Seven Miles to Arden

by Ruth Sawyer

  X

  JOSEPH JOURNEYS TO A FAR COUNTRY

  Having established the permanent reality of Billy Burgeman to her ownsatisfaction, Patsy's mind went racing off to conjure up all thepossible things Billy and the tinker might think of each other assoon as chance should bring them together. Whereas it was perfectlyconsistent that Billy should shun the consolation and companionshipof his own world, he might follow after vagabond company as a thirstydog trails water; and who could slake that thirst better than thetinker? For a second time that day she pictured the two swinging downthe open road together; and for the second time she pulled a wrylittle smile.

  The car was nearing the cross-roads from which Patsy had beenoriginally kidnapped. She looked up to identify it, and saw a secondcar speeding toward them from the opposite direction, while betweenthe two plodded a solitary little figure, coming toward them,supported by a mammoth pilgrim staff. It was a boy, apparentlyconscious of but the one car--theirs; and he swerved to theirleft--straight into the path of the car behind--to let them pass.They sounded their horns, waved their hands, and shouted warnings. Itseemed wholly unbelievable that he should not understand or that theother car would not stop. But the unbelievable happened; it doessometimes.

  Before Gregory Jessup could jump from their machine the other car hadstruck and the boy was tossed like a bundle of empty clothing to theroadside beyond. The nightmarish suddenness of it all held themspeechless while they gaped at the car's driver, who gave onebackward glance and redoubled his speed. Patsy was the first out ofthe tonneau, and she reached the boy almost as soon as GregoryJessup.

  "Damn them! That's the second time in my life I've seen a machine runsome one down and sneak--"

  He broke off at Patsy's sharp cry: "Holy Mary keep him! 'Tis the weelad from Lebanon!"

  By this time the rest of the carful had gathered about them; andDempsy Carter--being a good Catholic--bared his head and crossedhimself.

  "'Tis wee Joseph of Lebanon," Patsy repeated, dully; and then toDempsy Carter, "Aye, make a prayer for him; but ye'd best do itdriving like the devil for the doctor."

  They left at once with her instructions to get the nearest doctorfirst, and then to go after the boy's parents. Gregory Jessup stayedbehind with her, and together they tried to lift the still, littlefigure onto some rugs and pillows. Then Patsy crept closer and woundher arms about him, chafing his cheeks and hands and watching forsome sign of returning life.

  The man stood silently beside them, holding the pilgrim staff, whilehis eyes wandered from Patsy to the child and back to Patsy again,her face full of harboring tenderness and a great suffering as shegathered the little boy into her arms and pressed her warm cheekagainst the cold one.

  Only once during their long wait was the silence broken. "'Tis almostas if he'd slipped over the border," Patsy whispered. "Maybe he'sthere in the gray dusk--a wee shadow soul waiting for death to loosenits wings and send it lilting into the blue of the Far Country."

  "How did you happen to know him?"

  "Chance, just. I stopped to tell him a tale of a wandering hero andhe--" She broke off with a little moan. "_Ochone!_ poor wee Joseph!did I send ye forth on a brave adventure only to bring ye to this?"Her fingers brushed the damp curls from his forehead. "Laddy, laddy,why didn't ye mind the promise I laid on ye?"

  The doctor was kindly and efficient, but professionallynon-committal. The boy was badly injured, and he must be moved atonce to the nearest house. Somehow they lifted Joseph and held him soas to break the jar of stone and rut as the doctor drove his car ascarefully as he could down the road leading to the nearestfarm-house.

  There they were met with a generous warmth of sympathy andhospitality; the spare chamber was opened, and the farm wife bustledabout, turning down the bed and bringing what comforts the housepossessed. The doctor stayed as long as he could; but the stork wasflying at the other end of the township, and he was forced to leavePatsy in charge, with abundant instructions.

  Soon after his leaving the Dempsy Carters returned without Joseph'sparents; they had gone to town and were not expected home until"chore time."

  "All right," Patsy sighed. "Now ye had best all go your ways and I'llbide till morning."

  "But can you?" Janet Payne asked it, wonderingly. "I thought you saidyou had to be in Arden to-day?"

  A smile, whimsical and baffling, crept to the corners of Patsy'smouth. "Sure, life is crammed with things ye think have to be doneto-day till they're matched against a sudden greater need. Chance andI started the wee lad on his journey, and 'twas meant I should seehim safe to the end, I'm thinking. Good-by."

  Gregory Jessup lingered a moment behind the others; his eyes weresuspiciously red, and the hands that gripped Patsy's shook the leastbit. "I wanted to say something: If--if you should ever happen to runup against Billy Burgeman--anywhere--don't be afraid to do him akindness. He--he wouldn't mind it from you."

  Patsy leaned against the door and watched him go. "There's anothergood lad. I'd like to be finding him again, too, some day." Shepressed her hands over her eyes with a fierce little groan, as if shewould blot out the enveloping tragedy along with her surroundings."Faith! what is the meaning of life, anyway? Until to-day it hasseemed such a simple, straight road; I could have drawn a fair map ofit myself, marking well the starting-point and tracing it reasonablytrue to the finish. But to-night--to-night--'tis all a tangle oflanes and byways. There's no sign-post ahead--and God alone knowswhere it's leading."

  She went back to the spare chamber and took up her watching by thebedside; and for the rest of that waning day she sat as motionlessas everything else in the room. The farm wife came and went softly,in between her preparations for supper. When it was ready she triedher best to urge Patsy down-stairs for a mouthful.

  But the girl refused to stir. "I couldn't. The wee lad might comeback while I was gone and find no one to reach him a hand or smilehim a welcome."

  A little later, as the dark gathered, she begged two candles andstood them on the stand beside the bed. Something in her movements orthe flickering light must have pierced his stupor, for Joseph moanedslightly and in a moment opened his eyes.

  Patsy leaned over him tenderly; could she only keep him content untilthe mother came and guard the mysterious borderland against all fearor pain, "Laddy, laddy," she coaxed, "do ye mind me--now?"

  The veriest wisp of a smile answered her.

  "And were ye for playing Jack yourself, tramping off to find thecastle with a window in it for every day in the year?" Her voice wasfull of gentle, teasing laughter, the voice of a mother playing witha very little child. "I'm hoping ye didn't forget the promise--yedidn't forget to ask for the blessing before ye went, now?"

  No sound came; but the boy's lips framed a silent "No." In anothermoment his eyes were drooping sleepily.

  * * * * *

  Night had come, and with it the insistent chorus of tree-toad andkatydid, interspersed with the song of the vesper sparrow. From thekitchen came the occasional rattle of dish or pan and the far-awaymurmur of voices. Patsy strained her ears for some sound of car orteam upon the road; but there was none.

  Again the lids fluttered and opened; this time Joseph smiledtriumphantly. "I thought--p'r'aps--I hadn't found you--afterall--there was--so many ways--you might ha' went." He moistened hislips. "At the cross-roads--I wasn't quite--sure which to be takin',but I took--the right one, I did--didn't I?"

  There was a ring of pride in the words, and Patsy moistened her lips.Something clutched at her throat that seemed to force the words back."Aye," she managed to say at last.

  "An' I've--found you now--you'll have to--promise me not to goback--not where they can get you. Si Perkins said--as how they'd soonforget--if you just stayed away long enough." The boy looked at herhappily. "Let's--let's keep on--an' see what lies over the nexthill."

  To Patsy this was all an unintelligible wandering of mind; she musthumor it. "All right, laddy, let's keep on. Maybe we'll be finding awood full of wild c
reatures, or an ocean full of ships."

  "P'r'aps. But I'd rather--have it a big--big city. I never--saw acity."

  "Aye, 'tis a city then"--Patsy's tone carried conviction--"thegrandest city ever built; and the towers will be touching the clouds,and the streets will be white as sea-foam; and there will be a greatstretch of green meadow for fairs--"

  "An' circuses?"

  "What else but circuses! And at the entrance there will be a gatewith tall white columns--"

  The sound Patsy had been listening for came at last through the openwindows: the pad-pad-pad of horses' hoofs coming fast.

  Joseph looked past Patsy and saw for the first time the candles byhis bed. His eyes sparkled. "They _are_--woppin' big columns--an' atnight--they have lighted lamps on top--all shinin'. Don't they?"

  "Aye, to point the way in the dark."

  "It's dark--now." The boy's voice lagged in a tired fashion.

  "Maybe we'd best hurry--then."

  A door slammed below, and there was a rustle of tongues.

  "Who'll be 'tendin' the city gates?" asked Joseph.

  "Who but the gatekeeper?"

  Muffled feet crept up the stairs.

  "Will he let us in?"

  "He'll let ye in, laddy; I might be too much of a stranger."

  "But I could speak for you. I--I wouldn't like--goin' in alone in thedark."

  "Bless ye! ye'd not be alone." Patsy's voice rang vibrant withgladness. "Now, who do you think will be watching for ye, close tothe gate? Look yonder!"

  Joseph's eyes went back to the candles, splendid, tall columns theywere, with beacon lamps capping each. "Who?"

  Dim faces looked at him through the flickering light; but there wasonly one he saw, and it brought the merriest smile to his lips.

  "Why--'course it's mother--sure's shootin'!"

  * * * * *

  Early the next morning Patsy waited on the braided rug outside thespare chamber for Joseph's mother to come out.

  "I've been praying ye'd not hate me for the tale I told the littlelad that day, the tale that brought him--yonder. And if it isn'toverlate, I'd like to be thanking ye for taking me in that night."

  The woman looked at her searchingly through swollen lids. "I cal'atethere's no thanks due; your man paid for your keep; he sawed andsplit nigh a cord o' wood that night--must ha' taken him 'most tillmornin'." She paused an instant. "Didn't--he"--she nodded her headtoward the closed door behind her--"never tell you what brought him?"

  "Naught but that he wanted to find me."

  "He believed in you," the woman said, simply, adding in a tonelessvoice: "I cal'ate I couldn't hate you. I never saw any one make deathso--sweet like--as you done for--him."

  Patsy spread her hands deprecatingly. "Why shouldn't it be sweetlike? Faith! is it anything but a bit of the very road we've beentraveling since we were born, the bit that lies over the hill and outof sight?" She took the woman's work-worn hands in hers. "'Tisterrible, losing a little lad; but 'tis more terrible never havingone. God and Mary be with ye!"

  When Patsy left the house a few minutes later Joseph's pilgrim staffwas in her hands, and she stopped on the threshold an instant to askthe way of Joseph's father.

  The good man was dazed with his grief and he directed Patsy in termsof his own home-going: "Keep on, and take the first turn to yourright."

  So Patsy kept on instead of returning to the cross-roads; and chancescored another point in his comedy and continued chuckling.

  * * * * *

  Meanwhile Joseph's father went back to the spare chamber.

  "'S she gone?" inquired Joseph's mother.

  "Yep."

  "You know, the boy believed in her."

  "Yep, I know."

  "Well, I cal'ate we've got to, too."

  "Sure thing!"

  "Ye'll never say a word, then--about seein' her; nuthin' to give thesheriff a hint where she might be?"

  "Why, mother!" The man laid a hand on her shoulder, looking down ather with accusing eyes. "Hain't you known me long enough to know Icouldn't tell on any one who'd been good to--" He broke off with acough. "And what's more, do you think any one who could take ourlittle boy's hand and lead him, as you might say, straight toheaven--would be a thief? No, siree!"

  * * * * *

  It was a sober, thoughtful Patsy that followed the road, the pilgrimstaff gripped tightly in her hand. She clung to it as the onetangible thing left to her out of all the happenings and memories ofher quest. The tinker had disappeared as completely as if the earthhad swallowed him, leaving behind no reason for his going, no hope ofhis coming again; Billy Burgeman was still but a flimsy promise; andJoseph had outstripped them both, passing beyond her farthest vision.Small wonder, then, that the road was lonely and haunted for Patsy,and that she plodded along shorn of all buoyancy.

  Her imagination began playing tricks with her. Twice it seemed as ifshe could feel a little lad's hand, warm and eager, curled under hersabout the staff; another time she found herself gazing throughhalf-shut eyes at a strange lad--a lad of twelve--who walked aheadfor a space, carrying two great white roses; and once she glanced upquickly and saw the tinker coming toward her, head thrown back andlaughing. Her wits had barely time to check her answering laugh andhands outstretching, when he faded into empty winding road.

  The morning was uneventful. Patsy stopped but once--to trundle aperambulator laden with washing and twins for its small conductor, amite of a girl who looked almost too frail to breast the weight of adoll's carriage.

  Even Patsy puffed under the strain of the burden. "How do you do it?"she gasped.

  "Well, I started when them babies was tiny and the washin' was small;an' they both growed so gradual I didn't notice--much. An' ma don'tmake me hurry none."

  "How many children are there?"

  "Nine. Last's just come. Pa says he didn't look on him as noblessin', but ma says the Lord must provide--an' if it's babies, thenit's babies." She stopped and clasped her hands after the fashion ofan ancient grandmother tottering in the nineties: "Land o' goodness,I do think an empty cradle's an awful dismal thing to have round.Don't you?"

  Patsy agreed, and a moment later unloaded the twins and the washingfor the child at her doorstep.

  Soon after this she caught her first glimpse of the town she wasmaking. "If luck will only turn stage-manager," she thought, "and putBilly Burgeman in the center of the scene--handy, why, I'll promisenot to murder my lines or play under."

  It was not luck, however, but chance, still pulling the wires; andaccordingly he managed Patsy's entrance as he wished.

  The town had one main street, like Lebanon, and in front of thepost-office in a two-seated car sat a familiar figure. There was theBalmacaan coat and the round plush hat; and to Patsy, impulsive andheart-strong, it sufficed. She ran nearly the length of the street inher eagerness to reach him.