by Bret Harte
AN EPISODE OF WEST WOODLANDS.
I.
The rain was dripping monotonously from the scant eaves of the littlechurch of the Sidon Brethren at West Woodlands. Hewn out of the veryheart of a thicket of buckeye spruce and alder, unsunned and unblownupon by any wind, it was so green and unseasoned in its solitude that itseemed a part of the arboreal growth, and on damp Sundays to havetaken root again and sprouted. There were moss and shining spots on theunderside of the unplaned rafters, little green pools of infusoria stoodon the ledge of the windows whose panes were at times suddenly cloudedby mysterious unknown breaths from without or within. It was oppressedwith an extravagance of leaves at all seasons, whether in summer, whengreen and limp they crowded the porch, doorways, and shutters, or whenpenetrating knot-holes and interstices of shingle and clapboard, on somecreeping vine, they unexpectedly burst and bourgeoned on the walls likebanners; or later, when they rotted in brown heaps in corners, outlinedthe edges of the floor with a thin yellow border, or invaded the ranksof the high-backed benches which served as pews.
There had been a continuous rustling at the porch and the shaking outof waterproofs and closing of umbrellas until the half-filled church wasalready redolent of damp dyes and the sulphur of India rubber. The eyesof the congregation were turned to the door with something more than theusual curiosity and expectation. For the new revivalist preacher fromHorse Shoe Bay was coming that morning. Already voices of authority wereheard approaching, and keeping up their conversation to the very doorof the sacred edifice in marked contrast with the awed and bashfulwhisperings in the porch of the ordinary congregation. The worshipersrecognized the voices of Deacons Shadwell and Bradley; in thereverential hush of the building they seemed charged with undueimportance.
"It was set back in the road for quiet in the Lord's work," saidBradley.
"Yes, but it oughtn't be hidden! Let your light so shine before men,you know, Brother Bradley," returned a deep voice, unrecognized andunfamiliar--presumably that of the newcomer.
"It wouldn't take much to move it--on skids and rollers--nearer to theroad," suggested Shadwell tentatively.
"No, but if you left it stranded there in the wind and sun, green andsappy as it is now, ye'd have every seam and crack startin' till theribs shone through, and no amount of calkin' would make it watertightagin. No; my idea is--clear out the brush and shadder around it! Let thelight shine in upon it! Make the waste places glad around it, but keepit THERE! And that's my idea o' gen'ral missionary work; that's how thegospel orter be rooted."
Here the bell, which from the plain open four-posted belfry abovehad been clanging with a metallic sharpness that had an odd impatientworldliness about it, suddenly ceased.
"That bell," said Bradley's voice, with the same suggestion of conveyingimportant truths to the listening congregation within, "was took fromthe wreck of the Tamalpais. Brother Horley bought it at auction atHorse Shoe Bay and presented it. You know the Tamalpais ran ashore onSkinner's Reef, jest off here."
"Yes, with plenty of sea room, not half a gale o' wind blowing, and herreal course fifty miles to westward! The whole watch must have drunk orsunk in slothful idleness," returned the deep voice again. A momentarypause followed, and then the two deacons entered the church with thestranger.
He appeared to be a powerfully-built man, with a square, beardless chin;a face that carried one or two scars of smallpox and a deeper one ofa less peaceful suggestion, set in a complexion weather-beaten to thecolor of Spanish leather. Two small, moist gray eyes, that glistenedwith every emotion, seemed to contradict the hard expression of theother features. He was dressed in cheap black, like the two deacons,with the exception of a loose, black alpaca coat and the usual blacksilk neckerchief tied in a large bow under a turndown collar,--thegeneral sign and symbol of a minister of his sect. He walked directlyto the raised platform at the end of the chapel, where stood a table onwhich was a pitcher of water, a glass and hymnbook, and a tall uprightdesk holding a Bible. Glancing over these details, he suddenly paused,carefully lifted some hitherto undetected object from the desk besidethe Bible, and, stooping gently, placed it upon the floor. As it hoppedaway the congregation saw that it was a small green frog. The intrusionwas by no means an unusual one, but some odd contrast between thispowerful man and the little animal affected them profoundly. Noone--even the youngest--smiled; every one--even the youngest--becamesuddenly attentive. Turning over the leaves of the hymnbook, he thengave out the first two lines of a hymn. The choir accordion in the frontside bench awoke like an infant into wailing life, and Cissy Appleby,soprano, took up a little more musically the lugubrious chant. At theclose of the verse the preacher joined in, after a sailor fashion, witha breezy bass that seemed to fill the little building with the troubleof the sea. Then followed prayer from Deacon Shadwell, broken by "Amens"from the preacher, with a nautical suggestion of "Ay, ay," about them,and he began his sermon.
It was, as those who knew his methods might have expected, a suggestionof the conversation they had already overheard. He likened the littlechapel, choked with umbrage and rotting in its dampness, to the gospelseed sown in crowded places, famishing in the midst of plenty, andsterile from the absorptions of the more active life around it. Hepointed out again the true work of the pioneer missionary; thecareful pruning and elimination of those forces that grew up with theChristian's life, which many people foolishly believed were a part ofit. "The WORLD must live and the WORD must live," said they, and therewere easy-going brethren who thought they could live together. But hewarned them that the World was always closing upon--"shaddering"--andstrangling the Word, unless kept down, and that "fair seemin'settlement," or city, which appeared to be "bustin' and bloomin'" withlife and progress, was really "hustlin' and jostlin'" the Word of God,even in the midst of these "fancy spires and steeples" it had erectedto its glory. It was the work of the missionary pioneer to keep down orroot out this carnal, worldly growth as much in the settlement as in thewilderness. Some were for getting over the difficulty by dragging themere wasted "letter of the Word," or the rotten and withered husks ofit, into the highways and byways, where the "blazin'" scorn of the Worldwould finish it. A low, penitential groan from Deacon Shadwell followedthis accusing illustration. But the preacher would tell them that theonly way was to boldly attack this rankly growing World around them;to clear out fresh paths for the Truth, and let the sunlight of Heavenstream among them.
There was little doubt that the congregation was moved. Whatever theymight have thought of the application, the fact itself was patent. Therheumatic Beaseleys felt the truth of it in their aching bones; it camehome to the fever and ague stricken Filgees in their damp seats againstthe sappy wall; it echoed plainly in the chronic cough of Sister MaryStrutt and Widow Doddridge; and Cissy Appleby, with her round brown eyesfixed upon the speaker, remembering how the starch had been taken out ofher Sunday frocks, how her long ringlets had become uncurled, her frillslimp, and even her ribbons lustreless, felt that indeed a prophet hadarisen in Israel!
One or two, however, were disappointed that he had as yet given noindication of that powerful exhortatory emotion for which he was famed,and which had been said to excite certain corresponding corybanticsymptoms among his sensitive female worshipers. When the service wasover, and the congregation crowded around him, Sister Mary Strutt, onthe outer fringe of the assembly, confided to Sister Evans that she had"hearn tell how that when he was over at Soquel he prayed that pow'fulthat all the wimmen got fits and tremblin' spells, and ole Mrs. Jacksonhad to be hauled off his legs that she was kneelin' and claspin' whilewrestling with the Sperit."
"I reckon we seemed kinder strange to him this morning, and he wanted tojest feel his way to our hearts first," exclaimed Brother Jonas Steerspolitely. "He'll be more at home at evenin' service. It's queer thatsome of the best exhortin' work is done arter early candlelight. Ireckon he's goin' to stop over with Deacon Bradley to dinner."
But it appeared that the new preacher, now formally introduced asBrothe
r Seabright, was intending to walk over to Hemlock Mills todinner. He only asked to be directed the nearest way; he would nottrouble Brother Shadwell or Deacon Bradley to come with him.
"But here's Cissy Appleby lives within a mile o' thar, and you couldgo along with her. She'd jest admire to show you the way," interruptedBrother Shadwell. "Wouldn't you, Cissy?"
Thus appealed to, the young chorister--a tall girl of sixteen orseventeen--timidly raised her eyes to Brother Seabright as he was aboutto repeat his former protestation, and he stopped.
"Ef the young lady IS goin' that way, it's only fair to accept herkindness in a Christian sperit," he said gently.
Cissy turned with a mingling of apology and bashfulness towards a youngfellow who seemed to be acting as her escort, but who was hesitatingin an equal bashfulness, when Seabright added: "And perhaps our youngfriend will come too?"
But the young friend drew back with a confused laugh, and BrotherSeabright and Cissy passed out from the porch together. For a fewmoments they mingled with the stream and conversation of the departingcongregation, but presently Cissy timidly indicated a diverging bypath,and they both turned into it.
It was much warmer in the open than it had been in the chapel andthicket, and Cissy, by way of relieving a certain awkward tension ofsilence, took off the waterproof cloak and slung it on her arm. Thisdisclosed her five long brown cable-like curls that hung down hershoulders, reaching below her waist in some forgotten fashion ofgirlhood. They were Cissy's peculiar adornment, remarkable for theirlength, thickness, and the extraordinary youthfulness imparted to afigure otherwise precociously matured. In some wavering doubt of heractual years and privileges, Brother Seabright offered to carryher cloak for her, but she declined it with a rustic and youthfulpertinacity that seemed to settle the question. In fact, Cissy wasas much embarrassed as she was flattered by the company of thisdistinguished stranger. However, it would be known to all West Woodlandthat he had walked home with her, while nobody but herself would knowthat they had scarcely exchanged a word. She noticed how he lounged onwith a heavy, rolling gait, sometimes a little before or behind her asthe path narrowed. At such times when they accidentally came in contactin passing, she felt a half uneasy, physical consciousness of him, whichshe referred to his size, the scars on his face, or some latent hardnessof expression, but was relieved to see that he had not observed it.Yet this was the man that made grown women cry; she thought of oldMrs. Jackson fervently grasping the plodding ankles before her, anda hysteric desire to laugh, with the fear that he might see it on herface, overcame her. Then she wondered if he was going to walk all theway home without speaking, yet she knew she would be more embarrassed ifhe began to talk to her.
Suddenly he stopped, and she bumped up against him.
"Oh, excuse me!" she stammered hurriedly.
"Eh?" He evidently had not noticed the collision. "Did you speak?"
"No!--that is--it wasn't anything," returned the girl, coloring.
But he had quite forgotten her, and was looking intently before him.They had come to a break in the fringe of woodland, and upon a suddenview of the ocean. At this point the low line of coast-range whichsheltered the valley of West Woodlands was abruptly cloven by a gorgethat crumbled and fell away seaward to the shore of Horse Shoe Bay.On its northern trend stretched the settlement of Horse Shoe to thepromontory of Whale Mouth Point, with its outlying reef of rocks curvedinwards like the vast submerged jaw of some marine monster, throughwhose blunt, tooth-like projections the ship-long swell of the Pacificstreamed and fell. On the southern shore the light yellow sands ofPunta de las Concepcion glittered like sunshine all the way to theolive-gardens and white domes of the Mission. The two shores seemed totypify the two different climates and civilizations separated by thebay.
The heavy, woodland atmosphere was quickened by the salt breath of thesea. The stranger inhaled it meditatively.
"That's the reef where the Tamalpais struck," he said, "and more'n fiftymiles out of her course--yes, more'n fifty miles from where she shouldhave bin! It don't look nat'ral. No--it--don't--look--nat'ral!"
As he seemed to be speaking to himself, the young girl, who had beengazing with far greater interest at the foreign-looking southern shore,felt confused and did not reply. Then, as if recalling her presence,Brother Seabright turned to her and said:--
"Yes, young lady; and when you hear the old bell of the Tamalpais, andthink of how it came here, you may rejoice in the goodness of the Lordthat made even those who strayed from the straight course and the truereckoning the means of testifying onto Him."
But the young are quicker to detect attitudes and affectation than weare apt to imagine; and Cissy could distinguish a certain other strayingin this afterthought or moral of the preacher called up by her presence,and knew that it was not the real interest which the view had evoked.She had heard that he had been a sailor, and, with the tact of her sex,answered with what she thought would entertain him:--
"I was a little girl when it happened, and I heard that some sailors gotashore down there, and climbed up this gully from the rocks below.And they camped that night--for there were no houses at West Woodlandsthen--just in the woods where our chapel now stands. It was funny,wasn't it?--I mean," she corrected herself bashfully, "it was strangethey chanced to come just there?"
But she had evidently hit the point of interest.
"What became of them?" he said quickly. "They never came to Horse ShoeSettlement, where the others landed from the wreck. I never heard ofthat boat's crew or of ANY landing HERE."
"No. They kept on over the range south to the Mission. I reckon theydidn't know there was a way down on this side to Horse Shoe," returnedCissy.
Brother Seabright moved on and continued his slow, plodding march.But he kept a little nearer Cissy, and she was conscious that heoccasionally looked at her. Presently he said:--
"You have a heavenly gift, Miss Appleby."
Cissy flushed, and her hand involuntarily went to one of her long,distinguishing curls. It might be THAT. The preacher continued:--
"Yes; a voice like yours is a heavenly gift. And you have properlydevoted it to His service. Have you been singing long?"
"About two years. But I've got to study a heap yet."
"The little birds don't think it necessary to study to praise Him," saidthe preacher sententiously.
It occurred to Cissy that this was very unfair argument. She saidquickly:--
"But the little birds don't have to follow words in the hymn-books. Youdon't give out lines to larks and bobolinks," and blushed.
The preacher smiled. It was a very engaging smile, Cissy thought, thatlightened his hard mouth. It enabled her to take heart of grace, andpresently to chatter like the very birds she had disparaged. Oh yes; sheknew she had to learn a great deal more. She had studied "some" already.She was taking lessons over at Point Concepcion, where her aunt hadfriends, and she went three times a week. The gentleman who taught herwas not a Catholic, and, of course, he knew she was a Protestant. Shewould have preferred to live there, but her mother and father were bothdead, and had left her with her aunt. She liked it better because itwas sunnier and brighter there. She loved the sun and warmth. She hadlistened to what he had said about the dampness and gloom of the chapel.It was true. The dampness was that dreadful sometimes it just ruined herclothes, and even made her hoarse. Did he think they would really takehis advice and clear out the woods round the chapel?
"Would you like it?" he asked pleasantly.
"Yes."
"And you think you wouldn't pine so much for the sunshine and warmth ofthe Mission?
"I'm not pining," said Cissy with a toss of her curls, "for anything oranybody; but I think the woods ought to be cleared out. It's just as itwas when the runaways hid there."
"When the RUNAWAYS HID THERE!" said Brother Seabright quickly. "Whatrunaways?"
"Why, the boat's crew," said Cissy.
"Why do you call them runaways?"
"I don't know. Didn't YOU?"
said Cissy simply. "Didn't you say theynever came back to Horse Shoe Bay. Perhaps I had it from aunty. ButI know it's damp and creepy; and when I was littler I used to befrightened to be alone there practicing."
"Why?" said the preacher quickly.
"Oh, I don't know," hurried on Cissy, with a vague impression that shehad said too much. "Only my fancy, I guess."
"Well," said Brother Seabright after a pause; "we'll see what can bedone to make a clearing there. Birds sing best in the sunshine, and YOUought to have some say about it."
Cissy's dimples and blushes came together this time. "That's ourhouse," she said suddenly, with a slight accent of relief, pointing to aweather-beaten farmhouse on the edge of the gorge. "I turn off here, butyou keep straight on for the Mills; they're back in the woods apiece. But," she stammered with a sudden sense of shame of forgottenhospitality, "won't you come in and see aunty?"
"No, thank you, not now." He stopped, turning his gaze from the house toher. "How old is your house? Was it there at the time of the wreck?"
"Yes," said Cissy.
"It's odd that the crew did not come there for help, eh?"
"Maybe they overlooked it in the darkness and the storm," said Cissysimply. "Good-by, sir."
The preacher held her hand for an instant in his powerful, but gentlygraduated grasp. "Good-by until evening service."
"Yes, sir," said Cissy.
The young girl tripped on towards her house a little agitated andconscious, and yet a little proud as she saw the faces of her aunt, heruncle, her two cousins, and even her discarded escort, Jo Adams, at thewindows, watching her.
"So," said her aunt, as she entered breathlessly, "ye walked home withthe preacher! It was a speshal providence and manifestation for ye,Cissy. I hope ye was mannerly and humble--and profited by the words ofgrace."
"I don't know," said Cissy, putting aside her hat and cloak listlessly."He didn't talk much of anything--but the old wreck of the Tamalpais."
"What?" said her aunt quickly.
"The wreck of the Tamalpais, and the boat's crew that came up thegorge," repeated the young girl.
"And what did HE know about the boat's crew?" said her aunt hurriedly,fixing her black eyes on Cissy.
"Nothing except what I told him."
"What YOU told him!" echoed her aunt, with an ominous color filling thesallow hollows of her cheek.
"Yes! He has been a sailor, you know--and I thought it would interesthim; and it did! He thought it strange."
"Cecilia Jane Appleby," said her aunt shrilly, "do you mean to say thatyou threw away your chances of salvation and saving grace just to tellgossiping tales that you knew was lies, and evil report, and falsewitnesses!"
"I only talked of what I'd heard, aunt Vashti," said Ceciliaindignantly. "And he afterwards talked of--of--my voice, and said I hada heavenly gift," she added, with a slight quiver of her lip.
Aunt Vashti regarded the girl sharply.
"And you may thank the Lord for that heavenly gift," she said, in aslightly lowered voice; "for ef ye hadn't to use it tonight, I'd shutye up in your room, to make it pay for yer foolish gaddin' TONGUE! AndI reckon I'll escort ye to chapel tonight myself, miss, and get shut o'some of this foolishness."
II.
The broad plaza of the Mission de la Concepcion had been baking in theday-long sunlight. Shining drifts from the outlying sand dunes, blownacross the ill-paved roadway, radiated the heat in the faces of the fewloungers like the pricking of liliputian arrows, and invaded even thecactus hedges. The hot air visibly quivered over the dark red tiles ofthe tienda roof as if they were undergoing a second burning. The blackshadow of a chimney on the whitewashed adobe wall was like a door orcavernous opening in the wall itself; the tops of the olive and peartrees seen above it were russet and sere already in the fierce light.Even the moist breath of the sea beyond had quite evaporated before itcrossed the plaza, and now rustled the leaves in the Mission garden witha dry, crepitant sound.
Nevertheless, it seemed to Cissy Appleby, as she crossed the plaza, avery welcome change from West Woodlands. Although the late winter rainshad ceased a month ago,--a few days after the revivalist preacher hadleft,--the woods around the chapel were still sodden and heavy, and thethreatened improvement in its site had not taken place. Neither had thepreacher himself alluded to it again; his evening sermon--the only otherone he preached there--was unexciting, and he had, in fact, left WestWoodlands without any display of that extraordinary exhortatory facultyfor which he was famous. Yet Cissy, in spite of her enjoyment of thedry, hot Mission, remembered him, and also recalled, albeit poutingly,his blunt suggesting that she was "pining for it." Nevertheless, shewould like to have sung for him HERE--supposing it was possible toconceive of a Sidon Brotherhood Chapel at the Mission. It was a greatpity, she thought, that the Sidon Brotherhood and the FranciscanBrotherhood were not more brotherly TOWARDS EACH OTHER. Cissy belongedto the former by hereditary right, locality, and circumstance, but it isto be feared that her theology was imperfect.
She entered a lane between the Mission wall and a lighter iron fencedinclosure, once a part of the garden, but now the appurtenance of aprivate dwelling that was reconstructed over the heavy adobe shell ofsome forgotten structure of the old ecclesiastical founders. It waspierced by many windows and openings, and that sunlight and publicitywhich the former padres had jealously excluded was now wooed from longbalconies and verandas by the new proprietor, a well to do American.Elisha Braggs, whose name was generously and euphoniously translated byhis native neighbors into "Don Eliseo," although a heretic, had givenlargess to the church in the way of restoring its earthquake-shakentower, and in presenting a new organ to its dilapidated choir. He hadfurther endeared himself to the conservative Spanish population byintroducing no obtrusive improvements; by distributing his means throughthe old channels; by apparently inciting no further alien immigration,but contenting himself to live alone among them, adopting their habits,customs, and language. A harmless musical taste, and a disposition toinstruct the young boy choristers, was equally balanced by great skillin horsemanship and the personal management of a ranche of wild cattleon the inland plains.
Consciously pretty, and prettily conscious in her white-starched,rose-sprigged muslin, her pink parasol, beribboned gypsy hat, and thelong mane-like curls that swung over her shoulders, Cissy entered thehouse and was shown to the large low drawing-room on the ground-floor.She once more inhaled its hot potpourri fragrance, in which the spice ofthe Castilian rose-leaves of the garden was dominant. A few boys, whomshe recognized as the choristers of the Mission and her fellow-pupils,were already awaiting her with some degree of anxiety and impatience.This fact, and a certain quick animation that sprang to the blue eyesof the master of the house as the rose-sprigged frock and long curlsappeared at the doorway, showed that Cissy was clearly the favoritepupil.
Elisha Braggs was a man of middle age, with a figure somewhat rounded bythe adipose curves of a comfortable life, and an air of fastidiousnesswhich was, however, occasionally at variance with what seemed to behis original condition. He greeted Cissy with a certain nervousoverconsciousness of his duties as host and teacher, and then plungedabruptly into the lesson. It lasted an hour, Cissy tactfullydividing his somewhat exclusive instruction with the others, and eveninterpreting it to their slower comprehension. When it was over, thechoristers shyly departed, according to their usual custom, leavingCissy and Don Eliseo--and occasionally one of the padres to moreinformal practicing and performance. Neither the ingenuousness of Cissynor the worldly caution of aunt Vashti had ever questioned the proprietyof these prolonged and secluded seances; and the young girl herself,although by no means unaccustomed to the bashful attentions of the youthof West Woodlands, had never dreamed of these later musical interviewsas being anything but an ordinary recreation of her art. The feeling ofgratitude and kindness she had for Don Eliseo, her aunt's friend, hadnever left her conscious or embarrassed when she was alone with him.But to-day, possibly from his own nervousness a
nd preoccupation, she wasaware of some vague uneasiness, and at an early opportunity rose to go.But Don Eliseo gently laid his hand on hers and said:--
"Don't go yet; I want to talk to you." His touch suddenly reminded herthat once or twice before he had done the same thing, and she had beendisagreeably impressed by it. But she lifted her brown eyes to his withan unconsciousness that was more crushing than a withdrawal of her hand,and waited for him to go on.
"It is such a long way for you to come, and you have so little time tostay when you are here, that I am thinking of asking your aunt to letyou live here at the Mission, as a pupil, in the house of the SenoraHernandez, until your lessons are finished. Padre Jose will attend tothe rest of your education. Would you like it?"
Poor Cissy's eyes leaped up in unaffected and sparkling affirmationbefore her tongue replied. To bask in this beloved sunshine for daystogether; to have this quaint Spanish life before her eyes, and thosesoft Spanish accents in her ears; to forget herself in wandering in theold-time Mission garden beyond; to have daily access to Mr. Braggs'spiano and the organ of the church--this was indeed the realizationof her fondest dreams! Yet she hesitated. Somewhere in her inheritedPuritan nature was a vague conviction that it was wrong, and it seemedeven to find an echo in the warning of the preacher: this was what shewas "pining for."
"I don't know," she stammered. "I must ask auntie; I shouldn't like toleave her; and there's the chapel."
"Isn't that revivalist preacher enough to run it for a while?" said hercompanion, half-sneeringly.
The remark was not a tactful one.
"Mr. Seabright hasn't been here for a month," she answered somewhatquickly. "But he's coming next Sunday, and I'm glad of it. He's a verygood man. And there's nothing he don't notice. He saw how silly it wasto stick the chapel into the very heart of the woods, and he told themso."
"And I suppose he'll run up a brand-new meeting-house out on the road,"said Braggs, smiling.
"No, he's going to open up the woods, and let the sun and light in, andclear out the underbrush."
"And what's that for?"
There was such an utter and abrupt change in the speaker's voice andmanner--which until then had been lazily fastidious and confident--thatCissy was startled. And the change being rude and dictatorial, she wasstartled into opposition. She had wanted to say that the improvement hadbeen suggested by HER, but she took a more aggressive attitude.
"Brother Seabright says it's a question of religion and morals. It's ascandal and a wrong, and a disgrace to the Word, that the chapel shouldhave been put there."
Don Eliseo's face turned so white and waxy that Cissy would have noticedit had she not femininely looked away while taking this attitude.
"I suppose that's a part of his sensation style, and very effective," hesaid, resuming his former voice and manner. "I must try to hear him someday. But, now, in regard to your coming here, of course I shall consultyour aunt, although I imagine she will have no objection. I only wantedto know how YOU felt about it." He again laid his hand on hers.
"I should like to come very much," said Cissy timidly; "and it's verykind of you, I'm sure; but you'll see what auntie says, won't you?" Shewithdrew her hand after momentarily grasping his, as if his own act hadbeen only a parting salutation, and departed.
Aunt Vashti received Cissy's account of her interview with a grimsatisfaction. She did not know what ideas young gals had nowadays, butin HER time she'd been fit to jump outer her skin at such an offer fromsuch a good man as Elisha Braggs. And he was a rich man, too. And ef hewas goin' to give her an edication free, it wasn't goin' to stopthere. For her part, she didn't like to put ideas in young girls'heads,--goodness knows they'd enough foolishness already; but if Cissymade a Christian use of her gifts, and 'tended to her edication andprivileges, and made herself a fit helpmeet for any man, she would saythat there were few men in these parts that was as "comf'ble ketch" asLish Braggs, or would make as good a husband and provider.
The blood suddenly left Cissy's cheeks and then returned withuncomfortable heat. Her aunt's words had suddenly revealed to herthe meaning of the uneasiness she had felt in Braggs's house thatmorning--the old repulsion that had come at his touch. She had neverthought of him as a suitor or a beau before, yet it now seemed perfectlyplain to her that this was the ulterior meaning of his generosity. Andyet she received that intelligence with the same mixed emotions withwhich she had received his offer to educate her. She did not concealfrom herself the pride and satisfaction she felt in this presumptiveselection of her as his wife; the worldly advantages that it promised;nor that it was a destiny far beyond her deserts. Yet she was consciousof exactly the same sense of wrong-doing in her preferences--somethingthat seemed vaguely akin to that "conviction of sin" of which she hadheard so much--as when she received his offer of education. It was thismixture of fear and satisfaction that caused her alternate paling andflushing, yet this time it was the fear that came first. Perhaps she wasbecoming unduly sensitive. The secretiveness of her sex came to her aidhere, and she awkwardly changed the subject. Aunt Vashti, complacentlybelieving that her words had fallen on fruitful soil, discreetly said nomore.
It was a hot morning when Cissy walked alone to chapel early nextSunday. There was a dry irritation in the air which even the northwesttrades, blowing through the seaward gorge, could not temper, and for thefirst time in her life she looked forward to the leafy seclusion of theburied chapel with a feeling of longing. She had avoided her youthfulescort, for she wished to practice alone for an hour before the servicewith the new harmonium that had taken the place of the old accordion andits unskillful performer. Perhaps, too, there was a timid desire to beat her best on the return of Brother Seabright, and to show him, witha new performance, that the "heavenly gift" had not been neglected. Sheopened the chapel with the key she always carried, "swished" away anintrusive squirrel, left the door and window open for a moment, untilthe beating of frightened wings against the rafters had ceased, and,after carefully examining the floor for spiders, mice, and othercreeping things, brushed away a few fallen leaves and twigs from the topof the harmonium. Then, with her long curls tossed over her shouldersand hanging limply down the back of her new maple-leaf yellowfrock,--which was also a timid recognition of Brother Seabright'sreturn,--and her brown eyes turned to the rafters, this rustic St.Cecilia of the Coast Range began to sing. The shell of the littlebuilding dilated with the melody; the sashes of the windows pulsated,the two ejected linnets joined in timidly from their coign of vantage inthe belfry outside, and the limp vines above the porch swayed like hercurls. Once she thought she heard stealthy footsteps without; once shewas almost certain she felt the brushing of somebody outside against thethin walls of the chapel, and once she stopped to glance quickly at thewindow with a strange instinct that some one was looking at her. But shequickly reflected that Brother Seabright would come there only when thedeacons did, and with them. Why she should think that it was BrotherSeabright, or why Brother Seabright should come thus and at such a time,she could not have explained.
He did not, in fact, make his appearance until later, and after thecongregation had quite filled the chapel; he did not, moreover, appearto notice her as she sat there, and when he gave out the hymn heseemed to have quietly overlooked the new harmonium. She sang her best,however, and more than one of the audience thought that "little SisterAppleby" had greatly improved. Indeed, it would not have seemed strangeto some--remembering Brother Seabright's discursive oratory--if he hadmade some allusion to it. But he did not. His heavy eyes moved slowlyover the congregation, and he began.
As usual he did not take a text. But he would talk to them that morningabout "The Conviction of Sin" and the sense of wrong-doing that wasinnate in the sinner. This included all form of temptation, for whatwas temptation but the inborn consciousness of something to struggleagainst, and that was sin! At this apparently concise exposition ofher own feelings in regard to Don Eliseo's offer, Cissy felt herselfblushing to the roots of her curls. Could it be p
ossible that BrotherSeabright had heard of her temptation to leave West Woodlands, andthat this warning was intended for her? He did not even look in herdirection. Yet his next sentence seemed to be an answer to her ownmental query.
"Folks might ask," he continued, "if even the young and inexperiencedshould feel this--or was there a state of innocent guilt withoutconsciousness?" He would answer that question by telling them what hadhappened to him that morning. He had come to the chapel, not by theroad, but through the tangled woods behind them (Cissy started)--throughthe thick brush and undergrowth that was choking the life out of thislittle chapel--the wilderness that he had believed was never beforetrodden by human feet, and was known only to roaming beasts and vermin.But that was where he was wrong.
In the stillness and listening silence, a sudden cough from some onein one of the back benches produced that instantaneous diversion ofattention common to humanity on such occasions. Cissy's curls swunground with the others. But she was surprised to see that Mr. Braggs wasseated in one of the benches near the door, and from the fact ofhis holding a handkerchief to his mouth, and being gazed at by hisneighbors, it was evident that it was he who had coughed. Perhaps hehad come to West Woodlands to talk to her aunt! With the preacherbefore her, and her probable suitor behind her, she felt herself againblushing.
Brother Seabright continued. Yes, he was WRONG, for there before him, inthe depths of the forest, were two children. They were looking at a bushof "pizon berries,"--the deadly nightshade, as it was fitly called,--andone was warning the other of its dangerous qualities.
"But how do you know it's the 'pizon berry'?" asked the other.
"Because it's larger, and nicer, and bigger, and easier to get than thereal good ones," returned the other.
And it was so. Thus was the truth revealed from the mouths of babesand sucklings; even they were conscious of temptation and sin! But herethere was another interruption from the back benches, which proved,however, to be only the suppressed giggle of a boy--evidently theyouthful hero of the illustration, surprised into nervous hilarity.
The preacher then passed to the "Conviction of Sin" in its more familiarphases. Many brothers confounded this with DISCOVERY AND PUBLICITY. Itwas not their own sin "finding them out," but others discovering it.Until that happened, they fancied themselves safe, stilling theirconsciences, confounding the blinded eye of the world with theall-seeing eye of the Lord. But were they safe even then? Did not sooneror later the sea deliver up its dead, the earth what was buried in it,the wild woods what its depths had hidden? Was not the foolish secret,the guilty secret, the forgotten sin, sure to be disclosed? Then if theycould not fly from the testimony of His works, if they could not evadeeven their fellow-man, why did they not first turn to Him? Why, from thepenitent child at his mother's knee to the murderer on the scaffold, didthey only at THE LAST confess unto Him?
His voice and manner had suddenly changed. From the rough note ofaccusation and challenge it had passed into the equally rough, butbroken and sympathetic, accents of appeal. Why did they hesitate longerto confess their sin--not to man--but unto Him? Why did they delay?Now--that evening! That very moment! This was the appointed time! Heentreated them in the name of religious faith, in the name of a humanbrotherly love. His delivery was now no longer deliberate, buthurried and panting; his speech now no longer chosen, but made upof reiterations and repetitions, ejaculations, and even incoherentepithets. His gestures and long intonations which began to take theplace of even that interrupted speech affected them more than hisreasoning! Short sighs escaped them; they swayed to and fro with therhythm of his voice and movements. They had begun to comprehendthis exacerbation of emotion--this paroxysmal rhapsody. This was thedithyrambic exaltation they had ardently waited for. They respondedquickly. First with groans, equally inarticulate murmurs of assent,shouts of "Glory," and the reckless invocation of sacred names. Then awave of hysteria seemed to move the whole mass, and broke into tearsand sobs among the women. In her own excited consciousness it seemedto Cissy that some actual struggle between good and evil--like untothe casting out of devils--was shaking the little building. She cast ahurried glance behind her and saw Mr. Braggs sitting erect, white andscornful. She knew that she too was shrinking from the speaker,--notfrom any sense of conviction, but because he was irritating anddisturbing her innate sense of fitness and harmony,--and she was painedthat Mr. Braggs should see him thus. Meantime the weird, invisiblestruggle continued, heightened and, it seemed to her, incited by thepartisan groans and exultant actions of those around her, until suddenlya wild despairing cry arose above the conflict. A vague fear seizedher--the voice was familiar! She turned in time to see the figureof aunt Vashti rise in her seat with a hysterical outburst, and fallconvulsively forward upon her knees! She would have rushed to her side,but the frenzied woman was instantly caught by Deacon Shadwell andsurrounded by a group of her own sex and became hidden. And when Cissyrecovered herself she was astonished to find Brother Seabright--withevery trace of his past emotion vanished from his hard-set face--calmlytaking up his coherent discourse in his ordinary level tones. Thefurious struggle of the moment before was over; the chapel and itscongregation had fallen back into an exhausted and apathetic silence!Then the preacher gave out the hymn--the words were singularly jubilantamong that usually mournful collection in the book before her--and Cissybegan it with a tremulous voice. But it gained strength, clearness, andvolume as she went on, and she felt thrilled throughout with a new humansympathy she had never known before. The preacher's bass supported hernow for the first time not unmusically--and the service was over.
Relieved, she turned quickly to join her aunt, but a hand was laidgently upon her shoulder. It was Brother Seabright, who had just steppedfrom the platform. The congregation, knowing her to be the niece of thehysteric woman, passed out without disturbing them.
"You have, indeed, improved your gift, Sister Cecilia," he said gravely."You must have practiced much."
"Yes--that is, no!--only a little," stammered Cissy.
"But, excuse me, I must look after auntie," she added, drawing timidlyaway.
"Your aunt is better, and has gone on with Sister Shadwell. She is notin need of your help, and really would do better without you just now. Ishall see her myself presently."
"But YOU made her sick already," said Cissy, with a sudden, half-nervousaudacity. "You even frightened ME."
"Frightened you?" repeated Seabright, looking at her quickly.
"Yes," said Cissy, meeting his gaze with brown, truthful eyes. "Yes,when you--when you--made those faces. I like to hear you talk, but"--shestopped.
Brother Seabright's rare smile again lightened his face. But it seemedsadder than when she had first seen it.
"Then you have been practicing again at the Mission?" he said quietly;"and you still prefer it?"
"Yes," said Cissy. She wanted to appear as loyal to the Mission inBrother Seabright's presence as she was faithful to West Woodlandsin Mr. Braggs's. She had no idea that this was dangerously near tocoquetry. So she said a little archly, "I don't see why YOU don't likethe Mission. You're a missionary yourself. The old padres came here tospread the Word. So do you."
"But not in that way," he said curtly. "I've seen enough of them whenI was knocking round the world a seafaring man and a sinner. I knewthem--receivers of the ill-gotten gains of adventurers, fools, andscoundrels. I knew them--enriched by the spoils of persecution andoppression; gathering under their walls outlaws and fugitives fromjustice, and flinging an indulgence here and an absolution there, asthey were paid for it. Don't talk to me of THEM--I know them."
They were passing out of the chapel together, and he made an impatientgesture as if dismissing the subject. Accustomed though she was tothe sweeping criticism of her Catholic friends by her West Woodlandsassociates, she was nevertheless hurt by his brusqueness. She droppeda little behind, and they separated at the porch. Notwithstandingher anxiety to see her aunt, she felt she could not now go to DeaconShadwell's without seeming to f
ollow him--and after he had assured herthat her help was not required! She turned aside and made her way slowlytowards her home.
There she found that her aunt had not returned, gathering from her unclethat she was recovering from a fit of "high strikes" (hysterics), andwould be better alone. Whether he underrated her complaint, or hada consciousness of his masculine helplessness in such disorders, heevidently made light of it. And when Cissy, afterwards, a little ashamedthat she had allowed her momentary pique against Brother Seabright tostand in the way of her duty, determined to go to her aunt, instead ofreturning to the chapel that evening, he did not oppose it. She learnedalso that Mr. Braggs had called in the morning, but, finding that heraunt Vashti was at chapel, he had followed her there, intending toreturn with her. But he had not been seen since the service, and hadevidently returned to the Mission.
But when she reached Deacon Shadwell's house she was received by Mrs.Shadwell only. Her aunt, said that lady, was physically better, butBrother Seabright had left "partkler word" that she was to see nobody.It was an extraordinary case of "findin' the Lord," the like of whichhad never been known before in West Woodlands, and she (Cissy) would yetbe proud of one of her "fammerly being speshally selected for grace."But the "workin's o' salvation was not to be finicked away on worldlythings or even the affections of the flesh;" and if Cissy really lovedher aunt, "she wouldn't interfere with her while she was, so to speak,still on the mourners' bench, wrastlin' with the Sperret in their backsittin'-room." But she might wait until Brother Seabright's return fromevening chapel after service.
Cissy waited. Nine o'clock came, but Brother Seabright did not return.Then a small but inconsequent dignity took possession of her, and sheslightly tossed her long curls from her shoulders. She was not goingto wait for any man's permission to see her own aunt. If auntie did notwant to see her, that was enough. She could go home alone. She didn'twant any one to go with her.
Lifted and sustained by these lofty considerations, with an erect headand slightly ruffled mane, well enwrapped in a becoming white merino"cloud," the young girl stepped out on her homeward journey. Shehad certainly enough to occupy her mind and, perhaps, justify herindependence. To have a suitor for her hand in the person of thesuperior and wealthy Mr. Braggs,--for that was what his visit thatmorning to West Woodlands meant,--and to be personally complimentedon her improvement by the famous Brother Seabright, all within twelvehours, was something to be proud of, even although it was mitigatedby her aunt's illness, her suitor's abrupt departure, and BrotherSeabright's momentary coldness and impatience. Oddly enough, this lastand apparently trivial circumstance occupied her thoughts more than theothers. She found herself looking out for him in the windings of themoonlit road, and when, at last, she reached the turning towards thelittle wood and chapel, her small feet unconsciously lingered untilshe felt herself blushing under her fleecy "cloud." She looked down thelane. From the point where she was standing the lights of the chapelshould have been plainly visible; but now all was dark. It was nearlyten o'clock, and he must have gone home by another road. Then a spiritof adventure seized her. She had the key of the chapel in her pocket.She remembered she had left a small black Spanish fan--a former gift ofMr. Braggs lying on the harmonium. She would go and bring it away, andsatisfy herself that Brother Seabright was not there still. It was but astep, and in the clear moonlight.
The lane wound before her like a silver stream, except where it wasinterrupted and bridged over by jagged black shadows. The chapel itselfwas black, the clustering trees around it were black also; the porchseemed to cover an inky well of shadow; the windows were rayless anddead, and in the chancel one still left open showed a yawning vault ofobscurity within. Nevertheless, she opened the door softly, glided intothe dark depths, and made her way to the harmonium. But here the soundof footsteps without startled her; she glanced hurriedly through theopen window, and saw the figure of Elisha Braggs suddenly revealed inthe moonlight as he crossed the path behind the chapel. He was closelyfollowed by two peons, whom she recognized as his servants at theMission, and they each carried a pickaxe. From their manner it wasevident that they had no suspicion of her presence in the chapel. Butthey had stopped and were listening. Her heart beat quickly; witha sudden instinct she ran and bolted the door. But it was evidentlyanother intruder they were watching, for she presently saw BrotherSeabright quietly cross the lane and approach the chapel. The three menhad disappeared; but there was a sudden shout, the sound of scuffling,the deep voice of Brother Seabright saying, "Back, there, will you!Hands off!" and a pause. She could see nothing; she listened in everypulse. Then the voice of Brother Seabright arose again quite clearly,slowly, and as deliberately as if it had risen from the platform in thechapel.
"Lish Barker! I thought as much! Lish Barker, first mate of theTamalpais, who was said to have gone down with a boat's crew and theship's treasure after she struck. I THOUGHT I knew that face today."
"Yes," said the voice of him whom she had known as Elisha Braggs,--"yes,and I knew YOUR face, Jim Seabright, ex-whaler, slaver, pirate, andbo's'n of the Highflyer, marooned in the South Pacific, where you foundthe Lord--ha! ha!--and became the psalm-singing, converted Americansailor preacher!"
"I am not ashamed before men of my past, which every one knows,"returned Seabright slowly. "But what of YOURS, Elisha Barker--YOURSthat has made you sham death itself to hide it from them? What ofYOURS--spent in the sloth of your ill-gotten gains! Turn, sinner, turn!Turn, Elisha Braggs, while there is yet time!"
"Belay there, Brother Seabright; we're not INSIDE your gospel-shop justnow! Keep your palaver for those that need it. Let me pass, before Ihave to teach you that you haven't to deal with a gang of hysterical oldwomen to-night."
"But not until you know that one of those women,--Vashti White,--byGod's grace converted of her sins, has confessed her secret and yours,Elisha Barker! Yes! She has told me how her sister's husband--the fatherof the young girl you are trying to lure away--helped you off that nightwith your booty, took his miserable reward and lived and died in exilewith the rest of your wretched crew,--afraid to return to his home andcountry--whilst you--shameless and impenitent--lived in slothful ease atthe Mission!"
"Liar! Let me pass!"
"Not until I know your purpose here to-night."
"Then take the consequences! Here, Pedro! Ramon! Seize him. Tie him headand heels together, and toss him in the bush!"
The sound of scuffling recommenced. The struggle seemed fierce and long,with no breath wasted in useless outcry. Then there was a bright flash,a muffled report, and the stinging and fire of gunpowder at the window.
Transfixed with fear, Cissy cast a despairing glance around her. Ah,the bell-rope! In another instant she had grasped it frantically in herhands.
All the fear, indignation, horror, sympathy, and wild appeal for helpthat had arisen helplessly in her throat and yet remained unuttered, nowseemed to thrill through her fingers and the tightened rope, and brokeinto frantic voice in the clanging metal above her. The whole chapel,the whole woodland, the clear, moonlit sky above was filled with itsalarming accents. It shrieked, implored, protested, summoned, andthreatened, in one ceaseless outcry, seeming to roll over and over--as,indeed, it did--in leaps and bounds that shook the belfry. Never before,even in the blows of the striking surges, had the bell of the Tamalpaisclamored like that! Once she heard above the turmoil the shaking of thedoor against the bolt that still held firmly; once she thought sheheard Seabright's voice calling to her; once she thought she smelledthe strong smoke of burning grass. But she kept on, until the window wassuddenly darkened by a figure, and Brother Seabright, leaping in, caughther in his arms as she was reeling fainting, but still clinging to therope. But his strong presence and some powerful magnetism in his touchrestored her.
"You have heard all!" he said.
"Yes."
"Then for your aunt's sake, for your dead father's sake, FORGET all!That wretched man has fled with his wounded hirelings--let his singo with him. But the village is
alarmed--the brethren may be here anymoment! Neither question nor deny what I shall tell them. Fear nothing.God will forgive the silence that leaves the vengeance to His handsalone!" Voices and footsteps were heard approaching the chapel. BrotherSeabright significantly pressed her hand and strode towards the door.Deacon Shadwell was first to enter.
"You here--Brother Seabright! What has happened?"
"God be praised!" said Brother Seabright cheerfully, "nothing ofconsequence! The danger is over! Yet, but for the courage and presenceof mind of Sister Appleby a serious evil might have been done." Hepaused, and with another voice turned half-interrogatively towards her."Some children, or a passing tramp, had carelessly thrown matches inthe underbrush, and they were ignited beside the chapel. Sister Appleby,chancing to return here for"--
"For my fan," said Cissy with a timid truthfulness of accent.
"Found herself unable to cope with it, and it occurred to her to givethe alarm you heard. I happened to be passing and was first to respond.Happily the flames had made but little headway, and were quickly beatendown. It is all over now. But let us hope that the speedy clearing outof the underbrush and the opening of the woods around the chapel willprevent any recurrence of the alarm of to-night."
*****
That the lesson thus reiterated by Brother Seabright was effective, thefollowing extract, from the columns of the "Whale Point Gazette," maynot only be offered as evidence, but may even give the cautious readerfurther light on the episode itself:--
STRANGE DISCOVERY AT WEST WOODLANDS.--THE TAMALPAIS MYSTERY AGAIN.
The improvements in the clearing around the Sidon Chapel at WestWoodlands, undertaken by the Rev. James Seabright, have disclosedanother link in the mystery which surrounded the loss of the Tamalpaissome years ago at Whale Mouth Point. It will be remembered that the boatcontaining Adams & Co.'s treasure, the Tamalpais' first officer, anda crew of four men was lost on the rocks shortly after leaving theill-fated vessel. None of the bodies were ever recovered, and thetreasure itself completely baffled the search of divers and salvers. Alidless box bearing the mark of Adams & Co., of the kind in which theirtreasure was usually shipped, was yesterday found in the woods behindthe chapel, half buried in brush, bark, and windfalls. There were noother indications, except the traces of a camp-fire at some remoteperiod, probably long before the building of the chapel. But how andwhen the box was transported to the upland, and by whose agency, stillremains a matter of conjecture. Our reporter who visited the Rev. Mr.Seabright, who has lately accepted the regular ministry of the chapel,was offered every facility for information, but it was evident that theearly settlers who were cognizant of the fact--if there were any--areeither dead or have left the vicinity.
THE HOME-COMING OF JIM WILKES.
I.
For many minutes there had been no sound but the monotonous drumming ofthe rain on the roof of the coach, the swishing of wheels through thegravelly mud, and the momentary clatter of hoofs upon some rocky outcropin the road. Conversation had ceased; the light-hearted young editor inthe front seat, more than suspected of dangerous levity, had relapsedinto silence since the heavy man in the middle seat had taken toregarding the ceiling with ostentatious resignation, and the thin femalebeside him had averted her respectable bonnet. An occasional lurch ofthe coach brought down a fringe of raindrops from its eaves that filmedthe windows and shut out the sodden prospect already darkening intonight. There had been a momentary relief in their hurried dash throughSummit Springs, and the spectacle of certain newly arrived CountyDelegates crowding the veranda of its one hotel; but that was now threemiles behind. The young editor's sole resource was to occasionally steala glance at the face of the one passenger who seemed to be in sympathywith him, but who was too far away for easy conversation. It was thehalf-amused, half-perplexed face of a young man who had been forsome time regarding him from a remote corner of the coach with an oddmingling of admiring yet cogitating interest, which, however, had neverextended to any further encouragement than a faint sad smile. Even thisat last faded out in the growing darkness; the powerful coach lamps oneither side that flashed on the wayside objects gave no light to theinterior. Everybody was slowly falling asleep. Suddenly everybody wokeup to find that the coach was apparently standing still! When it hadstopped no one knew! The young editor lowered his window. The coach lampon that side was missing, but nothing was to be seen. In the distancethere appeared to be a faint splashing.
"Well," called out an impatient voice from the box above; "what do youmake it?" It was the authoritative accents of Yuba Bill, the driver, andeverybody listened eagerly for the reply.
It came faintly from the distance and the splashing. "Almost four feethere, and deepening as you go."
"Dead water?"
"No--back water from the Fork."
There was a general movement towards the doors and windows. Thesplashing came nearer. Then a light flashed on the trees, the windows,and--two feet of yellow water peacefully flowing beneath them! The thinfemale gave a slight scream.
"There's no danger," said the Expressman, now wading towards them withthe coach lamp in his hand. "But we'll have to pull round out of it andgo back to the Springs. There's no getting past this break to-night."
"Why didn't you let us know this before," said the heavy man indignantlyfrom the window.
"Jim," said the driver with that slow deliberation which instantlyenforced complete attention.
"Yes, Bill."
"Have you got a spare copy of that reg'lar bulletin that the StageKempany issoos every ten minutes to each passenger to tell 'em where weare, how far it is to the next place, and wots the state o' the weathergin'rally?"
"No!" said the Expressman grimly, as he climbed to the box, "there's notone left. Why?"
"Cos the Emperor of Chiny's inside wantin' one! Hoop! Keep your seatsdown there! G'lang!" the whip cracked, there was a desperate splashing,a backward and forward jolting of the coach, the glistening wet flanksand tossing heads of the leaders seen for a moment opposite the windows,a sickening swirl of the whole body of the vehicle as if parting fromits axles, a long straight dragging pull, and--presently the welcomesound of hoofs once more beating the firmer ground.
"Hi! Hold up--driver!"
It was the editor's quiet friend who was leaning from the window.
"Isn't Wilkes's ranch just off here?"
"Yes, half a mile along the ridge, I reckon," returned the drivershortly.
"Well, if you're not going on to-night, I'd get off and stop there."
"I reckon your head's level, stranger," said Bill approvingly; "forthey're about chock full at the Springs' House."
To descend, the passenger was obliged to pass out by the middle seatand before the young editor. As he did so he cast a shy look on him and,leaning over, said hesitatingly, in a lower voice: "I don't think youwill be able to get in at the Springs Hotel. If--if--you care to comewith me to--to--the ranch, I can take care of you."
The young editor--a man of action--paused for an instant only. Thenseizing his bag, he said promptly: "Thank you," and followed hisnewly-found friend to the ground. The whip cracked, the coach rolledaway.
"You know Wilkes?" he said.
"Ye-ee-s. He's my father."
"Ah," said the editor cheerfully, "then you're going home?"
"Yes."
It was quite light in the open, and the stranger, after a moment'ssurvey of the prospect,--a survey that, however, seemed to becharacterized by his previous hesitation,--said: "This way," crossedthe road, and began to follow a quite plain but long disused wagon trackalong the slope. His manner was still so embarrassed that the youngeditor, after gayly repeating his thanks for his companion's thoughtfulcourtesy, followed him in silence. At the end of ten minutes they hadreached some cultivated fields and orchards; the stranger brightened,although still with a preoccupied air, quickened his pace, and thensuddenly stopped. When the editor reached his side he was gazing withapparently still greater perplexity upon the level, half obliterated
,and blackened foundations of what had been a large farmhouse.
"Why, it's been burnt down!" he said thoughtfully.
The editor stared at him! Burnt down it certainly had been, but by nomeans recently. Grasses were already springing up from the charredbeams in the cellar, vines were trailing over the fallen chimneys,excavations, already old, had been made among the ruins. "When were youhere last?" the editor asked abruptly.
"Five years ago," said the stranger abstractedly.
"Five years!--and you knew nothing of THIS?"
"No. I was in Tahiti, Australia, Japan, and China all the time."
"And you never heard from home?"
"No. You see I quo'led with the old man, and ran away."
"And you didn't write to tell them you were coming?"
"No." He hesitated, and then added: "Never thought o' coming till I sawYOU."
"Me!"
"Yes; you and--the high water."
"Do you mean to say," said the young editor sharply, "that you broughtME--an utter stranger to you--out of that coach to claim the hospitalityof a father you had quarreled with--hadn't seen for five years anddidn't know if he would receive you?"
"Yes,--you see that's just WHY I did it. You see, I reckoned my chanceswould be better to see him along with a cheerful, chipper fellowlike you. I didn't, of course, kalkilate on this," he added, pointingdejectedly to the ruins.
The editor gasped; then a sudden conception of the unrivaled absurdityof the situation flashed upon him,--of his passively following theamiable idiot at his side in order to contemplate, by the falling rainand lonely night, a heap of sodden ruins, while the coach was speedingto Summit Springs and shelter, and, above all, the reason WHY he wasinvited,--until, putting down his bag, he leaned upon his stick, andlaughed until the tears came to his eyes.
At which his companion visibly brightened. "I told you so," he saidcheerfully; "I knew you'd be able to take it--and the old man--in THATWAY, and that would have fetched him round."
"For Heaven's sake! don't talk any more," said the editor, wiping hiseyes, "but try to remember if you ever had any neighbors about herewhere we can stay tonight. We can't walk to Summit Springs, and we can'tcamp out on these ruins."
"There didn't use to be anybody nearer than the Springs."
"But that was five years ago, you say," said the editor impatiently;"and although your father probably moved away after the house burneddown, the country's been thickly settled since then. That field has beenlately planted. There must be another house beyond. Let's follow thetrail a little farther."
They tramped along in silence, this time the editor leading. Presentlyhe stopped. "There's a house--in there--among the trees," he said,pointing. "Whose is it?"
The stranger shook his head dubiously. Although apparently unaffected byany sentimental consideration of his father's misfortune, the spectacleof the blackened ruins of the homestead had evidently shaken hispreconceived plans. "It wasn't there in MY time," he said musingly.
"But it IS there in OUR time," responded the editor briskly, "and Ipropose to go there. From what you have told me of your father--even ifhis house were still standing--our chances of getting supper and a bedfrom him would be doubtful! I suppose," he continued as they moved ontogether, "you left him in anger--five years ago?"
"Ye-es."
"Did he say anything as you left?"
"I don't remember anything particular that he SAID."
"Well, what did he DO?"
"Shot at me from the window!"
"Ah!" said the young editor softly. Nevertheless they walked on for sometime in silence. Gradually a white picket fence came into view at rightangles with the trail, and a man appeared walking leisurely along whatseemed to be the regularly traveled road, beside it. The editor, who hadtaken matters in his own hands, without speaking to his companion, ranquickly forward and accosted the stranger, briefly stating that he hadleft the stage-coach with a companion, because it was stopped by highwater, and asked, without entering into further details, to be directedto some place where they could pass the night. The man quite as brieflydirected him to the house among the trees, which he said was his own,and then leisurely pursued his way along the road. The young editorran back to his companion, who had halted in the dripping shadow of asycamore, and recounted his good fortune.
"I didn't," he added, "say anything about your father. You can makeinquiries yourself later."
"I reckon there won't be much need of that," returned his companion."You didn't take much note o' that man, did you?"
"Not much," said the editor.
"Well, THAT'S MY FATHER, and I reckon that new house must be his."
II.
The young editor was a little startled. The man he had just quittedcertainly was not dangerous looking, and yet, remembering what hisson had said, there WERE homicidal possibilities. "Look here," he saidquickly, "he's not there NOW. Why don't you seize the opportunity toslip into the house, make peace with your mother and sisters, and getthem to intercede with your father when he returns?"
"Thar ain't any mother; she died afore I left. My sister Almiry's alittle girl--though that's four years ago and mebbee she's growed.My brothers and me didn't pull together much. But I was thinkin' thatmebbee YOU might go in thar for me first, and see how the land lays;then sorter tell 'em 'bout me in your takin', chipper, easy way;make 'em laugh, and when you've squared 'em--I'll be hangin' roundoutside--you kin call ME in. Don't you see?"
The young editor DID see. Ridiculous as the proposal would have seemedto him an hour ago, it now appeared practical, and even commended itselfto his taste. His name was well known in the county and his mediationmight be effective. Perhaps his vanity was slightly flattered by hiscompanion's faith in him; perhaps he was not free from a certain humancuriosity to know the rest; perhaps he was more interested than he caredto confess in the helpless home-seeker beside him.
"But you must tell me something more of yourself, and your fortune andprospects. They'll be sure to ask questions."
"Mebbee they won't. But you can say I've done well--made my pile overin Australia, and ain't comin' on THEM. Remember--say I 'ain't comin' onthem'!"
The editor nodded, and then, as if fearful of letting his presentimpulse cool, ran off towards the house.
It was large and respectable looking, and augured well for the presentfortunes of the Wilkes's. The editor had determined to attack thecitadel on its weaker, feminine side, and when the front door was openedto his knock, asked to see Miss Almira Wilkes. The Irish servant showedhim into a comfortable looking sitting-room, and in another moment witha quick rustle of skirts in the passage a very pretty girl impulsivelyentered. From the first flash of her keen blue eyes the editor--a fairstudent of the sex--conceived the idea that she had expected somebodyelse; from the second that she was an arrant flirt, and did not intendto be disappointed. This much was in his favor.
Spurred by her provoking eyes and the novel situation, he stated hisbusiness with an airy lightness and humor that seemed to justifyhis late companion's estimate of his powers. But even in his cynicalattitude he was unprepared for the girl's reception of his news. He hadexpected some indignation or even harshness towards this man whom he wasbeginning to consider as a kind of detrimental outcast or prodigal, buthe was astounded at the complete and utter indifference--the frank andheartless unconcern--with which she heard of his return. When she hadfollowed the narrator rather than his story to the end, she languidlycalled her brothers from the adjoining room. "This gentleman, Mr. Grey,of the 'Argus,' has come across Jim--and Jim is calculating to come hereand see father."
The two brothers stared at Grey, slightly shrugged their shoulders withthe same utter absence of fraternal sympathy or concern which the girlhad shown, and said nothing.
"One moment," said Grey a little warmly; "I have no desire to penetratefamily secrets, but would you mind telling me if there is any gravereason why he should not come. Was there any scandalous conduct,unpardonable offense--let us even s
ay--any criminal act on his partwhich makes his return to this roof impossible?"
The three looked at each other with a dull surprise that ended in avacant wondering smile. "No, no," they said in one voice. "No, only"--
"Only what?" asked Grey impatiently.
"Dad just hates him!"
"Like pizon," smiled Almira.
The young editor rose with a slight increase of color. "Look here," saidthe girl, whose dimples had deepened as she keenly surveyed him, asif detecting some amorous artifice under his show of interest for herbrother. "Dad's gone down to the sheepfold and won't be back for anhour. Yo' might bring--YO' FRIEND--in."
"He ain't wantin' anything? Ain't dead broke? nor nothin', eh?"suggested one of the brothers dubiously.
Grey hastened to assure them of Jim's absolute solvency, and evenenlarged considerably on his Australian fortune. They looked relievedbut not interested.
"Go and fetch him," said the witch, archly hovering near Grey withdancing eyes; "and mind YO' come back, too!"
Grey hesitated a moment and then passed out in the dark porch. Adripping figure emerged from the trees opposite. It was Jim.
"Your sister and brothers will see you," said Grey hastily, to avoidembarrassing details. "HE won't be here for an hour. But I'd advise youto make the most of your time, and get the good-will of your sister."He would have drawn back to let the prodigal pass in alone, but the manappealingly seized his arm, and Grey was obliged to re-enter with him.He noticed, however, that he breathed hard.
They turned slightly towards their relative, but did not offer toshake hands with him, nor did he with them. He sat down sideways on anunoffered chair. "The old house got burnt!" he said, wiping his lips,and then drying his wet hair with his handkerchief.
As the remark was addressed to no one in particular it was some secondsbefore the elder brother replied: "Yes."
"Almira's growed."
Again no one felt called upon to answer, and Almira glanced archly atthe young editor as if he might have added: "and improved."
"You've done well?" returned one of the brothers tentatively.
"Yes, I'm all right," said Jim.
There was another speechless interval. Even the conversational Grey feltunder some unhallowed spell of silence that he could not break.
"I see the old well is there yet," said Jim, wiping his lips again.
"Where dad was once goin' to chuck you down for givin' him back talk,"said the younger brother casually.
To Mr. Grey's relief and yet astonishment, Jim burst into a loud laughand rubbed his legs. "That's so--how old times DO come back!"
"And," said the bright-eyed Almira, "there's that old butternut-tree thatyou shinned up one day when we set the hounds on you. Goodness! how youscooted!"
Again Jim laughed loudly and nodded. "Yes, the same old butternut. Howyou DO remember, Almira?" This admiringly.
"And don't you remember Delia Short?" continued Almira, pleased at theadmiration, and perhaps a little exalted at the singular attention whichthe young editor was giving to those cheerful reminiscences. "She, youknow, you was reg'larly sick after, so that we always allowed she kinderturned yo' brain afore you went away! Well! all the while you werecourtin' her it appears she was secretly married to Jo--yo' friend--JoStacy. Lord! there was a talk about that! and about yo' all alongthinkin' yo' had chances! Yo' friend here," with an arch glance at Grey,"who's allus puttin' folks in the newspapers, orter get a hold on that!"
Jim again laughed louder than the others, and rubbed his lips. Grey,however, offered only the tribute of a peculiar smile and walked to thewindow. "You say your father will return in an hour?" he said, turningto the elder brother.
"Yes, unless he kept on to Watson's."
"Where?" said Jim suddenly.
It struck Grey that his voice had changed--or rather that he was nowspeaking for the first time in his natural tone.
"Watson's, just over the bridge," explained his brother. "If he wentthere he won't be back till ten."
Jim picked up his India rubber cape and hat, said, "I reckon I'll justtake a turn outside until he gets back," and walked towards the door.None of his relatives moved nor seemed to offer any opposition. Greyfollowed him quickly. "I'll go with you," he said.
"No," returned Jim with singular earnestness. "You stay here and keep'em up cheerful like this. They're doing all this for YOU, you know;Almiry's just this chipper only on your account."
Seeing the young man was inflexible, Grey returned grimly to the room,but not until he had noticed, with some surprise, that Jim, immediatelyon leaving the house, darted off at a quick run through the rain anddarkness. Preoccupied with this, and perhaps still influenced by thetone of the previous conversation, he did not respond readily to thefair Almira's conversational advances, and was speedily left to a seatby the fire alone. At the end of ten minutes he regretted he had evercome; when half an hour had passed he wondered if he had not better tryto reach the Summit alone. With the lapse of an hour he began to feeluneasy at Jim's prolonged absence in spite of the cold indifferenceof the household. Suddenly he heard stamping in the porch, a mutteredexclamation, and the voices of the two brothers in the hall. "Why, dad!what's up? Yo' look half drowned!"
The door opened upon the sodden, steaming figure of the old man whom hehad met on the road, followed by the two sons. But he was evidentlymore occupied and possessed by some mental passion than by his physicaldiscomfort. Yet strong and dominant over both, he threw off his wet coatand waistcoat as he entered, and marched directly to the fire. Utterlyignoring the presence of a stranger, he suddenly turned and faced hisfamily.
"Half drowned. Yes! and I might have been hull drowned for that matter.The back water of the Fork is all over Watson's, and the bridge is gone.I stumbled onto this end of it in the dark, and went off, head first,into twenty feet of water! Tried to fight my way out, but the currentwas agin me. I'd bin down twice, and was going down for the thirdtime, when somebody grabbed me by the scruff o' my neck and under thearm--so!--and swam me to the bank! When I scrambled up I sez: 'I can'tsee your face,' sez I, 'I don't know who you are,' sez I, 'but I reckonyou're a white man and clear grit,' sez I, 'and there's my hand on it!'And he grabs it and sez, 'We're quits,' and scooted out o' my sight.And," continued the old man staring at their faces and raising his voicealmost to a scream, "who do you think it was? Why, THAT SNEAKIN' HOUNDOF A BROTHER OF YOURS--JIM! Jim! the scallawag that I booted outer theranch five years ago, crawlin', writhin' back again after all theseyears to insult his old father's gray hairs! And some of you--byGod--once thought that I was hard on him!"
*****
The sun was shining brightly the next morning as the young editor haltedthe up coach in the now dried hollow. As he was clambering to a seatbeside the driver, his elbow was jogged at the window. Looking down hesaw the face of Jim.
"We had a gay talk last night, remembering old times, didn't we?" saidthe prodigal cheerfully.
"Yes, but--where are you going now?"
"Back to Australia, I reckon! But it was mighty good to drop in on theold homestead once more!"
"Rather," said the editor, clinging to the window and lingering inmid-air to the manifest impatience of Yuba Bill; "but I say--lookhere!--were you QUITE satisfied?"
Jim's hand tightened around the young editor's as he answeredcheerfully, "Yes." But his face was turned away from the window.