CHAPTER X.
A green lane, little used, but deeply rutted, led up from the wharf tothe main street of Westings Landing. The village was silent, with nosign of life, except here and there a glimmer from a candle-lit window.From the pale sky overhead came the strange twang of swoopingnight-hawks, as of harp-strings suddenly but firmly plucked. In theintervals between these irregular and always unexpected notes was heardthe persistent rhythm of a whippoorwill, softly threshing the dusk withhis phantom song. Barbara felt the whole scene to be unreal, hercompanions unreal, herself most unreal of all. Could it be that shewas the girl who had that same morning run away, that same morning madeso brave and triumphant a start upon so splendid a venture? Now,somehow, she felt rather than understood the folly of it. The factthat she would have missed her Uncle Bob if she had succeeded in herplan took out of it all the zest, and it became to her a veryridiculous plan indeed. But her change of attitude was emotionalrather than intellectual. She was convinced in mood, not in mind.Only she felt herself on the sudden a very small, tired girl, whodeserved to be punished, and wanted to go to bed. Her conviction ofchildishness was heightened by the fact that Robert, who was walkingjust ahead with Doctor Jim, in grave discussion, seemed not only tohave suddenly grown up, but to have quite forgotten her once imperiousbut now discredited existence. Her exhaustion, her reaction, herdefeat, her disappointment in Robert, these all at once translatedthemselves into a sense of hopeless loneliness. She seized the large,kind hand of Doctor John, who walked in silence by her side, and clungto him.
Presently Doctor John felt hot tears streaming copiously down hisfingers. Without a word, he snatched her up into his arms, carryingher as if she were a baby; and shaking with voiceless sobs, she buriedher small, wet face in his comforting neck. She felt as if she wantedto cry wildly, deliciously, for hours and hours. But she managed toremember that even a very small girl may be heavy to carry over a roughroad in the dusk, when the man who carries her has had a hard day'swork chasing her. And, furthermore, she thought how very, very little,how poor and pitiful a heroine she would seem in Robert's eyes if heshould chance to remember her existence and look back! She pulledherself together with a fierce effort, and choked down her sobs.
"Thank you so much, dear Doctor John!" she whispered in his ear. "I'mbetter now, and you must put me down. I'm too heavy."
"Tut, tut, sweetheart!" growled Doctor John, softly; "you bide whereyou are, and rest. _You_ heavy!"
"But,"--she persisted, with a little earthward wriggle to show shemeant it,--"I want to get down now, please! I don't want to look likequite such a baby. Doctor John!"
"Tut, tut!" but he set her down, nevertheless, and kept comforting holdof one cold little hand. Doctor John was quick in his sympatheticcomprehension of women and children, and tolerant of what most menwould account mere whim. In a moment he leaned down close to her ear,and whispered:
"What are you but a baby, after all,--a tired out, bad baby,sweetheart? But we'll just keep that a secret between you and me, andnot let Jim Pigeon or Master Robert even guess at it!" And Barbarasqueezed his hand violently in both of hers by way of answer.
At this moment, Doctor Jim and Robert, reaching the corner of thestreet, turned and waited for them to come up. Doctor Jim hadBarbara's precious basket of kittens on his arm, while Robert wascarrying her little red bundle, which he now handed over to DoctorJohn. A certain reluctance with which he gave it up was quite lostupon Barbara in her unwonted humility and depression; and it was a verywhite, wistful little face which she turned glimmeringly upon him as hebowed over her hand.
"Why are you leaving us here, Robert?" she asked, in a small voice,most unlike the wilful tone with which she had talked to him in thecanoe.
"My way lies down the street, sweet mistress," said the boy. "Yourhorses, Doctor Jim tells me, are waiting for you at the Blue Boaryonder. This has been a wonderful day for me. When you think of it,will you try to remember me kindly as one who would ever be your mostdevoted, humble servant?"
Delighted by this elaborate courtesy, so rehabilitating to herself-esteem, Barbara began to feel herself almost herself again. Shethought, with a sudden prickling heat of shame, of how childish she hadbeen during all the past year,--and she almost fifteen! And here wasRobert, who was certainly very grown-up, treating her with a deferencewhich he would never dream of paying to a mere little girl! Sheresolved to justify his deference, to conceal her pet childishnessestill time should mature them away; yet even as she registered thisresolve, she registered a vague but deeper one, that she would clingfor ever to every childish taste and pleasure in spite of the veryutmost that time could do. But the feeling that came uppermost andfound expression was a sharp little pang at something in his wordswhich sounded as if he were bidding farewell for a long, indefinitetime.
"But I shall see you again soon, sha'n't I, Robert?" she exclaimed,impulsively. "You'll come over to Second Westings right away, won'tyou, and meet Uncle Bob?"
"Yes," said the boy, bowing low again, and speaking with a mixture ofhesitation and triumph, "I am promising myself that pleasure, MistressBarbara, within a very few days. You see--Doctor Jim--he has been sokind--"
"To be sure," broke in Doctor Jim, with an emphasis to preclude anydiscussion of consistency,--"I've asked the lad over to visit us, John.Richard's son!-- And his heart's in the right place,--and his head,too,--eh, what? We'll see that Mistress Mehitable is not too hard onhim,--eh, what? You know you're not going to be too hard on the boyyourself, John Pigeon, for all you've been so uncommonly unpleasant tohim!"
Doctor John chuckled softly, and squeezed Barbara's left hand, which hehad retained while she was receiving Robert's adieux.
"Tut, tut, Jim! You know well enough we've got to pardon anything inbreeches, young or old, that gets led into mischief by this little limbo' darkness here. It's a peck of trouble she's been getting you and meinto, time and time again. You needn't make excuses for Robert to me,Jim Pigeon. At least, not yet!"
"Thank you, sir," said Robert, a little stiffly, not relishing apleasantry at Barbara's expense, though Barbara herself had broken intoa peal of gay laughter, flattered at Doctor John's implications, andcomforted to know that Robert was not slipping beyond her reach."Thank you, indeed, sir; but I have no excuse; I was fully committed toMistress Barbara's venture, and I'm just as much to blame as she is!"
Barbara's heart glowed. This was the kind of unreasonable championshipshe adored. But truth compelled her to protest.
"Oh, no, no, Robert, not at all! It wasn't you that ran away from AuntHitty, and took the canoe, and persuaded a nice, civil gentleman whomyou'd never seen before in your life to do a perfectly crazy thing likeyou read of in story-books--" But, as she paused for breath, DoctorJim, too impatient to be amused, interrupted her:
"Well, well, Robert, you and Barbara can settle all that between yousome other time. We must get away. Good night--good night. My bestcompliments to your honoured grandmother! And ride over the first dayyou can, lad!"
And Doctor John, shaking his head sorrowfully, exclaimed:
"Tut, tut, tut! How small a petticoat can turn how great a brain! Isee trouble ahead for you, Bobby!"
"I shall be so glad to see you at my aunt's, Robert!" cried Barbara,over her shoulder, as they moved up the street toward the Blue Boar andthe waiting horses. Robert, standing hat in hand, gazed after themtill they were swallowed up in the shadows. Still he waited, till apulse of light across the gloom and the sound of the inn door closingtold him that he was alone under the night. Then, suddenly, he becameconscious of the lonely, wonderful night sounds, and suddenly the nightperfumes sank into his heart. The spicy breaths from the clover fieldand blossoming thicket, cooled with dew, gave him a strangeintoxication as he drew them into the depths of his lungs. The pulsingrhythm of the whippoorwill seemed to time itself to the pulsing of hisheart and translate it to the terms of an impassioned, inarticulatechant. The plucked harp-strings sounding fr
om time to time in thehidden heights of the sky set all his nerves vibrating mystically.Walking as if in a dream, he came to the door of the cottage where hehad planned to stay the night. Then he turned on a swift impulse,hurried back to the landing, launched Barbara's canoe, and, withoutconsciousness of weariness or hunger, paddled all the way back to GaultHouse against the current.
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