CHAPTER XX
ON THE QUIET HILLSIDE
They shall go out no more, oh ye, Who speak earth's farewell thro' your tears, Who see your cherished ones go forth And come not back, thro' weary years. There is a place-there is a shore From which they shall go out no more.
_----Kate Tucker Goode._
WHEN sympathetic neighbours came to stay with Mrs. Cavers that night,and "sit up" with the dead man, she gently refused their kind offer."It is kind of you, dear friends," she said, "but I would rather stayalone to-night. It is the last thing I can do for him, and I shallnot be lonely. I've sat here plenty of nights waiting for him, notknowing how he would come home--often afraid he would be frozen todeath or kicked by the horses--but to-night he is safe from all that,and I am not worrying about him at all. I've got him all to myself,now, and I want to sit here with him, just him and me. Take LibbyAnne with you, Martha. I am thinking of a sweet verse that seems tosuit me now: 'They shall go out no more.' That's my comfort now; heis safe from so many things."
The next day was the funeral, a cloudless day of glittering sunshineand bright blue sky. The neighbours came for miles; for Bill's deathand the closing of the bar had made a profound impression.
"I wonder will Sandy Braden come," Thomas Perkins said, as he tiedhis horse to a seeder in the yard. "Bill was a good customer of his,and I wouldn't be surprised if Sandy came."
"You're a good guesser, Thomas," another man said, "for here hecomes."
"Sandy'll open up again, I think," said George Steadman, "in a fewdays, when he gets over this a little. He's foolish if he doesn't,with the busy time just startin', and money beginnin' to move."
"Well, I don't know," said Sam Motherwell. "From what I hear, Sandysays he's got his medicine, and won't take chances on getting anymore. It'll be a good thing for the town if he has closed for keeps.Sandy has made thousands of dollars over his bar."
"Well," George Steadman said; in his most generous tone, "I don'tbegrudge it to him. Sandy's a decent fellow, and he certainly nevermade it out of me or mine. He's a fool if he closes up now, but if hedoes, some one else will open up. I believe a bar is a help to thetown all right!"
"It hasn't been much of a help here," Thomas Perkins said, waving hishand at the untidy barnyard.
"Oh, well, this is an exception. There's always some man like Billthat don't know when to quit. This business here is pretty rough onme, though," Mr. Steadman said, in a truly grieved tone; "losin' mytenant just before harvest; but I blame nobody but Bill himself. Hehasn't used me square, you all know that."
"Stop, George, stop!" The broad Scotch of Roderick Ray's voice hadnot been heard before in the conversation. "Hoo hae we used Bill? Hewas aye fond o' it an' aye drank it to his hurt an' couldna stop.What hae we done to help him? Dye think it fair to leave a trap-dooropen for a child to fall doon? An' if ye found him greetin' at thebottom, wad ye no tak him up an' shut the door? Puir Bill, we foundhim greetin' an' bruised an' sore mony times, but nane o' us had thehumanity to try to shut the door until he fell once too often, an'could rise na more, an' now Sandy himsel' has shamed us a', an' Itell ye, he'll no open it again, for he has better bluid in him northat; and our sins will lie upon our own heads if we ever let yondeath-trap be opened again!"
Just then Sandy Braden, wearing a black suit, drove into the yard andtied up his horse.
* * *
The little house was filled to overflowing with women; the men stoodbareheaded around the door. Mrs. Cavers sat beside the coffin with anarm around Libby Anne. Mrs. Steadman, with the cerise roses stillnodding in her hat, said on the way home that it did seem queer toher that Mrs. Cavers and Libby Anne did not shed a tear. Mrs.Steadman did not understand that there is a limit even to tears andthat Libby Anne in her short years had seen sadder sights than eventhis.
The Reverend John Burrell conducted the funeral.
"Shall we gather at the river?" he gave out as the first hymn. Somesang it falteringly; they had their own ideas of Bill's chances inthe next world, and did not consider the "river" just the properfigure of speech to describe it.
The minister then read that old story of the poor man who went downto Jericho and fell among thieves. Mr. Burrell's long experience withmen had made him a plain and pointed speaker, and given him that raregift, convincing earnestness. Now he laid his hand on the coffin andspoke in a clear, ringing voice, that carried easily to every personin the house and to those who stood around the door.
"Here is a man who is a victim of our laws," he said, in beginning."This is not an exceptional case. Men are being ruthlessly murderedevery day from the same cause; this is not the only home that it hasdarkened. It is going on all over this land and all the time becausewe are willing, for the sake of a few dollars' revenue, to allow oneman to grow rich on the failings of others. We know the consequencesof this; we know that men will be killed, body and soul, that womenwill go broken-hearted, that little children will be cheated oftheir childhood. This scene to-day--the dead man in his coffin, thesad-faced wife and child, the open grave on the hillside--is a partof the Traffic. They belong to the business just as much as thesparkling decanters and the sign above the door. Every one of you,no doubt, has foretold this day. I wonder have you done anything toprevent it? Let none of us presume to judge the brother who has gone.I would rather take my chances before the judgment-seat of God withhim, the victim, who has paid for his folly with his life, than withany one of you who have made this thing possible. 'Ye who are strongought to bear the infirmity of the weak.' I do not know how it willbe with this man when he comes to give an account of himself to God,but I do know that God is a loving, tender Father, who deals justlyand loves mercy, and in that thought to-day we rest and hope. Let uspray."
"Impress this scene on our heart, to-day, dear Lord," he prayed;"this man cut down in his prime; this woman old with sorrow, not withyears; this child, cheated of her father's love. Let us ask ourselveshow long will we sit idly by, not caring. And oh, God, we pray Theeto bless the one man who, among us all, has said that as far as he isresponsible this traffic shall cease; bless him abundantly, and mayhis troubled heart find peace. May he never forget that there is afountain where all sin and uncleanness may be washed away. Remind ourhearts this day of how He died to save us from the sins ofselfishness and greed, and ever lives to cheer and guide us. Let ushear the call that comes to us to-day to do a man's part inprotecting the weak, the helpless, and the young. Let the love ofthis woman for her husband call to our remembrance Thy unchanginglove for us, and if it be in keeping with Thy divine laws, may theprecious coin of her unfaltering devotion purchase for him a holdingin the heavenly country. For the sake of Thy dear Son we ask it."
The funeral went slowly along the well-beaten road that skirts thesand-hills of the Assiniboine, and crawled like a long black snakethrough the winding valley of Oak Creek, whose banks were hangingwith wild roses and columbine, while down in the shady aisles of thecreek bed, under the stunted oak that gives it its name, pink andyellow lady's slippers gave out their honeyed fragrance.
"It is hard to die and leave all this behind," Thomas Perkins said;looking down the valley, where the breezes rippled the leaves. "Ialways think it must be hard to snuff out in June or July and have topass out without knowin' how the crop'll turn out; but I guess now,from what I've heard, when the clock strikes quittin'time, a fellowwon't be worryin' about the crops."
On the quiet hill, dotted with spruce, that looks down on the Souris,they laid Bill Cavers away. Very gently the coffin was lowered intoits sandy bed as the minister read the beautiful words of the burialservice and the neighbours and friends stood silent in the presence,the majestic presence of Death. Just before the sand was filled in,Ellen Cavers, tearless still, kissed the roses she held in her handand dropped them gently on the coffin.
One by one the neighbours walked away, untied their horses, and droveslowly down the hill, until Libby Anne and her mother were leftalone. Bud and Martha were waiting at the gate for them. Mrs
. Cavers,looking up, noticed that one man stood with bowed head near the gate.It was Sandy Braden, his face white and full of sadness.
Mrs. Cavers walked over to where he stood and held out her hand. "Mr.Braden," she said, looking at him with a glimmer of tears in hergentle eyes.
He took her hand, so cruelly seamed and workworn; his was white andplump and well-kept. He tried to speak, but no words came.
Looking up she read his face with a woman's quick understanding. "Iknow," she said.
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