SCENE XV.
_Wilkins's Woods._
LIKE ALL DOGS IN FICTION THE FAITHFUL RAGS GUIDES MISS VILDA TO HISLITTLE MASTER.
Samantha ran out to the barn to hold the lantern and see that Jabedidn't go to sleep while he was harnessing Maria. But he seemedunusually "spry" for him, although he was conducting himself in asomewhat strange and unusual manner. His loose figure shook from time totime, as with severe chills; he seemed too weak to hold up the shafts,and so he finally dropped them and hung round Maria's neck in a sort ofmild, speechless convulsion.
"What under the canopy ails you, Jabe Slocum?" asked Samantha. "I s'poseit's one o' them everlastin' old addled jokes o' yourn you're tryin' tohatch out, but it's a poor time to be jokin' now. What's the matter withyou?"
"'Ask me no questions 'n' I'll tell you no lies,' is an awful goodmotto," chuckled Jabe, with a new explosion of mirth that stretched hismouth to an alarming extent. "Oh, there, I can't hold in 'nother minute.I shall bust if I don' tell somebody! Set down on that nail kag,Samanthy, 'n' I'll let you hev a leetle slice o' this joke--if you'llkeep it to yourself. You see I know--'bout--whar--to look--for thishere--runaway!"
"You hev n't got him stowed away anywheres, hev you? If you hev, it'llbe the last joke you'll play on Vildy Cummins, I can tell you that much,Jabe Slocum."
"No, I hain't stowed him away, but I can tell putty nigh whar he'sstowed hisself away, and I'm ready to die a-laffin' to see how it's allturned out jest as I suspicioned 't would. You see, Samanthy Ann, Ithought 'bout a week ago 't would be well enough to kind o' create ademand for the young ones so 't they'd hev some kind of a market value,and so I got Elder Southwick 'n' Aunt Hitty kind o' started on thattack, 'n' it worked out slick as a whistle, tho' they didn't know I wasusin' of 'em as innercent instruments, and Aunt Hitty don't need muchencouragement to talk; it's a heap easier for her to drizzle 'n it is tohold up! Well, I've ben surmisin' for a week that the boy meant to runaway, and to-day I was dead sure of it; for he come to me thisafternoon, when I was restin' a spell on account o' the hot sun, and hewas awful low-sperrited, 'n' he asked me every namable kind of aquestion you ever hearn tell of, and all so simple-minded that I jestturned him inside out 'thout his knowin' what I was doin'. Well, when Ifound out what he was up to I could 'a' stopped him then 'n' there, tho'I don' know 's I would anyhow, for I shouldn't like livin' in a 'sylumany better 'n he doos; but thinks I to myself, thinks I, I'd better lethim run away, jest as he's a plannin',--and why? Cause it'll show whatkind o' stuff he's made of, and that he ain't no beggar layin' roun'whar he ain't wanted, but a self-respectin' boy that's wuth lookin'after. And thinks I, Samanthy, 'n' I know the wuth of him a'ready, butthere's them that hain't waked up to it yit, namely, Miss Vildy TryphenyCummins; and as Miss Vildy Trypheny Cummins is that kind o' cattle thatcan't be drove, but hez to be kind o' coaxed along, mebbe thisrunnin'-away bizness 'll be the thing that'll fetch her roun' to our wayo' thinkin'. Now I wouldn't deceive nobody for a farm down East with apig on it, but thinks I, there ain't no deceivin' 'bout this. He don'know I know he's goin' to run away, so he's all square; and he nevertold me nothin' 'bout his plans, so I'm all square; and Miss Vildy'sgood as eighteen-karat gold when she gets roun' to it, so she'll be allsquare; and Samanthy's got her blinders on 'n' don't see nothin' to theright nor to the left, so she's all square. And I ain't inteferin' withnobody. I'm jest lettin' things go the way they've started, 'n' stan'in'to one side to see whar they'll fetch up, kind o' like Providence. I'mleavin' Miss Vildy a free agent, but I'm shapin' circumstances so 's togive her a chance. But, land! if I'd fixed up the thing to suit myself Icouldn't 'a' managed it as Timothy hez, 'thout knowin' that he wasmanagin' anything. Look at that letter bizness now! I couldn't 'a' writthat letter better myself! And the sperrit o' the little feller, jesttakin' his dorg 'n' lightin' out with nothin' but a perlite good-bye!Well I can't stop to talk no more 'bout it now, or we won't ketch him,but we'll jest try Wilkins's Woods, Maria, 'n' see how that goes. Theriver road leads to Edgewood 'n' Hillside, whar there's consid'ablehayin' bein' done, as I happened to mention to Timothy this afternoon;and plenty o' blackberries 'side the road, 'specially after you pass thewood-pile on the left-hand side, whar there's a reg'lar garding of 'emright 'side of an old hoss-blanket that's layin' there; one that Ihappened to leave there one time when I was sleepin' ou'doors for myhealth, and that was this afternoon 'bout five o'clock, so I guess ithain't changed its location sence."
Jabe and Miss Vilda drove in silence along the river road that skirtedWilkins's Woods, a place where Jabe had taken Timothy more than once, sohe informed Miss Vilda, and a likely road for him to travel if he wereon his way to some of the near villages.
Poor Miss Vilda! Fifty years old, and in twenty summers and wintersscarcely one lovely thought had blossomed into lovelier deed and shedits sweetness over her arid and colorless life. And now, under the magicspell of tender little hands and innocent lips, of luminous eyes thatlooked wistfully into hers for a welcome, and the touch of a gropinghelplessness that fastened upon her strength, the woman in her woke intolife, and the beauty and fragrance of long-ago summers came back againas in a dream.
After having driven three or four miles, they heard a melancholy soundin the distance; and as they approached a huge wood-pile on the leftside of the road, they saw a small woolly form perched on a little riseof ground, howling most melodiously at the August moon, that hung like aball of red fire in the cloudless sky.
"That's a sign of death in the family, ain't it, Jabe?" whispered MissVilda faintly.
"So they say," he answered cheerfully; "but if 't is, I can 'count forit, bein' as how I fertilized the pond lilies with a mess o' four whitekittens this afternoon; and as Rags was with me when I done it, he mayknow what he's bayin' 'bout,--if 't is Rags, 'n' it looks enough likehim to be him,--'n' it is him, by Jiminy, 'n' Timothy's sure to besomewheres near. I'll get out 'n' look roun' a little."
"You set right still, Jabe, I'll get out myself, for if I find that boyI've got something to say to him that nobody can say for me."
As Jabe drew the wagon up beside the fence, Rags bounded out to meetthem. He knew Maria, bless your soul, the minute he clapped his eyes onher, and as he approached Miss Vilda's congress boot his quiveringwhiskers seemed to say, "Now, where have I smelled that boot before? IfI mistake not, it has been applied to me more than once. Ha! I have it!Miss Vilda Cummins of the White Farm, owner of the white cat andhash-pan, and companion of the lady with the firm hand, who wields thebroom!" whereupon he leaped up on Miss Cummins's black alpaca skirts,and made for her flannel garters in a way that she particularlydisliked.
"Now," said she, "if he's anything like the dogs you hear tell of, he'lltake us right to Timothy."
"Wall, I don' know," said Jabe cautiously; "there's so many kinds o'dorg in him you can't hardly tell what he will do. When dorgs is mixedbeyond a certain p'int it kind o' muddles up their instincks, 'n' youcan't rely on 'em. Still you might try him. Hold still, 'n' see whathe'll do."
Miss Vilda "held still," and Rags jumped on her skirts.
"Now, set down, 'n' see whar he'll go."
Miss Vilda sat down, and Rags went into her lap.
"Now, make believe start somewheres, 'n' mebbe he'll get ahead 'n' putyou on the right track."
Miss Vilda did as she was told, and Rags followed close at her heels.
"Gorry! I never see sech a fool!--or wait,--I'll tell you what's thematter with him. Mebbe he ain't sech a fool as he looks. You see, heknows Timothy wants to run away and don't want to be found 'n' clappedinto a 'sylum, 'n' nuther does he. And not bein' sure o' yourintentions, he ain't a-goin' to give hisself away; that's the way I sizeMr. Rags up!"
"Nice doggy, nice doggy!" shuddered Miss Vilda, as Rags precipitatedhimself upon her again. "Show me where Timothy is, and then we'll goback home and have some nice bones. Run and find your little master,that's a good doggy!"
It would be a clever philosopher who could divine Rags's special methodof logic, or
who could write him down either as fool or sage. Suffice itto say that, at this moment (having run in all other possibledirections, and wishing, doubtless, to keep on moving), he ran round thewood-pile; and Miss Vilda, following close behind, came upon a littlefigure stretched on a bit of gray blanket. The pale face shone paler inthe moonlight; there were traces of tears on the cheeks; but there was aheavenly smile on his parted lips, as if his dream-mother had rocked himto sleep in her arms. Rags stole away to Jabe (for even mixed dogs havesome delicacy), and Miss Vilda went down on her knees beside thesleeping boy.
"Timothy, Timothy, wake up!"
No answer.
"Timothy, wake up! I've come to take you home!"
Timothy woke with a sob and a start at that hated word, and seeing MissVilda at once jumped to conclusions.
"Please, please, dear Miss Vildy, don't take me to the Home, but find mesome other place, and I'll never, never run away from it!"
"My blessed little boy, I've come to take you back to your own home atthe White Farm."
It was too good to believe all at once. "Nobody wants me there," he saidhesitatingly.
"Everybody wants you there," replied Miss Vilda, with a softer note inher voice than anybody had ever heard there before. "Samantha wantsyou, Gay wants you, and Jabe is waiting out here with Maria, for hewants you."
"But do you want me?" faltered the boy.
"I want you more than all of 'em put together, Timothy; I want you, andI need you most of all," cried Miss Vilda, with the tears coursing downher withered cheeks; "and if you'll only forgive me for hurtin' yourfeelin's and makin' you run away, you shall come to the White Farm andbe my own boy as long as you live."
"Oh, Miss Vildy, darling Miss Vildy! are we both of us adopted, and arewe truly going to live with you all the time and never have to go to theHome?" Whereupon, the boy flung his loving arms round Miss Vilda's neckin an ecstasy of gratitude; and in that sweet embrace of trust andconfidence and joy, the stone was rolled away, once and forever, fromthe sepulchre of Miss Vilda's heart, and Easter morning broke there.
SCENE XVI.
_The New Homestead._
TIMOTHY'S QUEST IS ENDED, AND SAMANTHA SAYS "COME ALONG, DAVE!"
"Jabe Slocum! Do you know it's goin' on seven o'clock 'n' not a singlechore done?"
Jabe yawned, turned over, and listened to Samantha's unwelcome voice,which (considerably louder than the voice of conscience) came from theoutside world to disturb his delicious morning slumbers.
"Jabe Slocum! Do you hear me?"
"Hear you? Gorry! you'd wake the seven sleepers if they was any wharwithin ear-shot!"
"Well, will you git up?"
"Yes, I'll git up if you're goin' to hev a brash 'bout it, but I wishyou hedn't waked me so awful suddent. 'Don't ontwist the mornin' glory''s my motto. Wait a spell 'n' the sun 'll do it, 'n' save a heap o' wear'n' tear besides. Go 'long! I'll git up."
"I've heerd that story afore, 'n' I won't go 'long tell I hear you stepfoot on the floor."
"Scoot! I tell yer I'll be out in a jiffy."
"Yes, I think I see yer. Your jiffies are consid'able like goldenopportunities, there ain't more 'n one of 'em in a lifetime!" and havingshot this Parthian arrow Samantha departed, as one having done her dutyin that humble sphere of action to which it had pleased Providence tocall her.
These were beautiful autumn days at the White Farm. The orchards weregleaming, the grapes hung purple on the vines, and the odor of ripeningfruit was in the hazy air. The pink spirea had cast its feathery petalsby the gray stone walls, but the welcome golden-rod bloomed in royalprofusion along the brown waysides, and a crimson leaf hung here andthere in the treetops, just to give a hint of the fall styles in color.Heaps of yellow pumpkins and squashes lay in the corners of the fields;cornstalks bowed their heads beneath the weight of ripened ears; beansthreatened to burst through their yellow pods; the sound of thethreshing machine was heard in the land; and the "hull univarse wantedto be waited on to once," according to Jabe Slocum; for, as heaffirmed, "Yer couldn't ketch up with your work nohow, for if yer set upnights 'n' worked Sundays, the craps 'd ripen 'n' go to seed on yer'fore yer could git 'em harvested!"
And if there was peace and plenty without there was quite as much withindoors.
"I can't hardly tell what's the matter with me these days," saidSamantha Ann to Miss Vilda, as they sat peeling and slicing apples fordrying. "My heart has felt like a stun these last years, and now all toonce it's so soft I'm ashamed of it. Seems to me there never was such asummer! The hay never smelt so sweet, the birds never sang so well, thecurrants never jelled so hard! Why I can't kick the cat, though she'smore everlastin'ly under foot 'n ever, 'n' pretty soon I sha'n't evenhave sprawl enough to jaw Jabe Slocum. I b'lieve it's nothin' in theworld but them children! They keep a runnin' after me, 'n' it's dearSamanthy here, 'n' dear Samanthy there, jest as if I warn't a hombly oldmaid; 'n' they take holt o' my hands on both sides o' me, 'n' won't stira step tell I go to see the chickens with 'em, 'n' the pig, 'n' onething 'n' 'nother, 'n' clappin' their hands when I make 'em gingerbreadmen! And that reminds me, I see the school-teacher goin' down along thismornin', 'n' I run out to see how Timothy was gittin' along in hisstudies. She says he's the most ex-tra-ordi-nary scholar in thisdeestrick. She says he takes holt of every book she gives him jest as if't was reviewin' 'stid o' the first time over. She says when he speakspieces, Friday afternoons, all the rest o' the young ones set there withtheir jaws hanging 'n' some of 'em laughin' 'n' cryin' 't the same time.She says we'd oughter see some of his comp'sitions, 'n' she'll show ussome as soon as she gits 'em back from her beau that works at theWaterbury Watch Factory, and they're goin' to be married 's quick as shegits money enough saved up to buy her weddin' close; 'n' I told her notto put it off too long or she'd hev her close on her hands, 'stid of herback. She says Timothy's at the head of the hull class, but, land! thereain't a boy in it that knows enough to git his close on right sid' out.She's a splendid teacher, Miss Boothby is! She tells me the seeleck menhev raised her pay to four dollars a week 'n' she to board herself, 'n'she's wuth every cent of it. I like to see folks well paid that's gotthe patience to set in doors 'n' cram information inter young ones thatdon't care no more 'bout learn in' 'n' a skunk-blackbird. She give meTimothy's writin' book, for you to see what he writ in it yesterday, 'n'she hed to keep him in 't recess 'cause he didn't copy 'Go to the antthou sluggard and be wise,' as he'd oughter. Now let's see what 't is.My grief! it's poetry sure 's you're born. I can tell it in a minute'cause it don't come out to the aidge o' the book one side or the other.Read it out loud, Vildy."
"'Oh! the White Farm and the White Farm! I love it with all my heart; And I'm to live at the White Farm, Till death it do us part.'"
Miss Vilda lifted her head, intoxicated with the melody she had evoked."Did you ever hear anything like that," she exclaimed proudly.
"'Oh! the White Farm and the White Farm! I love it with all my heart; And I'm to live at the White Farm, Till death it do us part.'"
"Just hear the sent'ment of it, and the way it sings along like a tune.I'm goin' to show that to the minister this very night, and that boy'sgot to have the best education there is to be had if we have tomortgage the farm."
Samantha Ann was right. The old homestead wore a new aspect these days,and a love of all things seemed to have crept into the hearts of itsinmates, as if some beneficent fairy of a spider were spinning a web oftenderness all about the house, or as if a soft light had dawned in themidst of great darkness and was gradually brightening into the perfectday.
In the midst of this new-found gladness and the sweet cares that grewand multiplied as the busy days went on, Samantha's appetite forhappiness grew by what it fed upon, so that before long she was a littleunhappy that other people (some more than others) were not as happy asshe; and Aunt Hitty was heard to say at the sewing-circle (which hadfacilities for gathering and disseminating news infinitely superior tothose of the Associated Press), that Samantha Ann Ripley look
ed so peartand young this summer, Dave Milliken had better spunk up and try again.
But, alas! the younger and fresher and happier Samantha looked, theolder and sadder and meeker David appeared, till all hopes of his"spunking up" died out of the village heart; and, it might as well bestated, out of Samantha's also. She always thought about it at sun-down,for it was at sun-down that all their quarrels and reconciliations hadtaken place, inasmuch as it was the only leisure time for week-daycourting at Pleasant River.
It was sun-down now; Miss Vilda and Jabez Slocum had gone to Wednesdayevening prayer-meeting, and Samantha was looking for Timothy to go tothe store with her on some household errands. She had seen the childrengo into the garden a half hour before, Timothy walking gravely, with hisbook before him, Gay blowing over the grass like a feather, and so shewalked towards the summer-house.
Timothy was not there, but little Lady Gay was having a party all toherself, and the scene was such a pretty one that Samantha stoopedbehind the lattice and listened.
There was a table spread for four, with bits of broken china and shellsfor dishes, and pieces of apple and gingerbread for the feast. Therewere several dolls present (notably one without any head, who was notlikely to shine at a dinner party), but Gay's first-born sat in her lap;and only a mother could have gazed upon such a battered thing and lovedit. For Gay took her pleasures madly, and this faithful creature hadshared them all; but not having inherited her mother's somewhat rarerecuperative powers, she was now fit only for a free bed in ahospital,--a state of mind and body which she did not in the leastendeavor to conceal. One of her shoe-button eyes dangled by a linenthread in a blood-curdling sort of way; her nose, which had been a pinkglass bead, was now a mere spot, ambiguously located. Her red worstedlips were sadly raveled, but that she did not regret, "for it waskissin' as done it." Her yarn hair was attached to her head withsafety-pins, and her internal organs intruded themselves on the publicthrough a gaping wound in the side. Never mind! if you have anycuriosity to measure the strength of the ideal, watch a child with heroldest doll. Rags sat at the head of the dinner-table, and had taken theprecaution to get the headless doll on his right, with a view to eatingher gingerbread as well as his own,--doing no violence to theproprieties in this way, but rather concealing her defects from acarping public.
"I tell you sompfin' ittle Mit Vildy Tummins," Gay was saying to herbattered offspring. "You 's doin' to have a new ittle sit-terto-mowowday, if you 's a dood ittle dirl an does to seep nite an kick,you _ser-weet_ ittle Vildy Tummins!" (All this punctuated with ardentsqueezes fraught with delicious agony to one who had a wound in herside!) "Vay fink you 's worn out, 'weety, but we know you isn't, don'we, 'weety? An I'll tell you nite ittle tory to-night, tause you isn'tseepy. Wunt there was a ittle day hen 'at tole a net an' laid fir-teenwaw edds in it, an bime bye erleven or seventeen ittle chits f'ew out of'em, an Mit Vildy 'dopted 'em all! In 't that a nite tory, you_ser-weet_ ittle Mit Vildy Tummins?"
Samantha hardly knew why the tears should spring to her eyes as shewatched the dinner party,--unless it was because we can scarcely look atlittle children in their unconscious play without a sort of sadness,partly of pity and partly of envy, and of longing too, as for somethinglost and gone. And Samantha could look back to the time when she had satat little tables set with bits of broken china, yes, in this verysummer-house, and little Martha was always so gay, and David used tolaugh so! "But there was no use in tryin' to make folks any dif'rent,'specially if they was such nat'ral born fools they couldn't see a holein a grindstun 'thout hevin' it hung on their noses!" and with theselarge and charitable views of human nature, Samantha walked back to thegate, and met Timothy as he came out of the orchard. She knew then whathe had been doing. The boy had certain quaint thoughts and ways thatwere at once a revelation and an inspiration to these two plain women,and one of them was this. To step softly into the side orchard onpleasant evenings, and without a word, before or afterwards, to lay anosegay on Martha's little white doorplate. And if Miss Vilda chanced tobe at the window he would give her a quiet little smile, as much as tosay, "We have no need of words, we two!" And Vilda, like one of old, hidall these doings in her heart of hearts, and loved the boy with a lovepassing knowledge.
Samantha and Timothy walked down the hill to the store. Yes, DavidMilliken was sitting all alone on the loafer's bench at the door, andwhy wasn't he at prayer-meetin' where he ought to be? She was glad shechanced to have on her clean purple calico, and that Timothy hadinsisted on putting a pink Ma'thy Washington geranium in her collar, forit was just as well to make folks' mouth water whether they had senseenough to eat or not.
"Who is that sorry-looking man that always sits on the bench at thestore, Samanthy?"
"That's David Milliken."
"Why does he look so sorry, Samanthy?"
"Oh, he's all right. He likes it fust-rate, wearin' out that hard benchsettin' on it night in 'n' night out, like a bump on a log! But, there,Timothy, I've gone 'n' forgot the whole pepper, 'n' we're goin' topickle seed cowcumbers to-morrer. You take the lard home 'n' put it inthe cold room, 'n' ondress Gay 'n' git her to bed, for I've got to callint' Mis' Mayhew's goin' along back."
It was very vexatious to be obliged to pass David Milliken a secondtime; "though there warn't no sign that he cared anything about it oneway or 'nother, bein' blind as a bat, 'n' deef as an adder, 'n' dumb asa fish, 'n' settin' stockstill there with no coat on, 'n' the windblowin' up for rain, 'n' four o' the Millikens layin' in the churchyardwith gallopin' consumption." It was in this frame of mind that shepurchased the whole pepper, which she could have eaten at that moment ascalmly as if it had been marrow-fat peas; and in this frame of mind shemight have continued to the end of time had it not been for one of thoseunconsidered trifles that move the world when the great forces havegiven up trying. As she came out of the store and passed David, her eyefell on a patch in the flannel shirt that covered his bent shoulders.The shirt was gray and (oh, the pity of it!) the patch was red; and itwas laid forlornly on outside, and held by straggling stitches of carpetthread put on by patient, clumsy fingers. That patch had an irresistiblepathos for a woman!
Samantha Ann Ripley never exactly knew what happened. Even the wisest ofdown-East virgins has emotional lapses once in a while, and sheconfessed afterwards that her heart riz right up inside of her like ayeast cake. Mr. Berry, the postmaster, was in the back of the storereading postal cards. Not a soul was in sight. She managed to get downover the steps, though something with the strength of tarred ship-ropeswas drawing her back; and then, looking over her shoulder with her wholebrave, womanly heart in her swimming eyes, she put out her hand andsaid, "Come along, Dave!"
And David straightway gat him up from the loafer's bench and went untoSamantha gladly.
And they remembered not past unhappiness because of present joy; northat the chill of coming winter was in the air, because it was summer intheir hearts: and this is the eternal magic of love.
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