering good-temper, and made their +demands more and more exacting. He gave all they sought of his time, +trouble, and money, and to their reproaches replied not again. + +Upon every subject under the sun he heard them patiently, save the one +subject next his heart. That he held sacred. + +His mother had said to him one day: + +"You'll never marry her, Homer?" + +"God knows I'm afraid I won't," he said. + +"Do you mean to say----" began his mother. + +"There is nothing but this to say," he answered, very quietly, but in a +voice that silenced her; "I would give my right hand--my +life--everything--if I could persuade Myron Holder to marry me." + +So he left her; but his mother's incredulous exclamation, "You'll never +marry her!" cankered in his heart like a bitter prophecy. + +Afterwards, when Mrs. Wilson thought over all the days and doings of +her son, she thought of this also, and told the conversation to her +neighbors, and they all then looked upon Myron Holder as one who, +having gotten a man's soul, would not let him assoil himself by +marrying her. + +But this was after. + +The old rag peddler going his rounds stopped once more at Mrs. Deans' +door. Little My trotted out from the kitchen, and the old peddler eyed +him with the longing gaze of a childless man. Mrs. Deans bargained for +her pie-plates, and My stood gazing reflectively at the big black horse. + +"Say, Mrs. Deans," said the ragman, "whose young one is that?" + +"Oh," answered Mrs. Deans, feelingly, "that's Myron Holder's brat!" + +"You don't say! Well, 'taint much like the Holders. I knowed Jed," he +added, after a pause. + +That night the ragman drove home, his van heavily laden, and his wife +helped him to bestow the canvas sacks in the barn, and later looked +over his stock of tins and ran over the book. She was a queer little +figure. Her dress was of dark woollen stuff that they gave her husband +at the shoddy-mills. It was curiously and lavishly adorned with +buttons: there were rows of buttons on the sleeves from wrist to elbow, +a veritable breast-plate of them on the bodice; they jingled on her +shoulders and glistened on her skirts. + +In a deep-down corner of her miserly little soul there lurked a taste +for finery. Denied legitimate expression by her miserliness, it found +vent in this barbaric adorning of her gowns. The pearl and crockery +buttons she did not use--those she sewed on cards to resell; but all +the fancy metal ones she found on the rags, being unsalable, she +appropriated toward the decoration of her penurious person, and let her +fancy run riot in the arrangement of them. + +"Where's the little red tin mug?" she asked her husband, as she pored +over his ragged daybook. "I don't see it in the van, and I don't see +it marked in the sales." + +Her husband shifted uneasily. + +"I give it to Myron Holder's young one. He was playing about the wagon +at Deans'." + +"You did!" said his wife. "You did! What for?" + +"I knowed Jed," began her husband, apologetically; but he was cut short +by a contemptuous snub from his wife. + +This was the chronicling of a little incident that gladdened Myron's +heart inexpressibly. + +In Myron's mind there was slowly forming an idea at this time--an idea +of change. It was but dimly shadowed forth yet; but when the time came +for it to take definite shape, it did so at once, and was so well +established that it seemed the settled and legitimate conclusion of +long reasoning. In the mean time the thought only came to her +hazily--sometimes in the pauses of her work when she heard Mrs. Deans +speaking of the town; sometimes when, in the early morning, she saw far +away across the lake the smoke of a steamer; sometimes when, at +noontide, the whistle of far-off trains smote through the air, or when, +returning to the village at night, she noted the telegraph-poles, with +their single wire. They seemed to incline from the village--away from +its self-righteous roof-trees and censorious chimneys; away and above +its babbling doorsteps and carping streets--and to point out into a +wider, freer, unknown world. + +Often she turned to look along the way they pointed. They took her +eyes eastward, and at night the eastern prospect is dull and gray. +From this forbidding outlook she would turn her eyes, with a shudder, +and they would fall upon the trees of Deans' woodland, illumined by the +sun which set behind them. + +But if the eastern gray made her despond, the western glow behind those +trees made her despair. She withdrew her gaze and hastened to the +blank twilight of the village. + +It was summer, and Homer Wilson, walking through his fields, was +thinking of Myron Holder. He had gone early to town that morning, and +as he passed the cottage she issued, with little My, from the door. + +The dew lay heavy on the grass; the silence was stirred by the singing +of birds; the haze that lay over the land presaged a day of intense +heat. The fires were being lighted in the village, and the first smoke +was lingering lazily above the roofs. The hopvines about the cottage +glistened at every point with drops of dew, and, as the sparrows +twittered through the tendrils, they sent sparkling little showers +down. The morning-glories that Myron had planted beneath the window +were covered with their cup-like blooms. There is no flower on earth +more beautiful in delicate fragility of texture, in purity of tint, in +shape and translucent color than a morning-glory with the dew upon it. + +It was a morning to live and love in. And it seemed to Homer Wilson +that the whole gracious aspect of the day was completed by the forms of +Myron and her boy as they stood without the gate. + +His heart yearned for her as he helped her into the wagon by his side. +At Mrs. Deans' he lifted her down, holding her for an instant in his +arms. The keen "possessive pang" that thrilled him shook his spirit +with its sacred sweetness. + +And to-night he was going to her with yet another prayer upon his lips. + +The sultry day had fulfilled the prophecy of the misty morning. The +air was heavy with odors. Every weed and grass, each flower and vine, +each bush and tree, had given its quota of perfume to form the +frankincense that nature offers to the midsummer moon. The exhalations +from a million tiny cells mingled together in that odorous oblation. + +And as he crossed the fields Homer saw the moon, round and red, rising +slowly over the lake. Slowly--slowly--it rose, paling as it attained +the higher heavens, until it soared-- + + "In voluptuous whiteness, Juno-like, + A passionate splendor"-- + +most worthy to be worshipped. + +As Homer knocked at Myron's door the moon veiled itself behind some +close-wreathed clouds, so that from the dimness of the cloudy sky Homer +passed within the doorway. + +* * * * * * + +The moon was still obscured when he emerged, so that his face was hid. +But before him there stretched, at last seen with clear eyes, the +definite dreariness of a solitary life. Behind him he knew a woman lay +prone upon a bare floor, sobbing and wrestling with the evil of her own +nature, with hard-wrought hands half-outstretched to +him--half-withdrawn, to cover her shamed eyes. Within his breast he +bore the memory, not of rejection or of rebuke, but the echo of a plea +for mercy--the broken syllables of a woman's voice raised in an appeal +for help against her own weakness. + +Nor had it been made in vain. For Homer Wilson, in the moment of that +supreme temptation, had risen superior to himself--had put aside his +own strength to help her weakness--had overcome his passion with his +love. He had uttered a passionate word or two of comprehension, +offered an incoherent pledge of aid--comfort--approval--and then, +stumbling out of the door, hastened away, disregarding, for her sake, +the cry of "Homer--Homer!" that seemed to follow him. + +* * * * * * + +Each of us has a wilderness and a temptation therein, although oft we +pass through it, unrecking of the devils that attend us until they have +stolen all they sought. Sometimes our wilderness is a perfumed garden, +through which insidious devils dog our laggard footsteps. Sometimes it +is a shaded pleasaunce, through which we tread with stately steps, +unwitting of the derisive demons that smile as they mock our pageantry +of pride. With retrospective agony, we turn to gaze upon the mirages +of these scenes, as one views sunlit seas where wrecks have been, and +cry aloud, "Here much precious treasure was lost!" But there are other +wildernesses wherein we wander, consciously beset with Evil Spirits +whose faces we know. + +It was thus with Myron Holder. Her wilderness was indeed "a land of +sand and thorns," thorns whose acrid sap was sucked from salt pools of +tears. And the Spectre Demon that beset her there was the Devil of her +own passion. By day it lingered round her steps, tempting her with +suggestions of the Lethean draught its pleasures would bring, +whispering to her how excusable she would be if she yielded to its +allurements; for it did not fail to point out that she had no debt of +kindness to repay with worthiness. + +All day she fought against this Tempting One, who speedily enleagued +all the other evils of her nature to aid him. + +The battle raged fiercely, the bright light in her eyes, the flaming +cheeks and trembling hands attesting the strife. One night, when the +heat of summer made even the night winds sultry, when all nature was in +the full height of its development, when the fields were deep in grass +and the clover heavy with bloom--on such a night the door of a hop-clad +cottage in Jamestown opened softly and closed as gently, and through +the sleeping streets and out into the country a wild figure sped. She, +for it was a woman, with flushed cheeks and loose-coiled hair, advanced +a short distance along the highway, and then, swiftly climbing the +fence, made her way diagonally across the fields of dew-drenched +grass--across one field, another, and another--holding her slanting +course as steadily and unswervingly as though she followed a beaten +track. + +As she ran, the spirit of the night and the intoxicating odor of +flowers and grasses entered into her and steeped her senses in a +delirium of freedom. She sprang on--now running, now half-dancing, +once going a rod or two in the old childish "hippety-hop" fashion. + +She reached the boundary of Deans' woodland, and plunged into its +shadows with as little hesitation as she had entered the field of +clover. She threaded the wood swiftly, her eyes fixed straight before +her, never seeming to see the obstacles which opposed her path, +although she avoided them unerringly. + +Bats whose eyes have been pierced out exercise this same blind +avoidance of obstacles, and it was only this woman's heart that had +been wounded. + +She held on her way. + +At length she saw a far-off gleam of water, and knew she had all but +reached her destination. + +On she went, and, pushing through the dense mass of witch-hazel bushes +that grew along the top of the lake bank, jumped. It seemed a leap to +destruction, for Deans' woods bounded the lake here with high, +precipitous cliffs; but the path to that spot was marked by her +heart-blood, and she had made no error in following it. She had a drop +of four feet or so; and then she stood upon a long, narrow, jutting +ledge, surrounded by the tops of the trees that grew below it on the +bank proper. From the top of the bank it was almost +invisible--entirely so, unless the looker penetrated the witch-hazel +hedge. From the lake it was plainly seen. + +Here, then, she paused, looking forth over the water, and being scorned +by the moon-- + + "For so it is, with past delights + She taunts men's brains and makes them mad." + +* * * * * * + +She stood upon the rocky point and held out her clasped hands +despairingly. Her hair, loosened by many a tugging branch, fell about +her in wild disorder--now blown across her flushed cheeks, wild eyes +and parted lips; now wrenched back by the high wind, its whole weight +streaming behind her; now framing her face in dusky convolutions. + +In the mute agony of her gesture, she seemed a fit emblem of despairing +grief--the grief of Psyche for Adonis. + +The moon broke from the embrace of its clouds and sailed high up into +the night, then faded towards the horizon. + +And still she stood, outwearing her passion by her patience. About her +surged all the weird melodies that loneliness and night and despair +smite from the heart-strings. The blood sang in her ears, a monotonous +_obligato_ to those piercing notes. + +* * * * * * + +She looked out into the night. Her eyes demanded from it some balm to +soothe their burning; her heart some solace for its pain. Her soul +cried out against the silence without, which seemed such a maddening +environment to the fightings within. Her whole being demanded an +answering emotion from some one or something. + + "Shake out, carols! + Solitary here--the night's carols! + Carols of lonesome love! Death's carols! + Carols under that lagging, yellow, waning moon-- + Oh, under that moon where she drops almost down into the sea! + Oh, reckless, despairing carols!" + + +But the moon was mute, the night silent, and she was alone. She could +not analyze her own emotions, nor vivisect her own soul; could not +separate shreds of Desire, fibres of loneliness, tissues of misery, +until she had disintegrated the whole mass of Despair that was crushing +her. + +She could but suffer. + +* * * * * * + +She lay prone upon the ledge of rock, her hands clutching the short, +glossy mountain grass; resisting the wooing of the airy space below +that called her to oblivion, purchased by one leap outward--a leap--no, +one single step--out into the kindly air. + +How small a price at which to buy immunity from those thorny roads she +trod with bleeding feet, alone! Alone? Ah! Little My! ... The leaves +were stirring with the morning's breath; the birds had not begun to +sing yet, but were moving restlessly upon the branches and uttering +their first waking calls--those ineffably sad heraldings of earliest +dawn or latest night! + + "Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns, + The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds!" + + +The world lay silent under a reflectionless moonstone dome of gray when +Myron Holder, with dew-drenched skirts and hair, relaxed limbs and +pallid cheeks, entered the house where her child yet slept. Of the +night's turmoil there was no trace save the signs of physical +exhaustion. Her face was calm, her lips firm; her eyes shone undimmed +with tears, unblurred by passion. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + + "Yea, then were all things laid within the scale-- + Pleasure and lust, love and desire of fame, + Kindness, and hope, and folly, all the tale + Told in a moment--as across him came + That sudden flash, bright as the lightning flame, + Showing the wanderer on the waste how he + Has gone astray 'mid dark and misery." + + +Outwardly the lives of Myron Holder and Homer Wilson gave no sign of +these conflicts. It is the petty worries and every-day griefs of life +that traces lines upon the brow. A fretful discontent often leaves a +wrinkle when a great grief obscures itself behind the placidity of +despair. + +Myron Holder's face now shone in unaltered--and it seemed +unalterable--calm. That wild night had not been spent in vain. +Self-poised, if humble, her life seemed centred calmly at last. + +As for Homer Wilson; it was different with him. His heart was still +parched with the "thirst that thirsteth on," but he no longer sought +for draughts to slake it. His attitude approximated that of those who, +dying of some dreadful disease, accept their fate and, looking the +inevitable in the face, long for the end. + +One day he found in his pocket the old bullet he had picked up from the +crevice in the rock. He turned it over, wondering where he got it; +then remembering, a bitter thought crossed his mind that he was like +that bullet. His life-impetus gone, he was but a thing for the sun to +scorn. Myron, no longer trembling for herself, felt a deep tenderness +spring within her heart for Homer, and sought to show him in every way +that he was her only friend and that she trusted him. + +Myron had almost made up her mind to leave Jamestown, and a little +incident that occurred one day strengthened this thought to a +resolution. The school-house was quite near the Holder cottage: the +playground bordered one side of the cottage garden; a fence of slackly +hung wires was between them; beyond the fence in the playground was a +little ditch with heaped-up sides, on which grew many yellow +buttercups. This was a favorite haunt for the younger school children, +and their voices came in mingled cadences across Myron's rows of +vegetables. + +One day in later summer Myron was at home from Mrs. Deans', having by +that lady's desire brought the weekly washing from the farm, to do it +in the cottage. The windows were flung high, and through the rising +steam from her wash tubs Myron's eyes followed My's golden head as he +trotted about the garden. Looking up once, she saw him standing by the +fence, holding to one swaying wire and peering through at the children +in the playground. A momentary pang shot through her heart--he seemed +so isolated there; and yet the barrier that separated him from the +other Jamestown children was so slight--just a slack-wire fence--that +any one could see through, that hung irregularly between its supports, +now so low that it could be stepped over, again so high it seemed +impassable, only where it was so lofty the spaces between the wires +were wide enough to creep through. + +The sunlight shone on both sides the same. The buttercups straggled +through to the vegetables, seeming by their persistence to wish to +bloom there, and the singing of the catbird in the elm tree was as +sweet to My's ears as to Sammy Warner's upon the other side. + +Nature made no difference; nevertheless there was a barrier. My was +effectually severed from the rest of the village, but he himself had +not recognized that yet, and the next time Myron looked up she saw My +had gone through the fence and had seated himself beside the others. + +They had taken their places in an irregular row among the buttercups, +jostling and nudging each other, saying "Gimme elbow room," and "Quit +pushin'," as they settled themselves comfortably to the business of the +moment. + +This was the time-honored trial to decide which of them liked butter, +ascertained by holding a spray of buttercups against the throat, so +that the reflection was cast upon the uptilted chin. The taste for +butter is proportionate to the yellowness of the reflection. + +Little Jenny Muir was judge and the rest jury, craning their necks +forward to look as she passed from one to the other, holding a bunch of +buttercups against their chests whilst they tilted their chins far +back. The dull blues, washed-out reds, and russet browns of the +children's frocks enhanced the brilliant yellow of the flowers. The +shadows of the big pear tree, glossy of leaf but barren of fruit, +modulated the sunshine, so that the whole group showed in a soft, +subdued glow, an idyl of child life not unlovely, for the heads in the +row were not yet bent to the dust to search for money, nor lifted to +heaven in self-righteous conceit. Time had not dulled the childish +gold to brown, nor deadened the flaxen heads to lustreless drab. + +My placed himself at the end of the row, his head a golden period at +the end of the human sentence that spoke of life's beginnings. With +unembarrassed childish mimicry, he emulated the gestures and laughter +of the others. + +Myron's heart lightened. She wondered for a moment if My might not in +time merge his life with those others and be no longer solitary. The +hope soon vanished. Looking out again, she saw My sitting alone, his +head tilted far back as he waited for his turn. Just disappearing down +the slight decline to the school-house, she saw the other children, +their hands held over their mouths, their faces red with suppressed +laughter, stepping with elaborate pretence of quiet, and turning now +and then to look over their shoulders at My, sitting alone, his face +patiently uptilted to the sun, unconscious of his loneliness. Beside +him lay the bunch of buttercups, flung down as Jenny Muir clapped her +hands over her mouth and fled across the soft sward. + +In a moment Myron was out of the house, running down the path to the +fence side. Ere she reached it, My's tired little neck relaxed, and he +looked about him wonderingly, the light fading from his face. His eyes +were filled with tears, and his lips quivered when his mother called +him. There was a hasty scramble over the ditch, a struggle through the +fence, and My was back on his mother's side of the barrier. That +straggling fence was, after all, not so easily crossed. + +My had forgotten the whole affair ten minutes after, as he excitedly +chased grasshoppers along the paths; but all day long the laughter of +the playing children smote Myron's heart like the crack of a whip that +stings. + +After that day it became a matter of conscience for Myron to play the +"buttercup game" with My, and a feverish eagerness fairly consumed her +to get away from a place where even the children were cruel. She began +to scrimp and save every penny she could, hoarding her meagre +gatherings in the bottom of the old clock-case that stood on the shelf +beside the window. + +* * * * * * + +It was late autumn. Between the tree-tops were skyey lakes of blue +more brilliant than any blue of summer sky, more evanescent than any of +spring. The sun shone through the tree-tops with an ineffable, clear, +cold light, displaying every fibre in their leaves and imparting to +them a fragility wholly sad. + +A light uncertain wind rippled through the sumachs, giving their leaves +a delicate, lateral movement, as though upon some aerial lyre they +harped their own requiem, touching its invisible strings lightly with +blood-tipped fingers, for the autumn coloring stained the green. + +Between the boughs of the trees glistened those huge octagonal webs +that the wood-spiders spin so persistently at this season. There was +no sound of birds, only the cheerless shrilling of the autumnal +crickets and the dry rustle of dead leaves as the few grasshoppers left +alive hopped torpidly from place to place till they came to the spot to +die. + +The katydids, that six weeks before had prophesied so cheerily the +frost that was to kill them, lay here and there, little pale-green +corpses, wrapped in their lace-like wings. + +The tall weeds by the pathway, that in summer had disguised themselves +with blossoms of different colors and shapes, now stood confessed, with +panicles of burs crowning their dishonored heads. + +It was upon such a day that Homer walked through his woods, searching +for a young hickory tree suitable to cut down for axe-handles. His +heart, caught in the embrace of the surrounding silence, suddenly +stilled its throbbing to a steadier rhythm than it had known of late. +He thought out clearly the motive that must actuate his life, the +inspiration that must point his path. + +Passion was indeed eliminated from his heart, but not forgotten. They +tell us that when an arm or leg is amputated, one still feels shadowy +aches and ghostly pangs, intensifying the desolate sense of +incompleteness and loss. The maiming of one part of the body may +preserve the whole alive, but yet one looks back with anguished regret +to the days when he stood complete. + +Homer Wilson was learning that each must "dree his ain weird," and the +only complaint he made against his Fate was that he could not alter +Myron's. + +Night fell soon and swiftly now. The sun seemed glad to sink out of +sight. Its feeble rays brought no heat to the leaves it had called to +life. The sad silence of the trees seemed a mute reproach against the +light that brought forth but could not sustain, their foliage. + +That evening in the chill twilight, Homer overtook Myron and her boy +returning from Mrs. Deans'. Slackening his pace, he walked with them +to the village. The air was very quiet, "silent as a nun breathless +with adoration." As they passed along the road there came an earthy +breath from the fresh-turned soil in the fields, where they had been +lifting the potatoes and the turnips. It had none of the fresh +fruitiness of spring: instead it was redolent with sad suggestions, an +atmosphere in which one involuntarily lowered the voice and stilled a +laugh. + +They passed the little graveyard where the virgin bower clematis, +already denuded of leaves, garlanded the pickets with brittle, bare, +brown branches, softened here and there by the downy whorls of seed. +Myron was telling Homer of her wish to leave Jamestown, and asking his +advice. He had long felt this to be one possible solution of the +position, but there were points that troubled him sorely. It was +obvious that the best that could happen to Myron would be the return of +the man for whom she had suffered so much. Homer confessed to himself +that he had no hope that he would return, but yet had grown very +uncertain and humble about his own judgment, and he thought Myron still +believed in her betrayer's return. If he should return and Myron be +gone? Would that not afford him a somewhat tenable excuse for +continued infidelity? Suppose he should return and inquire for Myron +Holder in the village? Homer sickened to think of the distorted +picture that would then be drawn of her patient life. + +As has been said, Homer had not a shadow of hope that he would return, +but he thought Myron had. Sharpened as Homer's perceptions were by +pain and love, they were not yet keen enough to grasp clearly how +slight a shred of hope remained of all her brave fabric of belief. He +could not understand how much of Myron's faithfulness was due to her +own womanhood, how little now to any hope of reparation. He therefore +hesitated when, laying everything before him, she asked him to decide. + +As they neared the village they walked yet more slowly. They had much +to say, and since that midsummer night Homer had never entered the +cottage door. There seemed to issue from its portals forever a voice +calling, "Homer, Homer," a voice whose infinite longings and needs +shook his soul with a sense of his own impotency. + +Little My wearied, and Homer raised him in his arms. So they made +their way to the cottage--they two alone, for the child slept, and a +strange loneliness lay over the quiet road and empty street. Myron +took My within doors, and, coming out, she and Homer paced, side by +side, up and down the little centre path. On either side were +vegetables and withering grass, and down in the far corner the huge +yellow globes of the pumpkins showed solidly through the dusk. + +"Indeed, Myron dear, it would be easier for you if you went," he said, +as they stood together in the shadow of the elm tree; "and later on My +might have a happier time. For my part, I would have spoken of it long +since, only--only----" He paused, and added in lower tones, "I knew +the hope you lived in." + +She bent toward him and said, very quietly but steadily, "I have no +vestige of that hope left, Homer." + +He looked down at her, an eagerness that strove against repression in +his eyes. + +"No," she continued, "My and I must hold our way alone. Tell me, then, +Homer, do you think it would be ever so little easier if we went away +from here?" + +Her eyes held his, pleadingly, and filled with tears. It was one of +the rare times when she felt self-pity. + +"Yes, dear," he said, taking her hands, that fluttered nervously; "yes, +we will make it easier--we will find a way for you to leave all this +behind. You shall go and lose yourself, so that their prying eyes +shall never find you, their itching ears never hear of you, their lying +lips have nothing to tell of you--only, Myron, you will never try to +hide from me, will you?" + +"Oh, Homer!" she cried, "I would be lost indeed then. Oh, no! I could +not bear to have you forget me." + +His face lighted in the dusk with a happiness that had long been a +stranger--a chastened light, perhaps, when compared with the radiance +evoked by his first love, but a steadier flame, lit in the heart, not +in the eyes alone. + +"Well, I will think it all out, Myron; to-morrow will surely find me +with a way planned for you. I wish, indeed, that I too could go with +you, that I also could find a road out of Jamestown." + +He said good-night, and turned to go. He was almost at the gate when +she ran after him. + +"Wait a moment, Homer," she called softly; "wait!" + +He turned quickly. + +"You know how I think of you?" she asked. "You know you are my only +friend--my dear friend--my brother? You know this? Do you think that +going away from Jamestown will make up for not seeing you? I am +afraid--I--I--I think, Homer, I will stay." + +Homer gave a little laugh, so sweet these words were to him. + +"My dear, you shall go away, and yet shall see me too, sometimes. I +could not stand it to be without a sight of My and you now and then." + +She clasped her hands. + +"Oh, could I see you sometimes? Then think hard to-night, Homer, and +find out the way to-morrow." + +There was another good-night, and they parted. + +The next day Myron, having been sent to the village by Mrs. Deans, went +to the grocery store to buy some things for herself, for it was +Saturday, and she did not go to Mrs. Deans' on Sunday. Whilst she +stood waiting until Mrs. Wilson was served, My ran in and out of the +door, a little, tottering figure, clad in a queerly made blue and white +checked pinafore. Mrs. Wilson did her shopping leisurely, discoursing +upon the pros and cons of asthma the while, for which she strongly +recommended the smoking of cigars made of mullein-leaves. She turned +from the counter at length, and, passing Myron Holder with uplifted +chin, made her way to the door. It was encumbered with an open barrel +of salt mackerel, by which stood little My, balancing slowly back and +forth on his uncertain feet, the sun glinting on his yellow head. Mrs. +Wilson pushed the little form roughly aside and went out. My swayed +and fell, striking his head on the step. + +Hot anger flushed Myron's cheeks at the incident. She picked up the +boy, soothed him with a word or two, and gave him a biscuit from the +bag the groceryman was weighing for her. My trotted off to the door, +and presently crossed the threshold into the street. + +Myron Holder was just opening the shiny old purse to pay for her small +purchase when a confused sound of shouting and exclamations came to +her. Through the hum of voices sounded the thud-thud of flying +hoof-beats. Her eyes sought My. He was not there! + +She and the groceryman reached the door in an instant. The street +seemed thronged with people. Mrs. Wilson had just emerged from Mrs. +Warner's, and stood with her at the door. + +Homer Wilson was about to untie his team, that stood before the +harness-shop just opposite the grocery store. + +At the same moment that Myron emerged from the store Homer turned his +eyes to the street. He saw and understood what Myron's anguished eyes +had perceived at the first glance. In the middle of the sandy street, +the biscuit in one hand, the corner of his pinafore in the other, his +head shining in the sun which bedazzled his eyes, stood little My. + +Thundering down the street, almost upon the child already, came +Disney's great black horse, its huge head outstretched, its nostrils +distended--two glowing scarlet pits--its lips drawn back, exposing the +gleaming teeth flecked with blood-stained foam, flinging its forefeet +out so madly that the glitter of its shoes could be seen from the +front. Shreds of its harness clung to it and lashed it to greater fury. + +Without a second's hesitation, Myron Holder rushed to her child--to +death, as she doubted not. But another form sprang forward also. +Homer Wilson darted diagonally across the street until he was directly +in the pathway of the horse, but a yard or two beyond My. He had not +time to steady himself before the brute was upon him. He grasped at +the distended nostrils of the horse, caught them, but in a sliding +grip,--the horse reared upright. There came two sounds--of hoofs, +striking not on the resonant roadway, but with the horrible echoless +blow that falls upon flesh, and then the horse swept on; but only one +of his shoes was shining now, the rest were dim with blood and dust. + +[Illustration: HE HAD NO TIME TO STEADY HIMSELF BEFORE THE BRUTE WAS +UPON HIM.] + +Myron snatched her child out of the way as the horse passed by a hand's +breadth, and in a moment she was kneeling by Homer's side. + +He was dying, but a flicker of life bespoke the want that could only go +out with life. She raised his head from the dust and kissed him on the +mouth. He opened his eyes; they met hers, and an ineffable and +unearthly radiance overspread his face. + +That was all. He had found his way out of Jamestown. Myron's was +still to seek. + +He was quite dead when the others reached him. His chest was battered +in, and the calk of one hind shoe had pierced through the thick brown +hair and brought death. + + "He has outsoared the shadow of our night, + Envy, and calumny, and hate, and pain; + And that unrest which men miscall delight + Can touch him not and torture not again. + From the contagion of the world's slow stain + He is secure; and now can never mourn + A heart grown cold, a head grown gray in vain." + + +Myron knelt by him, calling his name and imploring him to answer her. +Rough hands pushed her aside. She fell, half-dazed. When she came to +herself, My was crying by her, and a slow throng was moving towards +Homer's wagon, where it stood before the harness-shop. + +Myron rose and ran after them, but was met by a frightful figure of +rage. The mother of the dead man, who had witnessed his death, rushed +at her, shrieking out names of which "murderess" was the least hard, +and would have struck her, but some one caught the upraised arm and +bade Myron, with a curse, be gone. + +Affrighted and bewildered, she caught up My and fled to the cottage. + +Homer Wilson was carried in due time to the little graveyard. There +followed a great train of slowly moving vehicles, for the Wilson family +connection was a large one, and his tragic death drew people to come +through morbid curiosity. Mr. Prew preached and prayed at length, and +the throng lingered long about the grave. + +Away behind the stone wall that flanked the far side of the graveyard +two figures stood hidden, watching the funeral rites from afar. + +Myron had been refused admittance to the Wilson home when she had gone +to plead for one look at Homer's face. She had been forbidden to enter +the graveyard. But they could not prevent her bringing My through the +desolate fields to watch with baby eyes the burial of the man who had +saved his life. + +There were many black-clad figures that day in the graveyard--many wet +eyes--many lamenting lips; but the real mourners stood afar off, as we +are told they did one day long ago when a cross with a living Burden +was upreared upon a hill. + +Mrs. Wilson wept that Homer had been "took unprepared." But who can +tell what penitence or prayer purged his soul when, between the +hoof-beats, he looked death in the eyes? Who can say there was not +time for both plea and pardon in those seconds--if, indeed, there be +One to whom prayers go, from whom pardons come--if there be One to whom +a thousand years are but as yesterday when it is past, and as a watch +in the night? + +Well, all these things are for us to strive with, and few there be that +bring back any trophy of truth from that warfare; yet "still we peer +beyond with craving face." + +As for Homer Wilson-- + + "Peace, peace!--he doth not sleep; + He hath awakened from the dream of life." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + + "The road to death is life, the gate of life is death; + We who wake shall sleep, we shall wax who wane. + Let us not vex our souls for stoppage of a breath, + The fall of a river that turneth not again." + + "All things are vain that wax and wane, + For which we waste our breath; + Love only doth not wane and is not vain-- + Love only outlives death." + + +The winter set in--a dreary, desolate winter of wind and rain, mud and +slush. The snow never lay upon the ground for two days together, and +the air, unpurified by frosts, hung heavy and dank over the land. + +A black New Year makes a green graveyard, says the old proverb; and the +wisdom of these old saws was demonstrated yet again that year in +Jamestown, for there was much sickness. There was hardly a family that +had not lost a member, scarcely a house in which there was no illness. + +"There's a turrible lot of sickness," said Mrs. Deans to Mrs. Wilson +one day at the church door. + +"Yes, a turrible sight of it," agreed Mrs. Wilson. "The old folks is +droppin' fast; but what's an ordinary sickness to what I've bore with?" + +"That's so," said Mrs. Deans. "But a living sorrow's worse than a dead +one, they say; and it's turrible when one's own flesh and blood goes +wrong." + +"Yes," replied Mrs. Wilson; "but it's turrible discouragin' when +they're cut down in the midst and no one can say, 'What doest Thou?'" + +Mrs. Wilson's tone implied that there might be some consolation if she +were permitted to "talk back" at the Lord. Mrs. Deans noticed this and +said warningly: + +"Don't murmur; whatever you do, don't murmur; we can't tell what a day +may bring forth. Look at me, what I have to put up with--Henry all +crippled up and not able to earn salt for his bread. No, don't murmur, +whatever you do." + +"I ain't a-murmuring," said Mrs. Wilson, somewhat aggrieved. "I'm sure +it ain't Homer; it's his soul I'm thinking on. Might's well be took +off in a fiery chariot as killed the way he was." + +"Oh, it's discouragin', I'm bound to say it is," condescended Mrs. +Deans. "Enough to take the ambition out of one altogether. I suppose +you haven't heard about old Mr. Carroll, have you?" + +"Why, no," said Mrs. Wilson, abruptly suspending the task of sniffling +into her handkerchief under pretence of weeping. "Why, no; you don't +tell me he's sick?" + +"Yes, it seems he was taken last night with spasms, and they say he +might have died and no one been the wiser; but one of that Dedham tribe +he was always feeding up came over to beg something, and there he laid +on the floor." + +"Well, for the land's sake!" ejaculated Mrs. Wilson. + +"Yes, I'm going over after dinner. I sent Myron Holder over to do +what's needed this morning. They say the only words the old man's +spoke sence he was took was to tell them to send to town for a doctor." + +Here Mrs. Wilson and Mrs. Deans parted, each joining different groups +and spreading the news of Mr. Carroll's seizure. + +The women resolved to go and see the ins and outs of his house for +themselves--sickness is such an admirable excuse for impertinent +curiosity to gratify itself. + +The men speculated as to what would become of his property. There had +been a story at the time he bought the property, some hint of family +trouble, some whisper that he had "money back of him"--a hazy tale that +he had come to hide from some sorrow that pursued him. But all +conjecture was so vague that, instead of giving birth to any definite +idea, it died away, only to be aroused when the village wondered at +some act of generosity upon his part. + +Old Carroll lived among them quietly--paying his taxes, going his own +way and expressing himself freely upon every subject but his own +affairs. + +A week after his seizure he died, and a lawyer's clerk came from town +and took possession of the house and charge of the funeral--in very +different fashion from what his neighbors expected, for the body was +taken away and sent to the great city, which in their eyes typified +Babylon with all its sin and splendor. + +The lawyer's clerk spoke with much deference of the dead man, and +signified that the name of Carroll was high in the land; whereat the +villagers bethought themselves that they had entertained an angel +unawares, and were inclined to accuse the dead man of "doing" them. + +Mrs. Deans boasted much of the intimacy of her husband with the old +soldier, and speedily forgot the latter's impious sneers at foreign +missions. + +The farm was advertised for sale, and Disney bought the land he had so +long worked on shares. Disney and his family moved into the empty +house. Conjecture and interest gradually died away. + +In the great city a woman with brittle, dyed hair and simpering lips +and powdered throat laughed as, turning over a trunk full of odds and +ends packed by the lawyer's clerk, she came upon a miniature set in +pearls--laughed and looked at the picture long; but the laugh died as +she noted the freshness of the pictured face. Crossing the room, she +set the miniature against her own cheek and leaned close to a mirror, +comparing the two. And presently she cast the painting from her and +fled from the mirror with widened eyes. + +"I am old--old!" she said. "He is dead, and I am old! It is this +room, which is too light--it is glaring--horrible!" And she drew even +closer the shades of silk, through which the light shone with a soft +roseate glow. Then she searched for and found the picture where it had +fallen on a soft rug, and again went to the mirror. + +But if the dimmer light softened the lines in her face, it gave the +pictured face another charm--the soft illusion of mystery and youth. +The woman gazed at the dual reflection long until her breath blurred +the mirror, so that all was blotted out save the brightness of the gold +frame and a pair of wild, questioning eyes. A sharp sob parted her +lips, and the mirror was empty. + +Not long after, this woman was found dead. By her side was an empty +bottle, such as they sell poison in, and in her hand was a painting of +a beautiful woman framed in gold. Those who found her said the picture +resembled her a little. + +But this was far away from Jamestown, where Myron lived and suffered. +That winter was a very busy one for her. Tender of touch, strong of +arm, brave of heart, she was an ideal nurse. It is said a great grief +has before now made a poet out of what was only a man. Myron's sorrows +had changed her from a commonplace woman to a creature of most subtle +sympathies. The pleading of pained eyes was eloquent to her, and the +curves of dumb lips told her the tale of their sufferings. The touch +of her hand brought rest, the pressure of her palms, peace; whilst the +infinite sympathy from a heart that had itself been smitten eased those +pangs which, keener than any physical anguish, rend those that are near +death. + +But Myron herself reaped no blessing of peace from these duties. What +a strange fantasy it is to dream, as many do, that the occupation of +nursing is one which heals a hurt heart and reconciles yearning hands +to their emptiness! What dreary days did Myron not know! What solemn, +silent nights, when alone, she sat at Misery's banquet and supped with +Sorrow--with shame, regret, and betrayed trust to hand the dish. + + "We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths; + In feelings, not in figures on a dial. + We should count time by heart-throbs." + + +So some one says; and, reckoning by this higher notation, how many +centuries of weariness had not Myron lived? The spring months came, +scarce changed in sky from those of winter, only the gathering heat of +the sun sent up "sorrow from the ground." Malaria, influenza, and +typhoid overspread the country. The whole neighborhood was gloomy. +The rain fell day after day. The plough horses splashed through mud, +and the furrows filled with water behind the plough. + +Myron had been working at a cousin's of Mrs. Warner's, whose baby was +sick unto death. The child died, and its mother, in the first +rebellion of grief, had said to Myron: + +"'Tain't just--I can't think it is--nor right, neither--for my baby to +be taken when there's so many left alive that ain't any use. There's +old Humphries, and paralytic Henry Deans, and drunken Ann Lemon--what's +the good of them to anybody--it's a shame!" + +Myron soothed her as well as she could, but she burst forth again: + +"Fancy my child dead! If it had been that young one of yours, now, +there would have been some sense in it--a young one without even a +name--that would have been a good riddance--but mine--mine!" + +For once Myron's very soul was shaken with rage. She turned where she +stood, and looked the other woman in the face. + +"Oh!" she cried, "you wicked, wicked woman!" + +The words carried all the accusation of outraged motherhood in their +tones. The woman shrank back, and Myron, taking her boy, set off to +the village. + +It began to rain before they were half way. Myron's thoughts turned to +Homer. She never forgot him for long at a time. It falls to the lot +of few to be so sincerely sorrowed for. + +She and My were both wet through when they reached the cottage, and +Myron was very weary with the boy's weight. She lit the fire, and My +played about in the kitchen. He was of a peculiarly sunny and equable +disposition-- + + "One of those happy souls + Which are the salt of the earth, and without whom + The world would smell like what it is--a tomb." + + +Myron was glad when the time came for bed, for she was utterly weary. + +The old clock on the wall was pointing to one o'clock, when Myron +suddenly started up, wide awake. The mother instinct, keener than her +other faculties, had awakened her, not the boy. For the strange, low, +gurgling sound he made would scarce have aroused the lightest sleeper, +and Myron had been sunk in the deep sleep of exhaustion. + +In a moment she had the lamp alight. The boy lay, his blue eyes wide +open, his round cheeks scarlet with the fatal flush of fever, his lips +swollen and parted in gasping respirations, his body almost rigid with +the efforts he made for breath. One glance showed her this. The next +instant she was undoing the little nightdress and shirt. With +tremulous haste she placed some goose-grease in a little tin and strove +to melt it by holding it over the lamp. The light was weak and +wavering. She removed the chimney, and thrust the cup into the flame. +Her fingers scorched till the skin cracked; she did not know it. She +applied the melted oil and flew to wet his parched lips. The horrible, +croupy cough cut her to the heart as it issued from My's swollen +throat. She used every remedy her homely skill suggested, some of them +efficacious enough often--but little My was dying. His blue eyes were +filming; his baby lips twitching; the little hands, that had of late +grasped her fingers so firmly as to suggest protection, made wavering, +feeble movements toward her face and bosom, or clutched with waning +strength at his own tortured throat. + +She knelt beside the bed. She hardly dared touch the little form +before her lest the mother in her, which had grown fierce in her dread, +should cause her to clasp it too close. She lifted her voice in +prayer, and cried aloud in frightful accents of despair, entreaty, +expostulation, nay, even of threatening. No prayer more eloquent of +human agony ever beat against deaf skies, yet it was but the repetition +of one word--"My--My!" + +An hour crept by. The flush had deepened on My's cheeks; his eyes were +glazed. Once again, in surpassing pain, Myron Holder called aloud her +child's name. There came no heavenly answer; but the true little +heart, beating so faintly, responded once more to the beloved voice. +Little My's eyes cleared a space and his fingers closed round his +mother's. + +"My's mama!" He uttered the alliterative little babble in strange, +shackled tones. The woman--his mother--felt a stricture at her throat; +she strove in vain to force it down as she answered: + +"Mama's My." + +A strange change passed over the little gray face, like a gleam of +sunlight on a wintry day--hardly that--like the watery nimbus of the +sun through a cloud. It was little My's last smile. + +"Mama's My," the woman whispered; and, true to his love-taught lesson, +My strove to give the answer, "My's mama." The first word was +articulate, the last but half-shaped ere the stiffening lips were drawn +in the convulsion which ended time for little My. + +Over him "the eclipsing curse of birth" had lost its power. + +At daybreak nest morning a messenger knocked long at the door of the +Holder cottage. He had been sent in haste to summon Myron back to the +house she had left in such anger the day before. Finding he could get +no response, he lifted the latch and entered the kitchen. It was +empty. There was a strong odor of kerosene oil, and absolute silence +reigned. The man crossed the kitchen to an open door, and looking in +saw the bedroom. Upon a little table stood a lamp which had evidently +burned itself out. The chimney was off, and a great sooty blotch +against the wall showed how the wick had smoked. In a chair by the bed +sat Myron Holder, her eyes fixed straight before her--her pose +rigid--her face pale as that of the dead child she held upon her knees. + +"What is it, Myron?" he gasped. + +"He's dead," said Myron, in the hoarse tones of one whose throat +muscles are constrained and swollen. + +The man turned and made for Mrs. Warner's. The cottage soon filled. +Myron neither stirred nor spoke. They took the child and prepared it +for burial. They told her to eat, and she swallowed the bread and tea +they placed before her. All her faculties were benumbed, absorbed in +an effort to realize her loss. + +* * * * * * + +The little plain coffin was in the kitchen, surrounded by a group of +people that filled the room--those who considered it part of a +Christian's bounden duty to attend funerals. Mr. Prew, sent for by +Mrs. Deans, had just finished his address. Myron, with bare head, and +hands clasped on her knees, was seated by the coffin, gazing down at +the face there, when there was a sudden stir at the door, and Mrs. +Wilson pushed herself through the throng. + +"Wait!" she said, authoritatively, to Mr. Muir, who was advancing to +screw down the coffin-lid. "Wait!" Then she turned to Myron Holder. +"Listen to me, Myron Holder," she said. "Is that child my grandson?" + +"No," said Myron, rising to her feet, and giving a helpless look around +at the curious faces about her. + +"What!" said Mrs. Wilson. "What, you'll lie in the very face of your +dead child! Lay your hand on that coffin, Myron Holder, and then tell +me if that ain't Homer's son!" + +Myron sank by the coffin and flung her arms athwart it. + +"_He is not!_" she cried. Then her long calm gave way, and she began +to sob and cry. "He belongs to none of you; he is mine--my own +baby--my own child--My--My!" + +Mrs. Wilson left the house. Mr. Muir put aside the clinging arms and +prepared the coffin for burial. Some one led Myron to a wagon and she +got in. + +Mr. Muir was not free from fears when they stopped at the paupers' +corner of the graveyard. Myron looked around, half-dazed, when she +alighted, and, touched Mr. Muir's arm. + +"Why here?" she asked, pointing to the open grave. "Why not by father?" + +"Your grandmother sold the other half of the lot," said Mr. Muir +hastily. + +Mrs. Deans watched the little scene with much inward satisfaction. +Myron made no further sign, uttered no other word. The coffin was +lowered into the grave. + +Mr. Prew put up a prayer, in which petitions for the "child of sin" and +the "sinful mother" were about equally balanced. The throng departed +each to his own place. Old Humphries filled up the grave, and Myron +was left alone. + +The next day she went to Mr. Muir's and inquired how much she owed him. +He told her, and to his surprise she paid him at once. Then she set +out for town, along dreary country roads, betwixt desolate fields, +until she came to the outskirts of the straggling town; through these, +until she was absorbed in the hurrying throng that crowded the narrow +streets. + +It was very late when she returned to Jamestown, and as she passed the +Deans place she encountered Gamaliel, just returning from some +expedition with his bosom friend. + +"Hullo, Myron; where've you been?" he asked. + +"I've been to town," said Myron, still in those strange, hard tones, +and passed on. + +There was much speculation as to her errand, which was set at rest when +a few days later a wagon entered the little graveyard and the men who +came with it proceeded to put up a tiny white tablet at the head of a +new-made grave. On it there was carved only one word, and that a short +one--MY--a word which in its brevity and meaning was not unsuitable as +an inscription over that grave. Myron had spent the last penny of her +painful savings in marking the spot where her child lay. + + "Let grief be her own mistress still. + She loveth her own anguish deep + More than much pleasure. Let her will + Be done--to weep or not to weep." + + +So says the humanest of our poets; but such luxurious grieving is for +those who fare delicately and live in kings' courts. Myron Holder had +her bread to earn--her feet were tied to the treadmill of toil. + +So she fared forth on her journey as best she might; and then, and for +long after, Jamestown women told how Myron Holder perjured herself with +her hand on her dead child's coffin. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + + "When some beloved voice, that was to you + Both sound and sweetness, faileth suddenly, + And silence, against which you dare not cry, + Aches round you like a strong disease and new-- + What hope? What help? What music will undo + That silence to your sense?" + + "I'll tell you, hopeless grief is passionless." + + +It was the season of the half-yearly revival meetings in Jamestown. +The little Methodist Church filled rapidly. There was a _soupçon_ of +pleasurable excitement about a revival which was very enticing to the +youth of Jamestown. Besides, all the "stiddy" young men were expected +to go, and they always did what was expected of them. + +Mrs. Deans came in with the minister, her face, with its self-important +expression, irradiated with the glow of spiritual as well as worldly +well-being. She had proffered her bid for the company of the +officiating ministers in good season, and the first of them had been +knocked down to her in consequence, much to the chagrin of the Mesdames +White, Wilson, Disney, and the rest, for they knew that the second +minister on the list was an old personal friend of Mrs. Deans and would +doubtless elect to stay at her house; thus they would have no +opportunity to display their pious zeal and forehanded housekeeping. + +Mrs. Deans' self-complacency was veiled, but not obscured, by an +anxious air, as who should say, "I am not free of responsibility if all +does not go off well." + +It is a weakness of such women to consider themselves divinely +appointed judges of the souls of their neighbors and friends. + +The minister with her was pretty well hidden among the cluster of men +and women to whom Mrs. Deans was introducing him. She introduced him +with discrimination, however. She did not propose giving any one the +chance of prefixing a remark with "The other night when I was speaking +to Mr. Hardman," or "Mr. Hardman said to me the other day," unless she +felt quite sure the recipient of the honor was worthy of it. + +But to her consternation, Mr. Hardman broke bounds, passed the confines +of the little group of important church members, and went out from one +to another of the men and women, picking out, with the unerring +divination of a man whose heart is in sympathy with the sorrows rather +than the joys of mankind, the oldest, most forlorn, most +miserable-looking of his prospective hearers. + +To see the minister thus throwing away the apostolic benediction of his +smile upon old Ann Lemon and Clem Humphries whilst Mrs. White stood +with uplifted nose in the doorway, unnoticed, was an unholy thing, more +particularly as Mrs. White, willing to have her discomfiture shared by +some one else, turned to Mrs. Deans with a surprised air, and said: + +"Why, I thought the minister was with you?" + +"So he is," Mrs. Deans was fain to avow. "We came a few minutes ago. +He is great on missions, I think, and young." The latter half of her +sentence was given in the tone of a hostess who excuses a guest. For +the rest, it is probable that both ladies regarded his present +occupation as distinctly a missionary effort. + +Presently the minister straightened himself and proceeded up the aisle +to the platform. Mrs. Deans' expression changed from an anxious, +proprietary one to one of spiritualized commiseration. Was the +misguided man actually going to begin service without asking one word +about the ordinary routine of services in Jamestown Methodist Church? +If so, he would make a fine hash of it. + +Besides she had not informed him that a collection was to be taken up +to defray the cost of extra lighting, etc., and she had promised Mr. +White at class-meeting to do so. She had thought of telling Mr. +Hardman, but preferred waiting until the minister sought for +information before imparting it. His opportunity for that was now +past, unless, indeed, he descended from the platform to do so. A +pleasing thrill, inspired by this idea, turned to a chill as she saw +Mr. Hardman take from his pocket a well-thumbed and shabby little +Testament, and, opening it, seem to find a place. Then he laid it +down, open, upon the big church Bible, and rose to pray. + +Mrs. Deans' expression of anxiety was now unalleviated by any spiritual +exaltation; it was unvariegated gloom. Any man who could disregard the +gilt edges, thick covers, and ornate binding of that book, and leave it +closed whilst he read from what her experienced eye told her was a +Bible Society Testament that probably cost ten cents, was certainly in +need of anxious watching. Nor was it to be supposed that a discourse +begun upon lines like these would be productive of much good. How many +sermons she had heard rounded off by the banging of those covers +together! How many final injunctions had been given a dramatic and +artistic interest by the holding of that book, half-open, ready to put +a period to the peroration by a sanctified thud! + +Well--Mrs. Deans sighed audibly. + +Mr. Hardman began to read in a deep and sympathetic voice. He was a +tall man, of twenty-eight, muscularly built, but not brawny; his +studies had been too close to admit of that. He had square shoulders, +rather higher than they should be, and rounded with the stoop that the +scholar and the ploughman share. His hands, as he raised them in +infrequent gestures, were seen to be rather broad and short--hands, it +would seem, of a mechanic, but not toil-stained. Indeed, their +whiteness so ill agreed with their shape that a sense of something +incongruous forced itself upon one when looking at them. His hair was +almost black, and was tossed and disarranged by his habit of running +his fingers through it. His face was pale. + +His brow was square and overhanging--of the penthouse order, rather +forbidding; the brow inherited from a generation of toilers, men who, +from their own bleak corner of the world, looked forth at the panorama +of life with sombre eyes, intrenching themselves behind a barrier of +silent endurance, concealing their weakness, their wants, their hopes +and fears, their few joys and pitiful ambitions behind an impenetrable +mask, until it would seem that their lineaments adjusted themselves to +their mental attitudes; and this, their son, presented to the world +this square brow, strong, secret, sad. But its sternness, and alas! a +great deal of its strength, was negatived by the eyes which looked out +from beneath it. Very dark-gray these eyes were, and made eloquent by +the expression of infinite love and sympathy for his kind; but their +dilating pupils evidenced an emotional nature, and they were somewhat +too soft for a man. Yet, looking in steady kindness at the world, they +often seemed fit eyes for a strong, calm soul. + +But Philip Hardman felt himself neither calm nor strong. As he looked +upon the expectant faces of those before him, the doubt which was +gnawing at the heart-strings of belief suddenly seemed to grip his own +heart and brain and threaten each. + +He had no message to give these people! What were they there for? Was +it not all a myth and a delusion? Was it? + +Then he broke the spell which held him, and his words rushed forth. +His congregation stirred and swayed and yielded--not to persuasion, for +of that there was none; not to the minister's personality, for they had +forgotten him; not in the hope of reward, for he spoke but of wrath and +pitiless requital of sin, and merciless judgment, and endless woe--they +yielded to their own fears. + +For this man was lashing his own soul with the copy-righted invective +of his sect, pronouncing against himself and (as in the midst of his +mental agony he realized) against all mankind a doom of woe and wrath +if they did not believe. He strove to terrify his own soul into the +submission it denied, and strove to awaken in the people before him a +reflex of the emotion he fain would feel. They responded to his words, +but not to his feeling. They wept and abased themselves because of the +fear, not because they feared unbelief. + +Cold drops trickled down Mrs. Deans' face and be-dabbled her +second-best bonnet-strings. Mrs. Wilson, grew almost hysterical. Ann +Lemon wondered vaguely if she had "the horrors," and held on to the pew +with both hands, whilst she looked about her with bewildered, +lack-lustre eyes. Clem Humphries sat outwardly unmoved, but inwardly +vowing if he "once got out of this he'd never be wheedled into a +revival meeting again." + +The younger men thought revival meetings "no slouch," as Gamaliel Deans +expressed it; and, comparing the excitement with that of a cock-fight +he had attended _sub rosa_ in the old brewery, he decided in favor of +the revival. + +The minister's voice failed and faltered. Like all magnetic natures, +his exhausted itself. He paused, looked at the men and women before +him, and, realizing the shallowness of their facile emotions, felt the +pall of self-disgust envelop his soul. A horrible contempt for himself +and them, even for the religion that had inspired this mental debauch, +overwhelmed him. He shuddered as he realized the impiousness of his +own thought, left the platform, went swiftly down the aisle and out +into the darkness. + +Mr. White closed the meeting, and prayed enthusiastically for the +"young brother who had so awakened them," and ended amid a chorus of +ejaculations. + +Mrs. Deans, finding herself so agreeably disappointed, went home +content. She wished to-morrow night were come. What crises of emotion +might not be expected then! She found Mr. Hardman pacing the veranda +slowly, his brow bare to the stars; his frame was relaxed and weary, +his eyes tired. He refused any refreshment, and long into the night +Mrs. Deans heard him pacing back and forth. + +* * * * * * + +Another night had come, and Philip Hardman was again to stand before an +assembly of his fellows and voice the truths they held eternal. Mrs. +Deans had no doubts now as to his competency. She anticipated an +exciting struggle with spiritual foes, and the better to gird herself +for the fray, went early, leaving Mr. Hardman to follow. She felt this +implied a delicate compliment to the preacher, recognizing in it a +simulacrum of John the Baptist's mission in the wilderness. + +So Philip Hardman was left to walk the mile from the Deans farm-house +to the village alone. It was evening--late evening in summer. The air +was filled with that indefinite, receptive murmur the earth gives forth +as it opens its pores to the dew. Without wind, there was yet a sense +of motion in the atmosphere, at once calming and exhilarating. It +brought a keen sense of the fact that the world is rushing through +space, with its puny burden of men and their works. The sun had set, +but the western sky was radiant with an amber afterglow, against which +the tree-tops in Mr. Deans' woodland showed a mass of dark, billowy +green, the light behind them intensifying the depth of their color, so +that they showed sombrely against the sky. + +Before him stretched the dusty road, the grass at either side parched +by the heat; now and then a maple overshadowed him; now and then he +startled nested birds from out the low-growing trees of the wild plum. +He walked swiftly, the grasshoppers and little whirring insects and +dragon-flies flitting about his path. + +At a turn in the road, where Mr. Deans' land joined Mr. White's, was +wedged in the little cemetery of Jamestown. It was fenced with +sharp-pointed palings, over which the native virgin bower clematis +clung in feathery festoons, just blossoming out in fragile +greenish-white flowers. Within, he saw the untidy graves and +inebriated gravestones of a country churchyard. Those slanting stones +and graves, almost obliterated by masses of periwinkle and white-leaved +balm and ribbon grass, appealed to him strongly. + +He looked at his watch. He had started in fair time, but, lost in +thought, had walked very quickly. He had time to linger a few minutes +here. Perhaps amid the graves of Jamestown's dead he might learn the +open sesame to the hearts of the living. + +He entered through a gap in the palings, pushing his way through a +little thicket of thorny locust bushes that had sprung up in a +scattered cluster. The graves were nearly all marked by gravestones. +In Jamestown it was considered a mark of respectability to erect a +memorial to one's dead, but this done, all care for their graves +ceased. Philip Hardman wandered about, noting the weather-beaten +grayness of the older stones and reading their inscriptions almost +mechanically. One broad, thin slab, with a weeping-willow sculptured +upon it, bore a legend in memory of "Amelia Warner, beloved wife of +Josiah Warner, aged sixteen years." Poor little wife! In the fifty +years of her rest her grave had sunken almost level with the path; the +lichen on the stone was striving to obliterate her name there, even as +it had been long ago forgotten upon earth. A wild hawthorn bush was +springing from under one corner of her tombstone and tilting it over +perilously. + +Some of the more recent graves had odd little jingles of original rhyme +carven upon their stones. One, of but a year before, bore the brief +prayer, too human for its glistening coldness, "Meet me in Heaven." +Hardman read the name on this grave with a little start--"Jennie Best, +wife of William Best." Yesterday Mrs. Deans had pointed out William +Best and his new-made bride. How futile and absurd the little legend +seemed! But Jennie Best slept as securely and as sweetly as though her +husband still cherished in his inmost heart these last words of hers +and walked as though he hoped to realize them, instead of writing them +upon her tombstone and marrying within a year of her death. + +There were graves of old and young in this little churchyard--men and +women, boys and girls, infants of days, and men of many years. Beneath +one stone slept seven friends, who "perished in the yacht _Foam_ off +the coast"--a narrow space, truly, for seven to occupy, set in this +out-of-the-way village; seven such as these who had hoped to fill great +places in the world before their lives were laughed out by the little +ripples of the lake. + +The shadows lengthened. Gleaming through the dusk, Hardman noticed a +white stone with gilt lettering. "Homer Wilson" was the name it bore, +but it meant nothing to the preacher; only he sighed as he noted the +age of the man sleeping there, and a half-envious thought crossed him, +as he looked around, that "these had completed their journey." + +Philip Hardman turned his steps to the road again, but he paused yet +once more. Close under the shadow of the high stone wall which bounded +the graveyard on the village side, he almost stumbled over a woman's +figure, which, in the deepening gloom, he had not observed. She was +almost prone beside a little mound whereon the sods had not yet taken +root. The woman's arms were outstretched toward the grave--almost +embraced it. Her whole attitude spoke eloquently of a hopeless and +passive despair. + +Hardman stopped a moment irresolutely; she had not observed him. + +"You are in great trouble," he said, bending down and touching her +shoulder. + +"Yes," she answered, raising her head without a start. "Yes." + +Her voice was painfully constrained. The words seemed to issue with +difficulty, and the tones were harsh. Speech seemed strangely +dissonant with the hour and place. Her mute despair seemed the only +fitting emotion for the scene. Her eyes, from out a pallid face, +looked up at him, filmed by misery. Her cheeks were hollowed in +delicate shadows. Her pale lips drooped. She seemed the Mourning +Spirit of the place. + +"Come and pray," he said, looking at her with infinite pity in his kind +eyes. "Come," he urged. + +He waited for her reply, but none came. She was sitting by the grave +now, her hands locked round her knees, her eyes looking hungrily into +vacancy and seeing neither hope nor recompense for her pain. + +A bat held its angled flight past them. He roused himself to a sense +of time. He looked down upon the woman at his feet, an expression of +ineffable compassion lit his face; then he turned to go. + +As his eyes left that pallid face the scene seemed to darken suddenly. +He realized the lateness of the hour, and, finding his way out of the +graveyard, strode rapidly to the church. + +After all, he was in time--indeed, had a few minutes to spare. He did +not, however, again shock Mrs. Deans by a promiscuous friendliness. He +went straight to the platform and sat down behind the reading-desk. +His thoughts reverted to the woman whom he had just seen, and he felt +he ought to have made a more eloquent appeal to her to come to church. +Mental habit led him to decide at once that prayer was the only +efficacious cure for grief such as hers. It was thus with this man +always. In calm moments, when all went well with him, he strove to +elucidate those problems of reason and right which presented themselves +to him in season and out of season--strove to live a life of austere +truth without factitious aid of self-delusion, without hope of ultimate +reward. + +But in times of distress or pain, whether his own or others', he turned +again to his old beliefs, and prayer appealed to him as the only +panacea. Orthodox folk plead this as a triumphant and sure vindication +of the truth of their creeds. It may be in some cases, but in Philip +Hardman's it was only the result of inherent weakness of will and +vacillating decision, and, alas! a cowardly shrinking from mental +torture. Face to face with grief such as this woman's, he could not +bear to look the inevitability of such bereavements in the face; could +not endure to think of the irreparable loss of a vanished life; could +not calmly recognize one single instance of what he was ever mourning +over--the sadness and futility of life. + +He must hallow each blow as a "merciful dispensation;" muffle it from +prying eyes with the tabooed veil of "sacred predestination"; set it +beyond close scrutiny by asserting to himself the impiety of +questioning "divine will"; and at such times the beauty of his solacing +faith lit in his soul fresh fervor for the cause. + +For a few moments Philip Hardman sat motionless. The hands of the +clock reached the hour for service to begin. His audience settled +themselves in the pews and stilled themselves to attention. + +Mrs. Deans ostentatiously ceased her whispered remarks to Mrs. Wilson, +straightened herself in her seat, looked about with a critical and +judicial eye, and then, convinced that all was well, hemmed several +times expectantly. + +Philip Hardman rose, and, in brief words, asked for Divine guidance +through the service. He ceased. The bowed heads were raised. He was +about to begin the reading of the Scriptures, when, silently, slowly, +Myron Holder entered the open door and, advancing only to the nearest +seat, which happened to be in the farthest back pew, sat down. So +quiet were her movements that, save by a few of the young men who had +taken the rear seats the better to observe the antics of the elect, she +was unobserved. + +Philip Hardman, however, had seen her. He changed his intention of +reading, and announced a hymn instead. He wanted a few minutes to +familiarize himself with that tragic face before attempting to utter +any message of love or hope to the woman who had thus obeyed his +suggestion. While the singing went on he looked at his audience, and, +in a flash, their narrow, sordid, often miserable lives seemed revealed +to him. These were the people he had lashed with spiritual fears the +night before. As he recalled it, his heart smote him with terrible +reproach. His eyes grew dim as he looked at the people before him and +saw, shining through their midst, the pallid face of Myron Holder. + +By what strange chance had this woman come to Jamestown? For he +decided at once she was no native of the village. The purely cut, +martyr face; the broad brow, sensitive lips, and cameo-like nostrils +were too utterly unlike the other faces in the church to be for one +moment associated with them. + +There came to him a fantastic thought, that this woman was sent to bear +the griefs of this village, even as One long since--the Carpenter's +Son--had borne the griefs of the world and become a "Man of Sorrows and +acquainted with grief." But alas! this woman had no divine message to +give; instead, she was wandering in the wilderness of hopeless despair. +But--and Hardman's hand tightened on his Testament--a message she +should have. + + "Other refuge have I none, + Hangs my helpless soul on Thee. + Leave, oh, leave me not alone! + Oh, protect and comfort me!" + +So they sang. Philip Hardman found his place-- + + "All my hopes on Thee are stayed, + All my wants to Thee I bring; + Cover my defenceless head + With the shadow of Thy wing." + + +Rapt in an infinite sorrow for his kind--inspired by the need of this +woman of help--exalted by the dependence and confidence expressed in +the hymned words--seeing in all his audience but one pallid +face--Philip Hardman rose to speak. + +This choosing of a subject upon the spur of the moment, to meet the +needs of one woman, was no disadvantage to him, for he was a fluent and +ready speaker, and his whole training had been that spontaneity was +absolutely essential. He had none of the measured method that develops +a subject into "three heads and an application." The evangelistic sect +to which he belonged abjures notes, and hops along to the halting +cadence of a quasi-inspiration. + +Happily, however, it has now and then a man like Philip Hardman, whose +words flow freely forth, and never so eloquently as when heart and +sympathies are touched. Hardman was never at a loss for words of his +own to translate his feelings into language; but this night his sermon +was but the enunciation of a sweet and comforting doctrine uttered in +the language of the Book which has preserved it. + +"Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give +you rest," he said, and held out as a free gift the inestimable boon of +peace. "I will not leave you comfortless," uttered in his vibrant +tones, bore the assurance of divinest aid. "Let not your heart be +troubled," he voiced as a sacred command to cease from grief, and then +the general invitation, "Let whosoever will drink of the water of life +freely." + +With these words as a thesis, a human heart to be comforted, a soul +alight with belief and confidence, a rare natural eloquence to frame +his plea--was there any wonder that the sermon was effective, any +wonder that to the weary heart of the listening woman it appealed +almost irresistibly? + +Perhaps Philip Hardman dwelt too exclusively upon the blessings of his +religion, ignored too utterly the thorn in the crown--offered it too +freely, avowed it too confidently. But what will you? Even the +greatest purists in religions faith find it hard to disabuse their +minds of the idea that martyrdom means and merits the Kingdom, and +Philip Hardman's theology was not of the sternest sort. + +He felt, somehow, that this woman had suffered enough to win Heaven, +whether she merited it in other respects or not. So he set himself to +present his faith to her in the most glowing aspect, always seconding +his message with his eyes. + +Just as Philip Hardman saw but one face in his audience, so Myron +Holder was, after the first few moments, unconscious of any other +presence save his. Her eyes had won a straight path to his face +between the heads and shoulders, and her gaze never faltered. There +was a tall, white-shaded lamp on each side of the desk. As she looked, +his figure, in strong relief against the light-blue background of the +walls, seemed to absorb and radiate the light. It was simply an +ordinary optical effect, and Myron Holder herself recognized vaguely +that it was "only the light," and yet that pale irradiation around his +head seemed to add a dignity and sanctity to the man and lend his +utterance a deeper, higher import. + +Her eyes never left his face--that kind, weak face, so full of +contradictions, whose beetling brow seemed ready to do battle for his +Faith, whose lips quivered with the feeling in his own voice. + +Her eyes were hot and dilated from the long strain when, with hands +upraised above the standing people, he uttered the benediction, "Peace +I leave with you, My peace I give unto you; not as the world giveth +give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be +afraid. Amen." + + +Philip Hardman descended from the platform and strove to make his way +toward Myron, but he was hemmed in by outstretched hands, and had to +make his way slowly through a throng, all eager to say "Good-bye," for +he left on the morrow. Myron was just stepping out of the shelter of +the porch when he overtook her. He held out his hand, which she took, +her own toil-hardened one trembling in the clasp of his softer fingers. +He looked down at her and spoke with great gentleness: + +"Did you take the message I gave you to-night?" + +"Is it for me?" she asked. + +"Surely," he answered. + +"You do not know me; you cannot tell. If you knew"---- + +"Whosoever will," he replied, with steady emphasis. And in his heart +he marvelled at the humbleness of this woman, whose candid brow and +clear eyes bespoke her life. + +Then, the man mingling with the priest in him, he continued, still more +gently: + +"The message is even to the greatest sinner. To see you is to know you +have the right of one of the least." + +She put up two hands, clasped in miserable deprecation; her cheeks +flamed red an instant, then paled to a ghastly white; she turned +silently, and swiftly went down two steps of the broad entrance stair; +then pausing and looking back at him with a gaze such as one might fix +upon the flames before he steps into them, she said clearly: + +"Ask Mrs. Deans who Myron Holder is!" She slipped away, the gloom of +the unlighted street absorbing her figure, as though it gathered to +itself its righteous belonging. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + + "We are the voices of the wandering wind, + Which seek for quiet, and quiet can never find. + Lo! as the wind is, so is mortal life-- + A moan, a sob, a sigh, a storm, a strife." + + +Next morning Philip Hardman left Mrs. Deans' early. He was leaving by +the first train from the little flag station which was at the far end +of the village; besides, he was determined to see Myron Holder. + +Mrs. Deans had endeavored to dissuade him from this, but he was firm, +and, recognizing this, Mrs. Deans suggested that she accompany him upon +his mission; but he stated gently, but firmly, that he could achieve +better results alone. Mrs. Deans felt bitterly aggrieved at being +treated thus, for behind his gentle words she read a settled +determination "to keep her out of it," as she phrased it to herself. + +She bade him good-bye, however, with well-affected geniality, as he +stood upon her doorstep; but the shallow smile died very soon, and a +malevolent expression replaced it upon her fat features. + +"I'll speak to Brother Fletcher about this," she said. "That Hardman +is sorely puffed up in his own conceit and vainglorious! Well, by +himself he can do nothing," she concluded, piously. + +But whether it was the absence of the Lord or herself from Hardman's +side that was going to militate against his success she left +undetermined. There might also have been some doubt in the mind of the +impartial hearer as to whether she was glad or sorry that his mission +was likely to be a failure. Certainly her tone was not indicative of +any great grief. + +She betook herself indoors, and set about preparing a fresh supply of +country dainties for the Reverend Fletcher. + +Philip Hardman's face changed also after he turned it from Mrs. Deans' +self-contented countenance, and the new expression was not far removed +from one of disgusted contempt; and, it must be confessed, a somewhat +sneering bitterness made his keen eyes sombre. He had asked Mrs. Deans +the night before who Myron Holder was, and had been told--told! but in +such a fashion! Mrs. Deans' evil words still stung his heart with +shame for his kind. He felt as though one had smitten his lips with +nettles. + +And the pious speeches with which Mrs. Deans had besprent her +tale--bah! It was like sprinkling a weak disinfectant over a heap of +filth. It was indeed the "poison of asps" to hear Scripture--nay, the +very words of his Master--so defiled. + +Well, Hardman compressed his lips and hurried on. + +The morning was sweet and calm, the "shoreless air" very clear and +still, and, little by little, his spirit attuned itself to the hour; +shred by shred, the mantle of bitterness, fell from him. The memories +of the evening mingled with the hopes of the morning, into a draught +that was very sweet to him. When he reached the cottage door his eyes +were exalted, his lips calm, his heart confident. + +The door was open, and through it he saw a bare room, the walls stained +a deep yellow with ochre; a carpetless floor, comfortless but clean; a +square table, with a coarse white cloth covering it, stood in the +middle of the room; upon it was some food. Myron sat there alone, but +there was another plate laid, beside which stood a battered tin mug. +All this he took in at a glance, and then his eyes fastened upon the +woman's face. She was as yet unconscious of his presence. She sat at +the table in such position that the profile of her face was outlined +sharply against the bright yellow of the walls. + +Her face, as he beheld it thus for the first time in clear daylight, +struck him with swift remembrance of an exquisite picture he had once +seen, a meek-mouthed Madonna painted on a bright brass plaque. There +was the same pose of head, the same heavy knot of nut-brown hair, the +same outward sweep of the lashes from the same drooped lids, the same +exquisite line where the cheek softened to the throat. But, alas! +there was no heavenly nimbus round this living head, no holy glow of +happy maternity, no pure halo of womanhood. + +[Illustration: A MEEK-MOUTHED MADONNA.] + +At that moment Myron turned towards the doorway, and, as her eyes met +his, his imagination suddenly supplied the aureole that before she +seemed to lack, and, in completion of the picture, a stray line or two +of poetry came back to him with all the happy force of applicability: + + "Eh, sweet, + You have the eyes men choose to paint, you know; + And just that soft turn in the little throat, + And bluish color in the lower lid, + They make saints with." + + +He started as he realized that he was comparing the Madonna to this +unblest mother--an ideal of saintly beauty to this sinning one. But +all in an instant there came to him a swift certainty that this was not +the face of an evil woman. This woman bore in her countenance the +indelible lines of pain and suffering, the ineffaceable traces of +bodily and mental anguish. She had been bowed beneath the burden of +woman's inalienable heritage of agony, had lived through the Gethsemane +of childbirth and won to the heights of motherhood's Golgotha--a +child's grave. But in all this, remember, there is nothing vile; it is +only infinitely pitiful. + +Whilst he gazed and thought these things swiftly, she had risen from +her place and stood with clasped hands and down-bent head--so like a +prisoner awaiting sentence that he felt a great throb of pity. He took +a step forward and held out his hand. + +"I am going to the train," he said; "but I came away early, that I +might see you." + +"You are very good," she faltered; "but"--she hesitated. + +"But what?" he urged gently, holding both her hands and looking down at +her. + +"Do you know who I am?" she asked. + +"Yes," he answered, "I know everything." + +"You asked Mrs. Deans!" she said in an incredulous voice. + +He flushed at the tone. It told so clearly that she fully understood +what Mrs. Deans would say; and somehow it seemed to link him with Mrs. +Deans, as if he and that worthy woman stood on one side of a river and +Myron Holder alone on the other. He could not bear that. + +"Yes, but I always judge for myself," he said quickly. + +"Oh!" she said. "You are----" She stopped, but gave the note of those +swift glances of ineffable gratitude that had so often stirred Homer's +heart. + +And, looking at her thus, Hardman forgave her everything, "for Love +pardons the unpardonable past;" and this man from that moment loved +her, although he did not yet know it. + +"Your child was very dear to you," he said, glancing at the table, +where the two plates stood, although there was but one to sit at the +board. + +"Ah, so dear!" she answered. + +Then, after a moment's pause, she went on swiftly: + +"Oh, you can understand what it was--surely you can see--you are so +good! He was everything to me, absolutely everything! The thought of +him kept me from greater sin! I was nearly blind with weariness, and +the way was getting dimmer and dimmer to my eyes; but his laugh showed +me where the right road lay, and, when I found it again, his steps kept +me company! Oh, can you think what it is to see the only creature--the +only living thing in all the world--that loves you--die?" She looked +at him, an interrogation so poignant as to be imperative in her eyes. + +"Yes," he said, "we are two lonely souls, Myron. In all the wide earth +there is none who cares whether I live or die." + +"I am so sorry," she said. "Only, you are so good you can have friends +for the seeking. As for me, I am not fit to be any one's friend. I +had one friend here, but he is dead too"--she added the last sentence +with a strange, swift sense of justice. Even though Homer was dead, +she could not bear that he be classed with those others who had been so +cruel. + +"Yes," answered Hardman, "I heard of him." + +"Did she tell you that he died to save My's life?" she asked. + +"Yes, she told me," he answered. + +There was a pause, then Myron said: + +"It was so good of you to come!" He noticed the harsh tones of her +voice. + +"Have you a sore throat?" he asked. + +"No," she said; "but my child died of suffocation. His throat was +swollen with inflammation and croup, and when he tried to speak to me +his voice was hard, like mine is now. It made my own throat ache; and +ever since, the pain has been there and I have spoken in this way." + +Thus, simply, Myron told of that marvel, that extraordinary instance of +the power of Love. For this was indeed so. In Myron's case had been +made manifest one of those marvellous mysteries of the human mechanism +that now and again thrills the scientist with a burning zeal to +discover the real relation between mind and matter, to enter the +penetralia of humanity and learn its secret. That desolate night in +the cottage the mother-heart apprehended each pang of the choking +child, and the mother endured in her own organism a like agony. How +sad to think she had no Divine license to do so! How strange that such +a love should spring from shame! + +Hardman's mind grasped the significance of her words upon the instant. +For a moment the realization of this woman's strength held him silent. +Then he remembered her loneliness and bent towards her. + +"Myron," he said, "will you be my friend?" + +"Oh, do you mean it?" she asked, breathlessly. + +"Assuredly," he said. + +Then once more Myron gave her hands as a seal of friendship. + +There was only a short time left after that--a few moments of earnest +prayer from Philip Hardman--a few words asking her to go to the rest of +the meetings--a brief promise from her and briefer acknowledgments of +his goodness faltering between her sobs--then Hardman had said +good-bye, and his form was already vanishing from sight before Myron +realized that she was once more alone. + +Philip Hardman hurried to the station and caught his train. The first +stage of his journey was short, only some fifty miles to the city, +where he was to meet the Reverend Mr. Fletcher. He found him at the +depot, ready to go to Jamestown. In a few hurried words Hardman told +him of Myron Holder--of her sin--her punishment--her sorrow. He +commended her to Mr. Fletcher's prayers, and asked him to preach so +that her diffident heart might find some message in his words. + +Mr. Fletcher promised, and expressed with some little emphasis a hope +that Hardman's own labors might be blest. + +Then he departed. His train was just pulling out when Hardman ran up +to the open window, by which Mr. Fletcher had settled himself. + +"You'll be gentle with her, Brother Fletcher? She is indeed a bruised +reed." + +There was no time for answer. Mr. Hardman did not witness the scorn +with which this advice--no entreaty--was received. He stood looking +after the swiftly vanishing train somewhat sadly; then, rousing +himself, went to find out about the train that was to take him to his +new charge. + +Philip Hardman's father had been a mechanic, a life-long worker in one +of those sooty, befouling foundries where the great furnaces gleam like +so many mouths of the Pit--where all day long there is the roar of +flames, the blast of hot air, the clang of metal, the heat of Hades, +the hiss of molten iron, the angry flight of sparks struck from huge +anvils; all the haste and fury and dumb-brutish endurance of men +working at the top notch of physical exertion, rushing hither and +thither like demons before the fires, or clad in grotesque masks and +armor, turning great masses of glowing, cooling metal so that the +steam-hammers may forge them into shape. + +In this atmosphere Philip Hardman's father had spent all his life since +he was a little lad, carrying water to the workers--water in which +flying sparks quenched themselves, hissing. It would be no wonder if +from a race of fathers, such as these blackened workers, gnome-like +children were to be born, all action and no thought; swift, tireless, +inhuman. But these men, darting about in the glare of the dusky fires, +like devil-ridden spectres, had, some of them, time for thought. +Indeed, the man who moves unmoved amid these masses of incarnate heat, +steps over and around streams of liquid fire, watches those infernal +lakes, plumbago-shored, which one single drop of water converts into +death-dealing volcanoes, and stands beside a torrent of molten iron as +it flows from the crucible, ready to dam its resistless tide on the +instant, may well be credited with capacity, if not time, for thought. + +To Philip Hardman's father during those long, hot hours of breathless +haste there came ideas--distorted, meagre, and ill-developed, +perhaps--which, when he left the works at night, pallid-faced beneath +the grime, still bore him company: nebulous visions of great +labor-saving devices by which men forever would be exempt from the +dreadful toil that scorched both soul and body. + +There was many a rich germ dormant in these ideas of his, but lacking +the cohesion of long, uninterrupted thought, and wanting the quickening +of accurate knowledge. For there lay Philip Hardman's great +stumbling-block. To perfect his inventions, he required a knowledge of +chemicals and of different forces and their application, and an insight +into the cause of the effects he wished to produce. + +How blindly, painfully and heart-brokenly he toiled after this +knowledge no one ever fully appreciated. His son, long years after his +death, realized it in some fashion. He did not ask assistance of any +one, for he feared, with the traditional dread of the inventor, lest +the one from whom he sought advice should steal his idea. He saved, to +buy books that were useless to him, and pored over their misleading +pages with eyes from which all moisture seemed scorched away, until the +very eyeballs themselves felt hot and hard; but he kept them painfully +fastened upon those pages from which he strove to wrest a secret they +did not hold, to learn those things which would enable him to set free +forever his fellows from the necessity of enduring that soul-baking +heat. + +Perhaps his invention, even if perfected, would not have compassed all +he dreamed it would, for he was prone to endow it almost with thinking +as well as executive powers, and to think of it as animated by a great +zeal for mankind as, with its nerveless phalanges, it performed those +awful tasks. Perhaps there may be greater ideals than the thought of +setting men free from one of the most terrible and exhaustive forms of +labor; but none knew better than this man the terrors of heat, none +understood more clearly how the mind narrowed as the body shrank before +the stifling blasts. And, after all, if we all set ourselves to +alleviate the special misery we understand, there would be fewer +misshapen lives in the world. + +Well-- + + "How many a vulgar Cato has compelled + His energies, no longer tameless then, + To mould a pin, or fabricate a nail!" + + +Philip Hardman's mother was a woman of a hysteric nature, who scarcely +thought enough of this world to make her husband and children +comfortable in it. The children were narrow-chested, weak little +creatures. They heard from her lips terrible tales of the wrath to +come, couched in symbolism they well understood, for their father +worked daily amid just such scenes as their mother depicted the abode +of the damned to be. The parallel between the Hades her words pictured +forth and her husband's life never struck Mrs. Hardman. + +Even when her husband died--going to his grave a broken-hearted man, +barren of achievement, leaving not one labor-saving device, not one +little bolt or wheel called by his name--she did not regret or realize +the hard life he had had, nor think she might have made it easier. She +only tortured herself daily by wondering if she had sufficiently +represented to him his lost condition. + +It is to be feared that she was more interested in convincing herself +that she was free of responsibility than that he was saved. + +In time, however, she began to feel that she had done her best, and, +feeling it would be too much like "them Catholics" to pray for the soul +of a dead man, she turned all her attention to her own. Doubtless she +was right; and yet, is it not a beautiful myth to think that prayer +from a loving heart may benefit those we love, even if they have passed +"beyond these voices"? + +If we must needs pick and choose delusions, why not take those +unselfish ones, so beautiful, if inutile? Is it not an idea really +worthy of a Divinity to think that by our self-flagellations our loved +ones may be freed from stripes? Are there not some of us who would +gladly thus requite debts of incalculable benefits received--some of us +who would dare accept even a Hell to know our loved one had a Heaven? + +Philip Hardman's father had belonged to various insurance societies, +such as workmen form for mutual benefit. It would have sufficed to +keep life in all the children until such time as they became +self-supporting; but one by one they died, until only Philip was left. +He worked in the "pattern-shop" in the works until he was twenty, when +his mother died. Then he took the residue of his father's insurance +money and his own savings and went to school. + +It is not strange that he should choose the ministry. He had inherited +all his father's love for his kind and much of his mother's fervor of +purpose, added to which he had his own birthright of lofty idealism; +but he had also something of the weaknesses of both parents. His +mother's instability clung to him and made him vacillating, and the +secrecy of his father in regard to his inventions survived in him under +the guise of habitual reticence. He was deeply impressed with the +sadness of life, and thought he saw in religion the one panacea for +pain. Besides, he too wished to flee from the wrath to come. + +He had been preaching some seven years when he visited Jamestown, and +during that time he had bitten through to the ashes more than once. +The fruit he held against his lips was losing even its fair seeming. + +His charges were always amid the poor, and he was beginning to rebel +against a doctrine that accused a Divine Being of all the cruelties +life holds. "The poor have the Gospel preached to them" he had once +looked upon as the expression of Divine benefaction; now it struck him +as being redolent of a peculiar and brutal sarcasm. + +Philip Hardman had all his life thought of his religion as only true +when environed in an atmosphere of severity. One day, just after a +tumult of doubt and a corresponding influx of faith and confidence, he +went into a Roman Catholic cathedral. The exact reason for this is +hard to divine. Perhaps it may have been some mad thought of attacking +Rome in her own citadel. At any rate, he went in and sat down, looking +about him with righteous contempt at the "idolatrous images" in their +carven niches. His religious dreams had ever been barren of that +ecstasy which springs from the grandeur and dignity of gorgeous +ceremonials, sonorous chanting, vibrating music. He had never +experienced the breathless hush of suspense between the intoned +invocation of priests and the thrilling choral response. He had never, +at the clear-tongued ringing of a bell, let fall his head and abased +his spirit. But now he experienced an emotion such as possessed the +monks of the Rosy Cross, when to their fervid vision the stony walls of +their cells parted and disclosed vistas of heavenly beauty. He adored +with the fervor of the true fanatic The Church--saw her for the first +time in the light of a beautiful mistress, to be worshipped alone--for +herself--her beauty--her charm--her power. + +Philip Hardman left the cathedral, his eyes kindled, his step light. +He had had doubts of his love, but they were all gone now. He had been +dwelling apart from her; he had but heard echoes of her voice; he had +never seen her as he should have seen her, at home--mystical, with dim, +subdued and vaporous light, clad in gorgeous vestments; incensed with +heavenly odors, irradiate with a hundred colors as the sunlight fell +through the painted windows and the altar lights smote answering flames +from the gold of the altar; served by humble servitors made holy by +their service. + +He had regarded her as a poor bride, without a wedding garment, chilled +by the cold breath of the world, abashed by the insulting sneers of the +ungodly. He now beheld her as she was, a Queen upon a throne, in all +the regal magnificence of her regal state. + +He was no longer the cherisher of a feeble flame, striving to make it +shine in darkness; he was an humble slave of a great lamp, blessed if +the farthest-reaching rays from the sacred centre of light shone upon +his unworthy head or gilded his outstretched hands. He had thought of +his creed pitifully as a "torn leaf out of an old book trampled in the +dirt." There was none of that here--no apology--no plea; there was +only a triumphant pæan of a glorious creed, a sad mourning over those +that were without it. + +This spiritual exaltation working upon his eager nature imparted to him +a physical stimulus exhilarating and strange. He strode along +vigorously. He felt that he was "strong and fleet" in spirit, mind, +and body. He walked on; the day waned; distinct thought had long since +departed. His mood, which in an Oriental would have induced the coma +of the hasheesh eater, prompted him hazily to form great plans for the +good of his kind. The good of his kind? No, the glory of The Church. +He followed few of these plans to any conclusion. They ended as they +had begun, in nebulous imaginings of glory. And, as glory is easily +transferable from the worshipped to the worshipper, the ending of his +dreams included a cloud of incense to himself--the incense of approval, +admiration, and the sweet savor of self-inflicted martyrdom. + +He walked on, pitiably unaware of the St. Simeon Stylites attitude he +had assumed. Night dimmed down; the wind rose, dead elm leaves were +blown across his path, rustling under foot. The night wind, chill with +first frosts, aroused him with a shiver to remember where he was. He +found himself in the country; long vistas of barren fields stretched +out before him a dreary panorama. + +The gray sky was darkened by crows flying silently towards their +nightly roosts. He passed pools of lifeless water, choked with sodden +leaves. A laborer slouched by--a laborer from the railway going home, +content because he had earned double pay for a Sunday's work. The odor +of decaying vegetables somewhere near struck painfully upon Hardman's +senses. This, he thought, with disgust, was the odor of nature--of the +world. + +The night suddenly dropped down from the clouds, and the darkness urged +him to seek shelter. He approached a cottage he observed dimly, +finding his way to it up an uneven lane bordered by a fantastic fence +of uprooted stumps, whose ragged branch-like roots, twisted and +distorted, stood out in solid black masses against the insubstantial +mist of the night. He shuddered. + +It seemed to his supersensitive fancy that these grotesque shapes were +huge simulacra of the animalculæ that the microscope discovers in +water. His muscles shrank as he imagined these huge shapes, unseen but +not unseeing, writhing through the air, flourishing their weird forms +over and around his head, embracing him with their elastic antennas and +moving with him encircled in their horrible, impalpable embrace. With +what devilish skill they swept nearer and nearer to him, avoiding him +by a hair's breadth, and perceiving how his spirit shrank from their +approach! He gazed up into the night, striving to see there the +dreadful shapes his fancy had woven into a Dante-like vision. The side +glimpses his eyes held of the fantastic forms of the roots projected +themselves upon the curtains of the night before him. His breath +quickened; he felt stifled; he withdrew his gaze from the clouds and +fastened it upon his path, which, to his distorted fancy, seemed to +contract until it narrowed down to an impassable barrier of +threatening, twining arms. + +He stumbled on. + +As he staggered across the threshold of the cottage he brushed through +a mass of dried, sweet grass, cut down and left to wither in the +pathway. Its snuff-like odor brought back the incense of the +afternoon. With a strong revulsion of feeling, he threw off alike the +sensuous charm of the odor and the horrid phantasmagoria that his +imagination had conjured up. + +He knocked at the door, feeling a self-disgust that amounted almost to +physical nausea. + +Philip Hardman after this was especially bitter in his sermons against +Rome--her priests--her altars--her incense--her teachings. He regarded +himself as having escaped, hardly by the skin of his teeth, from the +clutches of the Scarlet Woman that sitteth upon the Seven Hills, and +besought his hearers oft, with all his own peculiar eloquence, to keep +themselves withdrawn from the temptations of Rome, of which, he avowed +almost with tears, he had felt the power. + +This experience has no bearing upon the story of Myron Holder, save +inasmuch as it indicates the emotional instability of Philip Hardman. +Poor Myron! + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + + "Behold, we know not anything! + I can but trust that good shall fall + At last--far off--at last, to all; + And every winter change to spring." + + "O Wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?" + + +Mr. Fletcher arrived in Jamestown in due time and was met at the +station by Mrs. Deans. Hardly had they started upon their drive to +Mrs. Deans' before Mr. Fletcher inquired about Myron Holder. Mrs. +Deans launched forth eloquently, and Mr. Fletcher was soon in +possession of the same facts and fancies concerning Myron Holder as +Philip Hardman had been deluged with; but the Reverend Fletcher viewed +the recital differently. He regarded Mrs. Deans' indignation as being +the natural feeling of a good woman toward a bad one, and saw in this +drawing away of the skirts nothing derogatory to Mrs. Deans' womanhood. + +The church was filled that evening, and many eyes watched the door +eagerly, for the probable appearance of Myron Holder had been a much +discussed theme that day. Many of them had missed seeing her the night +before, but there certainly was no danger that the like would occur +again. + +The Reverend Mr. Fletcher entered with his hostess, and, like the +clever church diplomat that he was, spoke to the class-leaders and the +elect, and smiled benignly but condescendingly upon the lesser lights, +and then proceeded, without further parley, to the platform. He was a +hard-faced man, with hawk-like features, coarsened by wind and weather; +keen, hard eyes, wherein passion had left its light but not its warmth; +strong, square jaws, that indicated at once the tenacity and +stubbornness of the man. The Reverend Fletcher was indeed a good +specimen of the evangelist who goes forth with the Sword of the Smiter +rather than the Balm of the Healer. There was no fear of his beguiling +any one by false promises of perilous peace. + +When he had taken his position behind the reading-desk, he too began to +watch the door. From Mrs. Deans' description of Myron Holder he had +formed an idea of her appearance. He looked to see some flaunting, +rustic beauty, bold of eye, brazen of deportment, gayly dressed +perhaps, and defiant of bearing. + +It lacked but a moment or two of the time for service when Myron Holder +entered the church. She paused a moment in the doorway, looking about +her for an inconspicuous seat. There was one but a step from the +doorway; she sank into it. + +The Reverend Fletcher observed her pale face shine, star-like, for a +moment against the darkness of the unlighted porch ere she stepped +within the church. He decided instantly that this was indeed one of +the elect, and gave no further thought to her. His whole attention was +absorbed in looking for the sinner for whose soul he was to do battle. +He thirsted for the fray, but the minutes passed and no one else +entered, so he took up his discourse, and soon had his congregation in +a spiritual tumult. Ejaculations came thick and fast from his hearers, +and there were as many weeping women as any preacher could desire; but +the heart of the Reverend Fletcher was hot within him against She, the +godless one, who sat at home whilst the warnings and threatenings +prepared for her were poured into the ears of every one else in the +village. + +Meantime Myron sat half-dazed. Truly this was another doctrine than +the one she had listened to the night before. Where, amid all these +words, was the promise of the pitying Christ? She was out and away the +moment Mr. Fletcher uttered his last Amen. As he stood mopping the +perspiration from his brow she was speeding through the silent street, +and by the time the church was empty she had flung herself, sobbing, on +her bed. + +When the Reverend Mr. Fletcher discovered that, after all, Myron Holder +had been in the church, he was decidedly disgusted. He always liked +aiming his remarks at some particular person, and always felt as though +he were firing blank cartridges when he could not see the target. +Therefore he was more than annoyed to find that he had so scattered his +fire when he might have taken accurate aim at Myron. He remarked to +Mrs. Deans, with some irascibility, that her description of Myron +Holder had been somewhat misleading. + +"Oh, she's deep," said Mrs. Deans; "and that sly there's no being up to +her. Always goin' about as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth; but +as for wickedness and genuine, inborn badness! Why, Brother Fletcher, +it's my belief and solemn opinion that she was jest makin' a set at +Brother Hardman with them eyes of her'n. I'm glad, Brother Fletcher, +that Brother Hardman was called away. He was very young, Brother +Hardman was--very." + +The Reverend Mr. Fletcher, recalling Hardman's words at the depot, +decided that Myron was a dangerous creature--a sly serpent, evidently, +in a dove's disguise. The Reverend Fletcher girded his loins to the +fray, and was fain to look well to his breastplate of righteousness and +to give thanks that it had fallen to his fate to emulate Saint Anthony. + +Mrs. White and Mrs. Wilson were invited to take tea "along with the +minister" next day, and Mrs. Wilson played her role of sorrowing mother +to perfection. The two other ladies paid her the delicate compliment +of looking fixedly at her for a moment, then shaking their heads +lugubriously and exchanging a meaning glance with each other. When the +cockles of their hearts were warmed by the Japan tea, they began making +allusions to "dispensations," and "afflictions," and "merciful +Providences" (terms which in the vocabulary of the sanctified seem to +mean the same thing); and Mrs. Wilson began making remarks about +"troubles" which were not very intelligible, owing to her beginning +them with a sniff and ending in a snivel. + +All this fired the zeal of the preacher to no small degree. He +resolved they should see the strength of the spiritual sword when +wielded by his hands. He assured them that the stubborn neck of the +offender should be bowed beneath the Scriptural yoke; that the flinty +heart of the sinner should be broken, and that the cause of all this +trouble and scandal should be made to do penance. + +These cheerful predictions filled the hearts of his hearers with much +joy, and they parted in a little flutter of excitement to meet again at +the church, where they anticipated, as Mrs. White expressed it, that +"Brother Fletcher would show that Myron Holder up in her true colors." + +That night Myron sat again in that far-back seat, and again the +spiritual thunders of the Reverend Fletcher spent themselves over her +head. In all his harangue there was no word to touch her soul. + +Death--death--death--was the burden of it all. Now death is a bogy to +fright happy children with, not weary women. Life had been so bitter +to this woman that its antithesis could not be aught but alluring. + +* * * * * * + +It was the last night of the Reverend Fletcher's ministration in +Jamestown. For three nights he had fired volleys of fire and brimstone +at Myron Holder; for three nights she had sat patient, pale, +unmoved--her eyes growing wearier and wearier, her face sadder and +sadder, as her hope of finding peace grew less and less. It was such a +vague hope, not concerned with repentance of sin at all, but wholly +comprehended in an ineffable longing for the fabled rest of Philip +Hardman's preaching. She had heard no further word of it, and she was +beginning to doubt if she had heard aright that night when the +sweetness of the words had left a tiny germ of hope behind. + +The Reverend Mr. Fletcher was also sorely troubled. His reputation as +a revivalist was at stake. The eyes of the village were upon him. It +is true that he had had a great measure of success. Every night the +anxious-seat had been filled with weeping women. Ossie Annie Abbie +Maria White had waxed fairly hysterical as she avowed her sins; Ann +Lemon had howled forth a lengthy lamentation of her wickedness; Sol +Disney had professed conversion, after "resisting the workings of the +spirit within him for twenty-seven years," as he testified. But all +this garnered grain was but as tares in the sight of the Reverend +Fletcher because of that one stubborn thistle that refused to bow its +head to the Scriptural sickle. + +But the Reverend Fletcher was a strategist as well as a fighter. He +recalled what Mrs. Deans had said regarding Myron's inordinate love for +her child, and, remembering, resolved to win Myron Holder's soul +despite herself. + +With this resolution strong within him, he took his place for the last +time before a Jamestown audience. It ought to have been very +gratifying to the ministerial eye--that audience--for all the village +was there. All--save with one notable exception. Clem Humphries' +place before Mrs. Deans' was vacant, and never again would he vex that +worthy woman's soul by his presence in the Jamestown Tabernacle. Clem +had left Jamestown. The night before this last meeting Clem, willing +to sustain his role of a religious individual, rose in his place and in +sepulchral tones asked for the prayers of the congregation. It is +probable that such a request was never so promptly granted before, for +hardly had he resumed his seat before Ann Lemon was upon her feet. + +Always voluble, Ann had no difficulty in finding words wherewith to +address the Lord, which she proceeded to do upon Clem's behalf, as +follows: "O Lord," she commenced. "save this sinful man who seeks Thy +aid! You know what he is, O Lord! You know his pretences, his +hypocrisy, his sinfulness; but save him, for You can! You know what a +sinful man he is, far beyond any hope of good in this world; but, oh, +save him! You know he drinks, putting an enemy into his mouth to steal +away his soul! You know he lies, and is lazy, and is a +Sabbath-breaker, spending in sinful sport the hours when he should +worship Thee! You know he makes his religion just a cloak for his +deceit! You know all this, for nothing is hid from Thee! You know he +oppressed the widow all last winter; but save him, Lord, for You can! +Save him now, whilst he seeks Thy aid! You know he did it for his own +ends, to make people believe in his goodness; but save him now--now, O +Lord, when he can't get out! Save him in spite of himself--make him +indeed one of Your sheep!" + +Ann sat down, amid a chorus of Amens, and Clem was eagerly besought to +testify; but Clem was literally dumb with rage, and sat mute whilst the +Reverend Fletcher prayed that the "new-found brother might be given the +gift of holy speech" that he might "show forth the mercy he had found," +concluding by giving thanks for the conversion of this great sinner. +And this to a man who had been so long a favored one with the godly in +the land! It was too much. Clem trembled with rage. Ann's life would +hardly have been safe at that moment could Clem have laid hands on her. +As it was, she did not fall in his way, and old Clem took French leave +of Jamestown that night, shaking the dust from off his feet as a +testimony against it. He resolved as he left the village never again +to try to keep up with the religious folk. Clem decided they made the +place too hot for him. + +The Reverend Fletcher rose and began his address. Robbed of its +exuberance of expression it was an effective one. He concluded with an +impassioned appeal to his hearers to accept the truth. + +"Is there," he said, "none among you to whom there appears a little, +lonely grave, whose whispering grasses plead to you to think of the +little one buried there? Wandering alone in Heaven, seeking there the +love it had on earth, already wearied by its long waiting, already +faltering as it searches for the loved face, already heart-sick as it +listens to the angels singing the names of the saved on earth--but +never, never hears that loved name in the heavenly roll-call? Is there +none among you who has an empty heart? Is there none among you who +feels, in memory only, the loving touch of baby fingers? Is there none +among you who, in dreams only, hears a baby voice cry 'Mother--Mother'? +If there is such a mother, will she sit stubbornly silent here whilst +her lonely child--orphaned even in Heaven because of her +hard-heartedness--searches ever on and on for the mother that will not +come to him?" + +Mr. Fletcher paused. There was breathless silence for a moment, then +there was a stir far back near the door. The congregation moved, +looked round, and murmured. A woman's figure came swiftly down the +aisle, reached the clear space before the platform--stood--wavered. +The next moment Myron Holder had fallen to the floor, prostrate as a +novice beneath the pall. + +Myron Holder and the Reverend Fletcher stood alone in the empty church. +Mrs. Deans waited impatiently outside. She had never dreamed Mr. +Fletcher would treat her thus! The noise of the departing congregation +was dying away, and Mr. Fletcher was carrying out a stern resolution he +had made. He was talking to Myron Holder of her sin and its enormity; +upbraiding her for the past, and cautioning her against the future. +She listened meekly, admitting her sin and saying no single word in +palliation of it. He was giving her stern advice regarding her +attitude towards the rest of the village, when she interrupted him for +the first time. + +"I am leaving Jamestown to-morrow," she said. + +"What?" said Mr. Fletcher. + +"I am leaving Jamestown to-morrow," + +The Reverend Fletcher's brow grew stern. + +"Is that how you are going to evidence the new mercy you have found--by +going out into the world to deceive people?" + +"I will deceive no one," she said. "I can do nothing here. In winter +I shall have to go on the township again. I must go to earn my living." + +"Evil will come of it. Your influence will not be for good. You will +spread a moral pestilence. Once I took a long journey in the cars; the +car was very dirty, and there was much soot and smoke, and the black +coat I wore absorbed the dust and grime. Well, it lost nothing of its +good appearance; it was a black coat, like other black coats--to look +at. But listen! One day soon after, in a crowded train, I sat next a +woman with a white dress on. What was the result? Her dress was +smirched and darkened where her sleeve touched mine. So it was always. +That coat defiled everything it touched, until I put it from me. It +was a good coat, and I could ill afford to do it, but still less could +I afford to pollute whatever I touched. It is thus with you. Out of +evil, evil will come. We do not gather figs of thistles. Your life +has been evil; your heart is bad. Can good emanate from this? You +will go forth to the world in fair seeming, no trace of your sin +visible to the eye, and you will spread the contagion of your sin. +Listen to me, Myron Holder. Do not dare go forth in silence! Do not +dare conceal your real nature! Do not dare! Say to each man and woman +with whom you have more than the most brief association, 'Lo, I am one +who has sinned; I have been a mother but not a wife!'" + +Myron gazed at him with horror-wide eyes. His were implacable. + +"Am I so dreadful?" she said. "Oh, must I proclaim my shame aloud?" + +"You must," he said. "What! Would you deny your child on earth and +hope to meet him in Heaven?" + +She let fall her face in her hands. There was silence for a space, +then she raised her head. + +"Very well," she said, "I will do as you say." + +She turned from his side, and made her way down the church. A strange +and new distinction of manner seemed to have enveloped her--a dignity +of absolute isolation. She passed through the door, and for the last +time Mrs. Deans' eyes looked into hers. That steady gaze lasted some +seconds, and then Myron Holder went out into the night. + +But in that last meeting of eyes Myron Holder's were not the ones that +faltered. As Cain went forth with his curse, did his eyes fall before +any living face? He was subject only to fear of his fate. Myron +Holder feared only the years she had to live. + +That night, in her cottage, Myron Holder sat sewing, fashioning a tiny +bag out of one of My's misshapen aprons. When completed, she put +something carefully in it and hung it round her neck, concealing it +beneath her gown. She folded up her few articles of clean clothing and +tied them up, with My's little tin mug, into a neat parcel. She took a +last look around the silent rooms, and then went out, closing the door +gently behind her, as if heedful not to awaken one who slept. + +All along the little path voices seemed to bear her company: the voices +of her father, her grandmother, Homer's strong, tender tones, and My's +uncertain voice, and each awoke a loving echo in her heart--yes, even +the strident voice of her grandmother. They each and all whispered +"Good-bye--Good-bye," save the little child's: that was inarticulate, +and babbled but of childish love and confidence. + +She made her way along the road she had trodden so many times in +anguish. She reached the graveyard, and there held her last vigil by +the side of My's grave. + +The stars were yet in the sky--the mysterious stars of morning +skies--when she rose to her feet. She went to each of the other graves +that her heart held, and then came back to this one, the newest and +smallest of the four. She looked down upon it with the pain of +childbirth in her eyes, then up to the "mindful stars." She turned +away with a prayer upon her lips--the same in which was uttered her +agony in the cottage; the same prayer that had faltered from her lips +in the church--not "Lord--Lord," but "My--My!" + +So Myron Holder left Jamestown, and with her we leave it also. There +is much yet that might be told of the place--of the strange death that +befell Bing White; of the marriage of Gamaliel Deans to Liz, the bound +girl; of the penance of pain that was meted out to Mrs. Deans for the +evil she had wrought; of how Mr. and Mrs. Wilson were turned out of +their farm by those of their children who had so pitied them whilst +Homer lived; of how, after all, the old ragman found a fortune in rags, +though not in the way he had dreamed of; of how the new church was +built, and of how the old Holder cottage still stands, a ruin amid its +garden, peopled only by sparrows; of how a new railway runs through the +school playground, and banishes the buttercups by its cinders to the +other side of the broken-down fence. There they run riot, having +spread even up to the doorstep of the old cottage, where they cluster +about the roots of the hopvines. + +There have been many changes in Jamestown--great factories disfigure +the margin of the lake, defile the streams with their refuse, and +befoul the atmosphere with their smoke. A long row of workmen's +cottages, depressingly alike in gable and window, has crowded the Black +Horse Inn out of existence. Its old bricks pave the paths over which +the mill-hands go to work; the last vestige of its violets has vanished. + +The hearts of the Jamestown women, however, have not changed. The same +merciless virtue that hounded Myron Holder pursues the poor factory +girl who falters on her way. The same pointing fingers sting her soul. +The same condemnation, the same cruelty, the same scorn, greet her as +were meted out to Myron Holder. + +In the olden days it was the vestal virgins, charged with keeping +alight the fires that burned upon the altars sacred to home, that +doomed the fallen gladiator to death; their inflexible gesture +negatived the pleading of the upraised hand. There is no single +instance given where they exercised the power of pardon vested in them. +And to-day the verdict upon the fallen comes from women also; and is +there any record of pardons? + +But, O women, think well before you utter a harsh judgment! Your +verdict is the more sacred by virtue of being pronounced upon your own +sex, for woman is more nearly allied to woman than man to man. Each +woman is linked to her sister women by the indissoluble bond of common +pain. "For men must work and women must weep" may have its exceptions +as to men who, by favoring fortune or a kindly fate, may escape their +heritage of labor; but did a woman ever elude her birthright of tears? + +It rests with women whether the bitter cup these unhappy ones drink be +brimmed to the lip or not. + +Ah, well! there are many Jamestowns, and many women therein. "By their +works ye shall know them." + +To the Jamestown women we have known through their treatment of Myron +Holder we say farewell gladly, only asking them-- + + "HAVE YE DONE WELL? They moulder flesh and bone, + Who might have made this life's envenomed dream + A sweeter draught than ye shall ever taste, I deem." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + + "God gives him painful bread, and for all wine + Doth feed him on sharp salt of simple tears, + And bitter fast of blood." + + "Come--pain ye shall have and be blind to the ending! + Come--fear ye shall have 'mid the sky's overcasting! + Come--change ye shall have, for far are ye wending! + Come--no crown ye shall have for your thirst and your fasting!" + + +Myron Holder, in the blue garb of a professional nurse, stood one +spring morning looking out of one of the high windows in the great +hospital where she worked. Three years had passed since that daybreak +when she turned her back on Jamestown. With what trembling steps she +had made her way to town, to the house of the doctor who had attended +old Mr. Carroll! He had suggested to her the vocation of professional +nursing, having observed her natural aptitude for it when she was +tending Mr. Carroll. He had given her his address, and bade her come +to him if she decided to adopt the course he had indicated. She had +done so, and, through his recommendation, she had obtained admittance +to this hospital. Since then she had worked and studied hard, and had +gained her certificate as a trained nurse. + +She had gone forth from Jamestown "lonely as a cloud," and not without +sorrow. The wild flower that grows by the bleakest roadside wilts and +droops for a time, at least, when transplanted to even the most +sheltered garden. The stunted cedar, clinging to a crevice in the +granite, drawing its meagre juices hardly from the niggard soil, +yellows and dies when rent by the resistless wind from its rocky +resting-place. The barrenness of the mountain-side seems kinder to it +than the green meadows to which it is hurled. + +For some little time Myron was bewildered by the strange world which +she had entered, but it did not remain long strange; it soon developed +familiar phases. + +She bore forever the burden of the hateful pledge the Reverend Mr. +Fletcher had wrung from her. In the old, harsh days of Puritanical +prudery and intolerance, the Evil Woman bore upon her breast a flamy +insignia of shame--a beacon warning all not to trust their hopes or +fears or joys to that perfidious bosom which had been false to its own +womanhood, a something which could be seen afar off, a mute, yet +eloquent, cry: "Unclean--Unclean!" + +But the milder methods of modern Christianity were far different. They +fastened no physical sign of degradation upon the object of their +righteous wrath; no burning letter or brand. Hers was no torch of +shame to light the beholder to other paths than that which lay by her +side. + +Hawthorne's stately Evil Woman bore an implacable face above that fatal +mark; strode upon her way with "the stern step of vanquished will," +defied by her mien her accusers and her judges. Upon her countenance +was writ in all the varied hieroglyphics of tint and expression, line +and curve, the story of her passion and her shame. + +Not so this humble village outcast. Her mien showed rather the tender +sorrow of a face created for tears--a face whose lips held pain enough +prisoned behind their paleness to wail the woe of the whole world; eyes +which had looked at death unflinchingly through the pangs of the +sublimest torture womanhood knows rather than betray the coward who had +forsaken her; eyes which had looked at misery and pain, suffering and +death, so often that they seemed to have lost the power of reflecting +aught else; eyes which held in their depths nothing but the +resignation, despair, and the settled purpose of undeviating will. +Sometimes, when the child was alive, there had shone in their depths +varying shadows; then there were moments when she allowed herself to +wish and hope and fear. But that was past, just as was her mad +rebellion against his death. + +Such was Myron Holder--meek, quiet, hopeless; bearing the burden +imposed upon her by convention's unsparing, if righteous, hand. Men, +looking at her, instinctively felt their own vileness; and women saw in +her a refuge from their own weakness and sins until they knew of hers; +then, rejoicing that they yet had power to wound something, crucified +her afresh. Many a time her heart bled from stings implanted by lips +she had moistened night after night. Many a time her face flushed +before the scorn expressed in eyes that would have been forever +darkened but for her untiring skill and patience. + +Truly, to lay upon this woman the task of avowing her guilt to each +human being who should ever look upon her with kindly tolerance was a +measure that the old Puritans would not have adopted. The stake had +not receded quite so far into the dim perspective of the past as it has +now; and if they had deemed her worthy of the supremest torture, they +would probably have chosen the more merciful flames. + +Myron indeed stood within the shadow of the cross. But it must be +remembered that whilst the cross has been the emblem of much mercy, it +was also the symbol beneath which the Inquisition sat in council. It +must be conceded that the Church is not very lenient with women. We +remember its attitude when chloroform was introduced. + +The mercy that the Reverend Mr. Fletcher had proffered Myron Holder was +much like the salt that Eastern torturers rub into the wounds of their +victims. + +There was little to be seen from the high window where Myron stood--the +topmost branches of a horse-chestnut tree just leafing out; a wide arch +of gray-blue sky; and, far off, a confused mass of chimneys, where the +city lay beneath its veil of smoke. + +But Myron was not thinking of the busy city, of the tapping chestnut +boughs, nor even of the overspan of pellucid sky. She was thinking of +a cruel, sordid, babbling little village and of the silent, unkempt +field wherein its dead lay. Her musings were interrupted by the +ringing of a bell. She turned and hastened from the room--blue-clad, +white-capped, capable--to find a new patient had arrived in her ward; a +new patient, with thin, broad, stooped shoulders, overhanging +pent-house brow, sad and secret, above sunken gray eyes that shone with +unalterable love for mankind; a patient who, when he saw her coming, +held out his hands and whispered "Myron--Myron!" and gave her such a +look as banished all the bitterness of her barren belief and again +bestowed the blessed benediction of peace. + +Thus Philip Hardman and Myron Holder met again. + +Philip Hardman was no longer a recognized minister of the Church. His +doubts had grown too strong for his belief, or his beliefs had grown +greater than his creed; and he had gone forth from the church to become +an itinerant preacher, like the man Christ Jesus. He was miserably +uncertain and unsettled. + +Little bands of devotees gathered about him in every town he visited. +They were those who were mentally maimed, or halt, or blind; those +whose aspirations exceeded their capabilities; those in whose hearts a +never-healing sore throbbed in unison with the suffering of mankind; +those who were, like Philip Hardman, striving to flee from the wrath to +come and found themselves bewildered amid the crossways. His followers +were, in all places, strangely alike. They gathered to him gradually, +and when he left they scattered. There was no unity of purpose among +them, no common determination toward one end, to bind them together. + +The Western worlds are not ready yet for those creedless, formless, +Eastern doctrines of Universal Love. Poor Philip Hardman, in an +Oriental world, would have made an excellent devotee, to dream away his +years in spiritual abstraction with the best of them; nay, he might +even have found courage to release his soul by fire from its earthly +charnel like the old East Indians; but he made a poor minister; he was +a good enough _preacher_, eloquent enough, and earnest enough, pitiful +towards others, merciless to himself; but, constantly bewildered by the +indefiniteness of his own aspirations, he could not minister any +healing balm to the sorrows he deplored. + +He never felt awkward nor constrained with his followers, only +desperately unhappy. They looked to him for a message, and he had none +to give them; he raised hopes in their breasts which he could not +justify; held out a cup which proved empty when thirsty lips drew near. + +When he left a town he was haunted for days by the yearning eyes he had +left unlit by hope; yet he could not bring himself to desert the cross +utterly, for + + "Ever on the faint and flagging air + A doleful spirit with a dreary note + Cried in his fearful ear, 'Prepare--Prepare!'" + + +So he had stumbled on, the strong in him strong only to discern the +needs, the wants, the sadness and cruelty of the world, not strong +enough to evolve a creed of Truth to alleviate its misery; the weak in +him only weak enough to make him shrink from giving up utterly the old +dogmas that hampered his hands, not weak enough to permit him to steep +himself in scriptural ease and spend all his time striving to save his +own miserable soul. + +Hardman had come to the charity ward of the hospital to be treated for +that common and troublesome disease familiarly known as "preacher's +sore throat." It was a very natural result of speaking night after +night in all sorts of weathers in the open air. He had persisted in +his preaching, however, until his voice had become attenuated almost to +a whisper; then suddenly realizing the gravity of his case, he had fled +to the hospital in a panic. Myron's post was in the charity ward, by +far the most arduous department in the hospital. Thus Hardman came +directly under her care. + +Relieved from the nervous excitement of his occupation, Hardman's +fictitious strength suddenly collapsed, and, having squandered his +resources recklessly, he was now left with very little stamina to fall +back upon. But Myron tended him night and day, throwing into her +efforts all the determination of her strong nature; and, little by +little, she conquered. Philip Hardman himself had been as passive +during the struggle as a bone for which two dogs fight; but after the +fever left him he began to realize how nearly his doubts and surmises +had been all solved, and looking at Myron's weary face read in a moment +all the meaning of its weariness. From that time her care was seconded +by his eager desire for health. + +Then there fell upon those two that strange enchantment which entered +the world when the first bird sang its first love song, which will +endure till "the last bird fly into the last night." + + "What time the mighty moon was gathering light, + Love paced the thymy plots of Paradise." + + +What strange paths he has trodden since then! What devious ways he has +threaded! What strait gates he has entered! Upon how many sandy +shores he has left his immortal footprints! For all the oceans of +human life, all its flood tides of hope, all its ebb tides of despair, +cannot efface them. Let love once set his signet seal upon a brow, and +all the gilding of glory, all the blackness of shame, the rose wreath +nor the crown of thorns--nay, even Death itself--cannot blot it out. + +Life--Love--Death--the true Trinity, teaching all things, could we but +decipher them. Of Life we know the ending; of Death, the beginning; of +Love, nothing. It springs without sowing, and bears many harvests. To +these two lonely souls it brought a gift of "unhoped, great delight." + +"Love, that all things doth redress," blotted out for a space the toil +and moil of their lives. Hardman told Myron how he had loved her ever +since he saw her; told her how her name had been mentioned in every +prayer his lips had uttered since he left Jamestown; told her how he +had written to her, and of how the letter had been, after many days, +returned to him from the Dead Letter Office. Myron smiled a little at +that; she understood so well the pang it must have cost Mrs. Warner to +return it. Indeed, Mrs. Warner (who was postmaster in Jamestown) had +suffered real tortures of curiosity and kept the letter twice the +regulation time before she sent it to the Dead Letter Office. But "The +Government" was a vague and awful power in Mrs. Warner's eyes, and, as +she expressed it to her husband, "You never know what it knows, and +what it don't." + +Philip did not tell Myron about his doubts, nor that he had voluntarily +forfeited his standing in the orthodox church. And she did not tell +him of the promise that the Reverend Mr. Fletcher had exacted from her. +Perhaps it was this mutual reticence that wrecked them. But for a +short space they were indeed happy. + +But as Philip grew stronger the inevitable problem of the future +presented itself. + +Philip asked Myron one day if she had attended the rest of the meetings +after he left Jamestown. + +"Yes," she said; "I am a Christian." + +That calm statement of hers seemed to impose an impassable barrier +between them. She had attained the peace he had lost. She held fast +the hope that he was all but relinquishing. She was strong in the +faith in which he was so weak. + +She told him of her first struggle in the hospital; of the difficulty +she had had in mastering the "book learning" of her profession; of the +weariness she endured and the hopelessness she had overcome; and, +listening, he thought his heart would break. How could he take from +her the Faith that had made this possible? How deprive her of the +inspiration that kept her worthy? Poor Philip Hardman thought he had +alienated himself from his church utterly; but he had in no wise cast +off its bonds; he still clung to the enervating doctrine of dependence +upon supernatural help, and could not realize that in Myron's womanhood +alone lay the strength, the purity of purpose, and the endurance that +had brought her thus far upon her way. + +Sometimes he wondered if it were possible that he could pass the cup +from lip to lip, and the morsel from mouth to mouth, and yet be himself +athirst and hungry. Now and then the thought came to him that he was +but suffering from some spiritual sickness that would pass from him +like a physical disease, and leave him weak, perhaps, but safe in his +old beliefs. When he thought of this, he pictured himself in his old +position as minister and wondered if to marry Myron would conserve the +interests of his Faith. This was the one unworthy thought of which he +was guilty. The man was weak, but this was shameful. + +It seems incredible to us that this man, having, as he knew, this +woman's happiness in the hollow of his hand, loving her as he +undoubtedly did, should have hesitated. Had he fully understood the +conditions of her life, it is impossible to believe he would have done +so; but so few of us know each other "face to face." + +And Philip Hardman was very humble in his estimate of himself. He did +not allow himself to think that his life would compensate to Myron +Holder for the spiritual benefits she might lose by marrying him. +Indeed, this poor, tossed soul sometimes recalled with a shudder that +mysterious Sin for which there is no forgiveness, and wondered if he +had been guilty of it; then he trembled when Myron Holder approached +lest she be contaminated. + +It seems this poor man was incapable of understanding the true beauty +of Love. So that now he would wonder if Myron Holder as his wife would +stultify his efforts for the Faith, and presently tremble lest he drag +her down to the perdition he feared. At this juncture he deliberately +shifted the burden from his own shoulders to those of Myron Holder. He +asked her to decide, expressing his own love for her and saying +tenderly: + +"And you, Myron, you love me?" + +She only looked her answer, but the eloquence of her look seemed to +argue and decide the whole case. + +This conversation occurred in the morning. In the evening, just as +dusk fell, Myron came to the ward and sat by him for a little space. +Now that the burden was shifted off his own shoulders Philip felt calm +and happy. + +He lay long, and gazed upon her as she sat beside him, gathered the +tender strength of her face, the sweet womanliness of her form, the +resolution and patience that made bright her brow, and noted all the +beauty of her eyes. He pictured their future life together; he thought +of her sitting by him in the twilight; of her bidding him good-bye in +the morning; of her welcoming him at night; he thought of her looking +up at him in the pauses of some household task; he imagined her eyes as +they would turn to him for guidance; he dreamed of their comfort when +he looked to them for love. He thought of all these things, and then +abased himself before the vision of a holy, patient face,--the face of +the mother of his child. + +'Mid these thoughts speech does not find ready way. They were together +silent, hand in hand. + +The time came for Myron to go. It was almost dark in the ward, and an +angled screen hid them from view. + +"Myron," whispered Philip, and looked at her pleadingly. + +She looked at him--her head sank near his--he kissed her--her lips were +trembling. He passed an arm about her shoulder and gave her a tender, +reassuring pressure. + +"I will know in the morning?" he said. + +"Yes," she answered, and turned to leave him. She hesitated at the +foot of the bed and then turned toward him again. "Good-night," she +said. "Good-night, Philip." + +Then she turned and went swiftly from the ward, passing the night nurse +at the door. + +Hardman felt a moisture on his hand, the hand she had held as she said +"Good-night." + +"She was crying, bless her, and I never knew it," he thought. + +He soon slept. It would seem that he was content so long as Myron made +the decision and thus relieved him from the responsibility and +consequences of doing so. Well, we cannot tell. "The heart knoweth +its own bitterness," and it is not for us to judge Hardman. But whilst +withholding judgment upon him we need not spare to pity Myron, who, +prone upon the narrow couch in the bare dormitory, was face to face +with her own soul. + +Whilst Hardman slept, having cast off his burden, she was tasting the +bitterness of death. Myron Holder's agony would have indeed bewildered +him could he have witnessed it. It was in such strong contrast to the +peace of that perfect hour just past. He could not have realized the +battle Myron had done with herself, her tears, her fears, whilst she +sat by him; and he comforted himself with visions of an illusive +future. Alas! Poor Myron--poor Hardman! Not for them was "The House +of Fulfillment of Craving," not for them the "Cup with the roses around +it." + +We cannot trace step by step the progress of the struggle. + +"A sign--a sign!" she cried in her pain. "Oh, what shall I do?" + +It was at midnight when the sign was given her and the path pointed +out. The clock in her room had just struck twelve when the electric +bell at her bedside rang, summoning her downstairs. She rose hastily, +and quickly dashing a little cold water in her face, assumed her cap +and hurried out. She found the entire staff of nurses assembling. +They were gathering about the medical officer in charge of the +hospital. He held a telegram in his hand. When they had all come, he +read it aloud. It was brief. An urgent appeal from a quarantine +station asking for volunteer nurses for cholera patients. The doctor +read it and waited. The little crowd of women before him murmured +confusedly. Some faces reddened, some paled. The doctor read the +telegram again, and said quietly: + +"The need is urgent, but I advise no one. If, however, any of you will +go, she must be ready in an hour. The express leaves then." + +He paused. There was no answer. His face paled a little. He had been +very proud of his intrepid nurses, this doctor, and somehow, in this +time of trial, they seemed about to be found wanting. + +"As soon as each one makes up her mind," he said, "she will return to +her duties or acquaint me with her determination to go." + +The group before him parted as if by a single impulse, each seeking to +escape unseen to her place. Only one came forward quietly, and said +steadily: + +"I will go, sir, if you will let me." + +The departing ones stayed their steps and listened. + +"It is Nurse Myron," they said to each other. + +"Yes," said the doctor, catching one of these remarks, "it is Nurse +Myron, of whom you have made a pariah. Go back to your duties, +please." His voice, usually so gentle, was stern and peremptory. They +went. + + +An hour later, Myron Holder left the hospital. As she came down from +the dormitory, clad in the blue serge gown with its cape and +close-fitting hat, she went into the charity ward. Quietly she stole +along its length until she came to the bed in the corner. A straight +shaft of moonlight fell upon the pillow. It made visible all the +strength and beauty of Hardman's brow and showed all the sweetness of +his mouth, all the kindly expression of his face. His brow was placid; +his lips smiled. To the woman's eyes there was nothing weak, nothing +cowardly, in the man before her. He was her saint among men. + +"He will know in the morning," she said. The doctor beckoned from the +door. She murmured again, "He will know in the morning," and so bade +him an eternal farewell. + +[Illustration: "HE WILL KNOW IN THE MORNING."] + +* * * * * * + +Next morning Philip Hardman learned from the doctor of Myron's act. + +"The nurses say you are a minister, and that she loved you," said the +doctor. "If praying is your trade, pray for her, man; she has need of +it." Then he passed on. He was a little bitter and stern, the good +doctor, that morning. + +There comes a time to some of us, + + "When happy dreams have just gone by + And left us without remedy + Within the unpitying hands of life." + +Those of us who have lived through such an hour can understand what had +come to Philip Hardman. He saw now clearly what he ought to have done, +but it was too late. He tried to comfort himself with the hope that +she would come back, and _then_, he told himself, no power in earth or +heaven should come between them. + +How vain this hope was the event proved; but it was well he had it at +the moment, else his self-reproach would have been too poignant. As it +was, his fever returned and it was many days before his last tidings of +Myron Holder. He was told, and lived. That is all we need say or care +to hear of Philip Hardman. + + "Perplext in faith, but pure in deeds, + At last he beat his music out." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + + "Death comes to set thee free, + Oh, meet him cheerily + As thy true friend; + Then all thy cares shall cease + And in eternal peace + Thy penance end." + + "Even the weariest river + Winds somewhere safe to the sea." + + +The arrival of the new nurse had been announced to the doctor in charge +of the quarantine station. He waited for her coming in his office. +She entered the room, paused for a moment on the threshold, and then +came forward. The light, to which his back was turned, fell full upon +her face,--a face devoid of bitterness as it was of joy. Her form, +clad in the regulation nurse's garb of blue, showed in strong relief +against the unpainted pine walls of the great doctor's office--a +somewhat broad, low figure, not slight, nor lissome, but most +eloquently womanly. Her lips parted in a question which he did not +hear. + +Time had gone back with him. He stood upon a jutting ledge of rock, +which from the ridge hung out into the blue. He was alone, and +waiting--waiting with every faculty of his will strained to the utmost; +looking through a parting in the leaves between the tree-trunks, he +watched for a girl's figure. Far away there was a glimmer of water; +somewhere a village band was practising, but distance deadened all +sound from it save the throb of the heavy drum which pulsed through the +air and seemed to add motion to the heavy, odorous vapor of the summer +night and send it eddying up in perfumed waves about the craggy +platform. Then he saw one coming, flushed, and "foot gilt with all the +blossom dust" of wild venollia, fleabane and spent moondaisies. And +then he held once more a trembling maiden form within his clasp. Again +from out the hollow of his arm there looked up at him two eyes of +clearest, purest glance. Again he dwelt upon the smooth forehead with +its faint upraised brows. Again he kissed the white throat bent +outward like a singing bird's, as her head rested against him and her +eyes met his. Again he saw those eyes grow dim and moist. Again he +felt the encircled form tremble. Again he stilled the appealing lips +with a kiss. Again he vowed eternal faith. Again he heard her say-- + +"Will you be good enough to tell me my duties?" the new nurse was +saying, in low, strained tones, in a voice without modulation and +suggestive of reiteration. + +"What is your name?" he asked, with unstrung joints. + +"I am Myron Holder," she said, and looked at him. + +Her lips did not quiver. Her cheeks did not flush. Her eyes did not +falter. All the majesty of a wronged womanhood shone upon her brow. +Her glance spoke of a dignity far beyond the gift of man, above the +world's honor--a dignity bought at a terrible price and sealed with a +terrible seal of loneliness and separation. + +"Ah!" he said, and leaned upon the table at his side, mentally +acknowledging the strength of her presence. "I am Henry Willis," he +said. "Did you know me?" + +"I recognized you when I came into the room," she answered, in a +monotonous tone. + +There was a pause. Her eyes rested upon him unwaveringly, and sent +from their depths intolerable meanings of contempt and righteous +indignation and hopeless reproach. + +He came a step nearer. + +"Let me--" he began. She stepped back--her nostrils dilated. + +"Would you be good enough to tell me my duties?" she said. + +"Tell me how you came here." + +"I am Nurse Myron," she said, and uttered no further word. + +He waited in a silence she did not break. + +"If you will come with me," he said at length. + +She signified her acquiescence and followed him. + +Days passed--long days and nights which seemed to outlast eternity in +their dreary passage. Day by day the nurses and physicians did battle +with the foul pestilential scourge they were striving to stifle. The +great Dr. Willis, the eminent bacteriologist, peered and pried +incessantly over his gelatin films, striving to win the secret of +infection and its origin from the minute particles of matter he held +prisoned there. But yet more earnestly did he strive to learn the +secret of one strong, brave soul, hut in vain. + +The quality Dr. Willis most admired, respected and understood was Will, +but here it reigned in such transcendent strength that he stood +appalled before it. From that moment of retrospect and recognition he +had awakened with a galling sense of his own inferiority. Never before +had Henry Willis owned the domination of a living will. Now the wide +earth held no sweetness, all his achievements no triumph for him, +unless he could once more possess the woman who had, so long ago, been +wholly his. + +They worked side by side. As the cases multiplied, and two of the men +nurses were stricken with the disease, Henry Willis, perforce threw +aside his experiments and flung himself into the fray. Day by day saw +these two drawn closer and closer together by the exigencies of their +peculiar and dreadful position. No more volunteers were forthcoming. +The force in the quarantine station was weakening. The physician, +albeit wiry and of an iron physique, was pale and thin. + +Myron Holder's strong frame and brave heart were giving way; only her +will sustained each. Her eyes shone neither steadily nor calmly now, +but burned with desperate courage. + +Dr. Willis came to her one day with a newspaper containing reports of +their work. The names of Dr. Henry Willis and Nurse Myron were coupled +with honorable and enduring encomiums. She read it standing in the +corridor before his office door. As she read and gathered the import +of the words, a change overspread her face. Her eyes, of late so hot +and dry, grew moist; her lips trembled; from brow to chin the color +flushed her face, bringing back to it all the charm of a crushed and +subordinate womanhood. She read the article over and looked him full +in the face. + +"My name is here and yours," she said. Then, in a voice which had +burst from its shackles at last, and rang out clear and high, "They +should be read above the grave of a nameless child." + +She paused a moment--long enough for the man before her to gather the +meaning of her words--long enough to allow memory to whelm her own +heart and break it at last, and then she sank upon the floor, weeping +and crying aloud for her dead child. + +When Henry Willis carried her to the office, the first paroxysmal +symptoms of cholera had set in. + +* * * * * * + +All hope was over. Nurse Myron was dying. Every remedy despairing +skill could suggest had been resorted to, but in vain. Transfusion of +blood had brought not even an evanescent strength. The disease had +culminated, and death was simply a question of minutes--an hour at most. + +Her face had become olive in tint, and shone up with Murillo-like +beauty of tint and form from the pillow. Beside her, in all the +abandon of shattered hope, knelt Henry Willis. But to all his pleading +Myron Holder was deaf, until, by the inspiration of despair, he cried +aloud: + +"For his sake, to give him a name!" + +Then she consented. In the presence of the remnant of nurses left, +blessed by the devoted minister who also lived among these dangers, +Myron Holder and Henry Willis took each other for man and wife. + +They were alone. He held her hand, awed by the supernal brightness of +her eyes. + +"You will write his name above his grave?" she said. "His real +name--Henry Willis? Do you know what I called him? My--little My." + +"Live," he murmured. "Live to let me atone--to be happy--to be adored. +Live--you can if you will." + +"Could I?" she said. "Life holds nothing for me; Death him, or +forgetfulness." + +Her eyes began to film. He bent over her distractedly, calling her +tender names, pleading for a look--a sign. + +"Speak to me--forgive me," he cried. "Myron--Myron!" + +"I forgive you," she said, looking at him once again with calm and +steadfast eye of divine forgetfulness. She sank into a stupor, through +which she murmured "My--little My"--tenderly, as to a sleeping child. +Then suddenly her eyes opened, a flood of ineffable brightness +illumined her face, she stretched forth her arms and uttered a name in +a cry of joyous hope, and sank back. The world was over for her. +There but remained the involuntary efforts of life against +annihilation, efforts which, happily, were few and brief. Twenty +minutes after she became a wife, Myron Willis had passed-- + + "'And surely,' all folk said, + 'None ever saw such joy on visage dead.'" + + +They buried her, as the law required, with the rest of those who died +of the pest. Upon her breast they found an ill-made little bag of +checked blue and white cotton. Within it was a flossy skein of child's +hair tangled by many tears and kisses. They brought it to Dr. Willis, +and he replaced it upon the dead breast with whose secret sobs and +sighs it had risen and fallen for so long. + +The newspapers gave a pathetic account of the "Romance in a Quarantine +Station," and told how the famous Dr. Willis, meeting his "girl love" +in the hospital, had married her on her deathbed. The tale cast quite +a romantic lustre over the doctor's somewhat prosaic career of medical +achievement. + +There was no word said, however, of their first meeting and parting, +nor of a little grave that to this day is unmarked save for a tiny +tablet whereon is carven one syllable--MY. + + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Untempered Wind, by Joanna E. Wood + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 58987 *** |