Seven Miles to Arden

by Ruth Sawyer

  VI

  AT DAY'S END

  Their road went the way of the setting sun, and Patsy and the tinkertraveled it leisurely--after the fashion of those born to the road,who find their joy in the wandering, not in the making of a distanceor the reaching of a destination. Since they had left the cross-roadschurch behind Patsy had marked the tinker casting furtive glancesalong the way they had come; and each time she marked, as well, theflash of a smile that lightened his face for an instant when he sawthat the road still remained empty of aught but themselves.

  "It's odd," she mused; "he hasn't the look of a knave who might feara trailing of constables at his heels; and yet--and yet his wits havehim pestered about something that lies back of him."

  Once it was otherwise. There was a rising of dust showing on one ofthe hills they had climbed a good half-hour before. When the tinkersaw it he reached of a sudden for Patsy's hand while he pointedexcitedly beyond pasture bars ahead to a brownish field that lay somedistance from the road.

  "See, lass, that's sorrel. If you'll break the road along with meI'll show you where wild strawberries grow, lots of 'em!"

  Her answer was to take the pasture bars at a run as easily as anycountry-bred urchin. The tinker swung himself after her, an odd wispof a smile twisting the corners of his mouth, just such a smile asthe fool might wear on the road to Arden. The two raced for thesorrel-tops--the tinker winning.

  When Patsy caught up he was on his knees, his head bare, his eyessparkling riotously, running his fingers exultantly through the greenleaves that carpeted the ground. "See," he chuckled, "the tinkerknows somethin' more 'n solder and pots."

  Patsy's eyes danced. There they were--millions of the tiny redberries, as thick and luscious as if they had been planted in Elysianfields for Arcadian folk to gather. "The wee, bonnie things!" shelaughed. "Now, how were ye afther knowing they were here?"

  The tinker cocked his head wisely. "I know more 'n that; I know whereto find yellow lady's-slippers 'n' the yewberries 'n' hummin'-birdnests."

  She looked at him joyfully; he was turning out more and more to herliking. "Could ye be showing them to me, lad?" she asked.

  The tinker eyed her bashfully. "Would you--care, then?"

  "Sure, and I would;" and with that she was flat on the ground besidehim, her fingers flying in search of strawberries.

  So close they lay to the earth, so hidden by the waving sorrel andneighboring timothy, that had a whole county full of constables beenabroad they could have passed within earshot and never seen themthere.

  With silence between them they ate until their lips were red and thecloud of dust on the hill back of them had whirled past, attendant ona sorrel mare and runabout. They ate until the road was quite emptyonce more; and then the tinker pulled Patsy to her feet by way ofreminding her that Arden still lay beyond them.

  "Do ye know," said Patsy, after another silence and they were oncemore afoot, "I'm a bit doubtful if the banished duke's daughter evertasted anything half as sweet as those berries on her road to Arden;or, for that matter, if she found her fool half as wise. I'm mortialglad ye didn't fall off that stump this morning afore I came by tofetch ye off."

  The tinker doffed his battered cap unexpectedly and swept her anastounding bow.

  "Holy Saint Christopher!" ejaculated Patsy. "Ye'll be telling me yeknow Willie Shakespeare next."

  But the tinker answered with a blank stare, while the far-away,bewildered look of fear came back to his eyes. "Who's he? Does helive 'round here?" he asked, dully.

  Patsy wrinkled a perplexed forehead. "Lad, lad, ye have me burstingwith wonderment! Ye are a rare combination, even for an Irish tinker;but if ye are a fair sample of what they are over here, sure theStates have the Old Country beaten entirely."

  And the tinker laughed as he had laughed once before that day--thefree, untrammeled laugh of youth, while he saucily mimicked her Irishbrogue. "Sure, 'tis the road to Arden, ye were sayin', and anythin'at all can happen on the way."

  The girl laughed with him. "And ye'll be telling me next that this isthree hundred years ago, and romance and Willie Shakespeare are stillalive." Her mind went racing back to the "once-upon-a-time days," thedays when chivalry walked abroad--before it took up its permanentresidence between the covers of story-books--when poets and saints,kings' sons and--tinkers journeyed afar to prove their manhood indeeds instead of inheritances; when it was no shame to live by one'swits or ask hospitality at any strange door. Ah--those were the days!And yet--and yet--could not those days be given back to the worldagain? And would not the world be made a merrier, sweeter placebecause of them? If Patsy could have had her way she would have goneforth at the ring of each new day like the angel in the folk tale,and with her shears cut the nets that bound humanity down to pettydifferences in creed or birth or tongue.

  "Faith, it makes one sick," she thought. "We tell our children thetales of the Red Branch Knights--of King Arthur and the Knights ofthe Grail--and rejoice afresh over the beauty and wonder of them; westand by the hour worshiping at the pictures of the saints--simplemen and women who just went about doing kindness; and we read theHoly Book--the tales of Christ with his fishermen, wandering about,looking for some good deed to do, some helpfulness to give, some wordof good cheer to speak; and we pray, 'Father, make us good--even asThou wert.' And what does it all mean? We hurry through the streetsafeared to stop on the corner and succor a stranger, or ashamed tospeak a friendly word to a troubled soul in a tram-car; and we gohome at night and lock our doors so that the beggar who asked for abit of bread at noon can't come round after dark and steal thesilver." Patsy sighed regretfully--if only this were olden times shewould not be dreading to find Arden now and the man she was seekingthere.

  The tinker caught the sigh and looked over at her with a puzzledfrown. "Tired?" he asked, laconically.

  "Aye, a bit heart-tired," she agreed, "and I'm wishing Arden wasstill a good seven miles away."

  Whereupon the tinker turned his head and grinned sheepishly towardthe south.

  * * * * *

  The far-away hills had gathered in the last of the sun untothemselves when the two turned down the main street of a village. Itwas unquestionably a self-respecting village. The well-tarredsidewalks, the freshly painted meeting-house neighboring theengine-house "No. 1," the homes with their well-mowed lawns in frontand the tidily kept yards behind--all spoke of a decency andlawfulness that might easily have set the hearts of the mostrighteous of vagabonds a-quaking.

  Patsy looked it carefully over. "Sure, Arden's no name for it at all.They'd better have called it Gospel Center--or New Canaan. 'Twould bea grand place, though, to shut in all the Wilfred Peterson-Joneses,to keep them off the county's nerves--and the rich men's sons, tokeep them off the public sympathy. But 'tis no place for us, lad."

  The tinker shifted his kit from one shoulder to the other and heldhis tongue.

  Their entrance was what Patsy might have termed "fit." The dogs ofthe village were on hand; that self-appointed escort of all doubtfulcharacters barked them down the street with a lusty chorus of growlsand snarls and sharp, staccato yaps. There were the children, too, ofcourse; the older ones followed hot-foot after the dogs; the smallerones came, a stumbling vanguard, sucking speculative thumbs orforefingers, as the choice might be. The hurly-burly brought thegrown-ups to windows and doors.

  "'Hark! hark! the dogs do bark, the beggars are coming to town,'"quoted Patsy, with a grim little smile, and glanced across at thetinker. He was blushing fiercely. "Never mind, lad. 'Tis better beingbarked into a town than bitten out of it."

  For answer the tinker stopped and folded his arms sullenly. "I'm notsuch a fool I can't feel somethin'. Don't you reckon I know the shameit is to be keepin' a decent woman company with these rags--and nowits?"

  "If I've not misplaced my memory, 'twas myself that chose thecompany, and 'twas largely on account of those very things, I'mthinking. Do ye guess for a minute that if ye had been a rich man'sson in grand clothes-
-and manners to match--I'd ever have tramped amillimeter with ye?" She smiled coaxingly. "Faith! there's naught thematter with those rags; a king's son might be proud o' them. As forfoolishness, I've known worse faults in a man."

  The tinker winced imperceptibly, and all unconsciously Patsy went on:"'Tis the heart of a man that measures him, after all, and not thewits that crowd his brain or the gold that lines his pockets. Oh,what do the folks who sit snug by their warm hearthsides, knittingtheir lives into comfortables to wrap around their real feelings andhuman impulses, ever know about their neighbors who come in to drinktea with them? And what do the neighbors in turn know about them? IfI had my way, I'd tumble the whole sit-by-the-fire-and-gossip worldout of doors and set them tramping the road to somewhere; 'tis thesurest way of getting them acquainted with themselves and theneighbors. For that matter, all of us need it--just once in so often.And so--to the road, say I, with a fair greeting to all alike, bethey king's son or beggar, for the road may prove the one's the otherafore the journey's done."

  "Amen!" said the tinker, devoutly, and Patsy laughed.

  They had stopped in the middle of the street, midway between thechurch and the engine-house, Patsy so absorbed in her theories, thetinker so absorbed in Patsy, that neither was aware of the changeddisposition of their circling escort until a cold, inquisitive noseand a warm, friendly tongue brought them to themselves. Greetingswere returned in kind; heads were patted, backs stroked, earsscratched--only the children stood aloof and unconvinced. That isever the way of it; it is the dogs who can better tell gloriousvagabondage from inglorious rascality.

  "Sure, ye can't fool dogs; I'd be taking the word of a dog before aman's anywhere when it comes to judging human beings." Patsy lookedover her shoulder at the children. "Ye have the creatures won overentirely; 'tis myself might try what I could do with the wee ones. Ifwe had the dogs and the childther to say a good word for us--faith!the grown-ups might forget how terribly respectable they were andmake us welcome for one night." A sudden thought caught her memory."I was almost forgetting why I had come. Hunt up a shop for me, lad,will ye? There must be one down the street a bit; and if ye'll loanme some of that half-crown the good man paid for your tinkering, I'dlike to be having a New York News--if they have one--along with thefixings for a letter I have to be writing. While ye are gone I'llbewitch the childther."

  And she did.

  When the tinker returned she was sitting on the church steps, thechildren huddled so close about her that she was barelydistinguishable in the encircling mass of shingled heads, bobbycurls, pigtails and hair-ribbons. Deaf little ears were being turnedto parental calls for supper--a state of affairs unprecedented andunbelievable; while Patsy was bringing to an end the tale of Jack,the Irish hero of a thousand and one adventures.

  "And he married the king's daughter--and they lived happier than yecan tell me--and twice as happy as I can tell ye--in a castle thathad a window for every day in the year."

  "That would make a fine endin' for any lad's story," said the tinker,soberly. "'A window for every day in the year' would mean a whole lotof cheerfulness and sunshine, wouldn't it?"

  Patsy nodded. "But don't those who take to the road fetch that castlealong with them? Sure, there it is"--and her hand swept toward theskyline an encompassing circle about them--"with the sun flooding itfrom dawn to day's end." She turned to the eager faces about her,waiting for more. "Are ye still there? Faith! what have I beenhearing this half-hour but hungry childther being called for tea.'Twas 'Joseph' from the house across the way, and 'Rebecca' from offyonder, and 'Susie May' from somewhere else. Away with yez all toyour mothers!" And Patsy scattered them as if they had been a flockof young sheep, scampering helter-skelter in all directions.

  But one there was who lagged behind, a little boy with an old, oldface, who watched the others go and then crept closer, held by thespell of the tale. He pulled at Patsy's sleeve to gain attention."I'm--I'm Joseph. Was it true--most of it?"

  She nodded a reply as solemn as his question, "Aye, as true as youthand the world itself."

  "And would it come true for another boy--any boy--who went a-trampingoff like that? Would he find--whatever he was wishin' for?" And evenas he spoke his eyes left hers and went searching for the far-awayhills--and what might lie beyond.

  "Come here, little lad." Patsy drew him to her and put two steadyinghands on his shoulders. She knew that he, too, had heard the call ofthe road and the longing to be gone--to be one with it, journeying tomeet the mysterious unknown--was upon him. "Hearken to me: 'Tis onlysafe for a little lad to be going when he has three things to fetchwith him--the wish to find something worth the bringing home, theknowledge of what makes good company along the way, and trust inhimself. When ye are sure of these, go; but ye'll no longer be alittle lad, I'm thinking. And remember first to get the mother'sblessing and 'God-speed,' same as Jack; a lad's journey ends nowherethat begins without that."

  He went without a word, but content; and his eyes brimmed withvisions.

  Patsy watched him tenderly. "Who knows--he may find greatness on hisroad. Who knows?"

  The tinker dropped the bundle he had brought back from the store intoher lap, but she scarcely heeded him. Her eyes were looking out intothe gathering dusk while her voice sank almost to a whisper.

  "_Ochone!_ but I've always envied that piper fellow from Hamelintown. Think of being able to gather up all the childther hereabouts,eager, hungry-hearted childther with mothers too busy or deaf to heedthem, and leading them away to find their fortunes! Wouldn't that bewonderful, just?"

  "What kind of fortunes?" asked the tinker.

  "What but the best kind!" Patsy thought for a moment, and smiledwhimsically while her eyes grew strangely starry in that earlytwilight. "Wouldn't I like to be choosing those fortunes, andwouldn't they be an odd lot, entirely! There'd be singing hearts thathad learned to sing above trouble; there'd be true fellowship--thekind that finds brotherhood in beggars as well as--as primeministers; there'd be peace of soul--not the kind that naps by thefire, content that the wind doesn't be blowing down his chimney, butthe kind that fights above fighting and keeps neighbor from harryingneighbor. Troth, the world is in mortial need of fortunes like thelast."

  "And wouldn't you be choosin' gold for a fortune?" asked the tinker.

  Patsy shook her head vehemently.

  "Why not?"

  "That's the why!" Suddenly Patsy clenched her hands and shook twomenacing fists against the gathering dark. "I hate gold, along withthe meanness and the lying and the thieving and the false judgment itbrings into the world."

  "But the world can't get along without it," reminded the tinker,shrewdly.

  "Aye, but it can. It can get along without the hoarded gold, theinherited gold, the cheating, bribing, starving gold--that's the kindI mean, the kind that gets into a man's heart and veins until hisfingers itch to gild everything he touches, like the rich man in thecity yonder."

  "What rich man? I thought the--I thought the city was full o' richmen."

  "Maybe; but there's just one I'm thinking of now; and God pityhim--and his son."

  The tinker eyed her stupidly. "How d'you know he has a son?"

  Patsy laughed. "I guessed--maybe." Then she looked down in her lap."And here's the news--with no light left to read it by; and I'm ashungry as an alley cat--and as tired as two. Ye'd never dream, tohear me talking, that I'd never had much more than a crooked sixpenceto my name since I was born; and here I am, with that gone and not aslither to buy me bed or board for the night."

  The tinker looked down at her with an altogether strange expression,very different from anything Patsy had seen on his face all day. Hadshe chanced to catch it before it flickered out, it might havepuzzled even her O'Connell wits to fathom the meaning of it. For itwas as if the two had unexpectedly changed places, and the tenderpity and protectiveness that had belonged to her had suddenly becomehis.

  "Never mind, lass; there's board in the kit for to-night--what thefarm wife put up; and there's thi
s left, and I'll--I'll--" He did notfinish; instead he dropped a few coins in her hand, the change fromthe half-dollar. Then he set about sweeping the dust from the stepwith his battered cap and spreading their meager meal before her.

  They ate in silence, so deep in the business of dulling theirappetites that they never noticed a small figure crossing the streetwith two goblets and a pitcher hugged tight in his arms. They neverlooked up until the things were set down beside them and a voiceannounced at their elbow, "Mother said I could bring it; it's better'n eatin' dry."

  It was Joseph; and the pitcher held milk, still foamy from a latemilking. He looked at Patsy a moment longingly, as if there was morehe wanted to ask; but, overcome with a sudden bashful confusion, hetook to his heels and disappeared around the corner of themeeting-house before they had time even to give thanks.

  The tinker poured the goblets full, handed Patsy's to her withanother grave bow, and, touching his to hers, said, soberly, "Here'sto a friendly lass--the first I ever knew, I reckon."

  For an instant she watched him, puzzled and amused; then she raisedher glass slowly in reply. "And here's to tinkers--the world over!"

  When everything but the crumbs were eaten she left him to scatterthese and return Joseph's pitcher while she went to get "the loan ofa light from the shopkeeper, and hunt up the news."

  * * * * *

  The store was store, post-office, and general news center combined.The news was at that very moment in process of circulation among the"boys"--a shirt-sleeved quorum from the patriarchs of the towncircling the molasses-keg--the storekeeper himself topped it. Theylooked up as Patsy entered and acknowledged her "Good evening" withthat perfect indifference, the provincial cloak in habitual use forconcealing the most absolute curiosity. The storekeeper graciouslylaid the hospitality of his stool and counter and kerosene-lamp ather feet; in other words, he "cal'ated she was welcome to makeherself t' home." All of which Patsy accepted. She spread out thenewspaper on the counter in front of her; she unwrapped a series ofsmall bundles--ink, pen, stamped envelope, letter-pad, andpen-holder, and eyed them with approval.

  "The tinker's a wonder entirely," she said to herself; "but I wouldlike to be knowing, did he or did the shopkeeper do the choosing?"Then she remembered the thing above all others that she needed toknow, and swung about on the stool to address the quorum. "I say--canyou tell me where I'd be likely to find a--person by the name ofBil--William Burgeman?"

  "That rich feller's boy?"

  Patsy nodded. "Have you seen him?"

  The quorum thumbed the armholes of their vests and shook an emphaticnegative. "Nope," volunteered the storekeeper; "too early for him orhis sort to be diggin' out o' winter quarters."

  "Are you sure? Do you know him?"

  "Wall, can't say exactly ef I know him; but I'd know ef he'd beenhangin' round, sartin. Hain't been nothin' like him loose in theseparts. Has there, boys?"

  The quorum confirmed the statement.

  Patsy wrinkled up a perplexed forehead. "That's odd. You see, heshould have been here last night, to-day at the latest. I had it fromsomebody who knew, that he was coming to Arden."

  "Mebby he was," drawled the storekeeper, while the quorum cackled inappreciation; "but this here is a good seven miles from Arden."

  Patsy's arms fell limp across the counter, her head followed, and shesat there a crumpled-up, dejected little heap.

  "By Jack-a-diamonds!" swore the storekeeper. "She 'ain't swoomed, hasshe, boys?"

  The quorum were on the verge of investigating when she denied thefact--in person. "Where am I? In the name of Saint Peter, what placeis this?"

  "This? Why, this is Lebanon."

  She smiled weakly. "Lebanon! Sounds more like it, anyhow. Thank you."

  She turned about and settled down to the paper while the "boys"reverted to their original topic of discussion. There were two itemsof news that interested her: Burgeman, senior, was critically ill; hehad been ill for some time, but there had been no cause forapprehension until the last twenty-four hours; and Marjorie Schuylerhad left for San Francisco--on the way to China. She was to be goneindefinitely.

  "The heathen idols and the laundrymen are welcome to her," growledPatsy, maliciously. "If they'd only fix her with the evil eye, orwish such a homesickness and lovesickness on her that 'twould lastfor a year and a day, I'd forgive her for what she's made me wish onmyself."

  Having relieved her mind somewhat, she was able to attend to thebusiness of the letter with less inward discomfort. The letter waswritten to George Travis, already known as the manager of Miss St.Regis. He was the head of a well-known theatrical managerial firm inNew York, and an old friend and well-wisher of Patsy's. In it sheexplained, partly, her continued sojourn in America, and franklyconfessed to her financial needs. If he had anything anywhere thatshe could do until the fall bookings with her own company, she wouldbe most humbly grateful. He might address her at Arden; she had greathopes of reaching there--some day. There was a postscript added ingood, pure Donegal:

  And don't ye be afeared of hurting my pride by offering anything too small. Just at present I'm like old Granny Donoghue's lean pig--hungry for scrapings.

  As she sealed the envelope a shadow fell athwart the counter. Patsylooked up to find the tinker peering at her sharply.

  "You look clean tuckered out," he announced, baldly; then he laid acoaxing hand on her arm. "I want you to come along with me. Will you,lass? I've found a place for you--a nice place. I've been talkin' toJoseph's mother, an' she's goin' to look after you for the night."

  Patsy's face crinkled up all over; the tinker could not havetold--even if he had been in possession of all his senses--whethershe was going to laugh or cry. As it turned out, she did neither; shejust sighed, a tired, contented little sigh, slipping off the stooland dropping the letter into the post-box.

  When she faced the tinker again her eyes were misty, and for all hercourage she could not keep the quivering from her lips. She reachedup impulsive, trusting hands to his shoulders: "Lad--lad--how were yeever guessing that I'd reached the end o' my wits and was needingsome one to think for me? Holy Saint Michael! but won't I be mortialglad to be feeling a respectable, Lebanon feather-bed under me!"

  * * * * *

  As the tinker led her out of the store the quorum eyed her silentlyfor a moment. For a brief space there was a scraping of chairs andclearing of throats, indicative of some important comment.

  "What sort of a lookin' gal did that Green County sheriff say he wasafter?" inquired the storekeeper at last.

  "Small, warn't it?" suggested one of the quorum.

  "Yep, guess it was. And what sort o' clothes did he say she wore?"

  "Brown!" chorused the quorum.

  "Wall, boys"--the storekeeper wagged an accusing thumb in thedirection of the recently vacated stool--"she was small, warn't she?An' she's got brown clothes, hain't she? An' she acts queer, doan'tshe?"

  The quorum nodded in solemn agreement.

  "But she doan't look like no thief," interceded the youngest of the"boys." He couldn't have been a day over seventy, and it was morethan likely that he was still susceptible to youth and beauty!

  The rest glowered at him with plain disapproval, while thestorekeeper shifted the course of his thumb and wagged it at himinstead. "Si Perkins, that's not for you to say--nor me, neither.That's up to Green County; an' I cal'ate I'll 'phone over tothe sheriff, come mornin', an' tell him our suspicions. ByJack-a-diamonds! I've got to square my conscience."

  The quorum invested their thumbs again and cleared their throats.