by J. M. Barrie
CHAPTER XXXIII
THERE IS SOME ONE TO LOVE GRIZEL AT LAST
Corp was sitting on the Monypenny dyke, spitting on a candlestick andthen rubbing it briskly against his orange-colored trousers. The doctorpassing in his gig, both of them streaked, till they blended, with themud of Look-about-you road (through which you should drive winkingrapidly all the way), saw him and drew up.
"Well, how is Grizel?" he asked. He had avoided Double Dykes since thefuneral, but vain had been his attempts to turn its little inmate out ofhis mind; there she was, against his will, and there, he now admitted tohimself angrily or with a rueful sigh, she seemed likely to remain untilsomeone gave her a home. It was an almost ludicrous distrust of himselfthat kept him away from her; he feared that if he went to Double Dykesher lonely face would complete his conquest. For oh, he was reluctant tobe got the better of, as he expressed it to himself. Maggy Ann, hismaid, was the ideal woman for a bachelor's house. When she saw himcoming she fled, guiltily concealing the hated duster; when he roaredat her for announcing that dinner was ready, she left him to eat it halfcold; when he spilled matches on the floor and then stepped upon themand set the rug on fire, she let him tell her that she should be morecareful; she did not carry off his favorite boots to the cobbler becausethey were down at heel; she did not fling up her arms in horror and crythat she had brushed that coat just five minutes ago; nor did she countthe treasured "dottels" on the mantelpiece to discover how many pipes hehad smoked since morning; nor point out that he had stepped over thedoor-mat; nor line her shelves with the new _Mentor_; nor give him uphis foot for sitting half the night with patients who could not pay--inshort, he knew the ways of the limmers, and Maggy Ann was a jewel. Butit had taken him a dozen years to bring her to this perfection, and wellhe knew that the curse of Eve, as he called the rage for the duster,slumbered in her rather than was extinguished. With the volcanic Grizelin the house, Maggy Ann would once more burst into flame, and thehorrified doctor looked to right of him, to left of him, before him andbehind him, and everywhere he seemed to see two new brooms bearing down.No, the brat, he would not have her; the besom, why did she bother him;the witches take her, for putting the idea into his head, nailing itinto his head indeed. But nevertheless he was forever urging otherpeople to adopt her, assuring them that they would find her a treasure,and even shaking his staff at them when they refused; and he was souneasy if he did not hear of her several times a day that he madeMonypenny the way to and from everywhere, so that he might drop intoartful talk with those who had seen her last. Corp, accordingly, was notsurprised at his "How is Grizel?" now, and he answered, between twospits, "She's fine; she gave me this."
It was one of the Painted Lady's silver candlesticks, and the doctorasked sharply why Grizel had given it to him.
"She said because she liked me," Corp replied, wonderingly. "She broughtit to my auntie's door soon after I loused, and put it into my hand: ay,and she had a blue shawl, and she telled me to give it to Gavinia,because she liked her too."
"What else did she say?"
Corp tried to think. "I said, 'This cows, Grizel, but thank youkindly,'" he answered, much pleased with his effort of memory, but thedoctor interrupted him rudely. "Nobody wants to hear what you said, youdottrel; what more did she say?" And thus encouraged Corp rememberedthat she had said she hoped he would not forget her. "What for should Iforget her when I see her ilka day?" he asked, and was probably about todivulge that this was his reply to her, but without waiting for more,McQueen turned his beast's head and drove to the entrance to the DoubleDykes. Here he alighted and hastened up the path on foot, but before hereached the house he met Dite Deuchars taking his ease beneath a tree,and Dite could tell him that Grizel was not at home. "But there'ssomebody in Double Dykes," he said, "though I kenna wha could be thereunless it's the ghost of the Painted Lady hersel'. About an hour syne Isaw Grizel come out o' the house, carrying a bundle, but she hadna gonemany yards when she turned round and waved her hand to the east window.I couldna see wha was at it, but there maun have been somebody, forfirst the crittur waved to the window and next she kissed her hand toit, and syne she went on a bit, and syne she ran back close to thewindow and nodded and flung more kisses, and back and forrit she went acurran times as if she could hardly tear hersel' awa'. 'Wha's thatyou're so chief wi'?' I speired when she came by me at last, but shejust said, 'I won't tell you,' in her dour wy, and she hasna come backyet."
Whom could she have been saying good-by to so demonstratively, andwhither had she gone? With a curiosity that for the moment took theplace of his uneasiness, McQueen proceeded to the house, the door ofwhich was shut but not locked. Two glances convinced him that there wasno one here, the kitchen was as he had seen it last, except that thelong mirror had been placed on a chair close to the east window. Thedoctor went to the outside of the window, and looked in, he could seenothing but his own reflection in the mirror, and was completelypuzzled. But it was no time, he felt, for standing there scratching hishead, when there was reason to fear that the girl had gone. Gone where?He saw his selfishness now, in a glaring light, and it fled out of himpursued by curses.
He stopped at Aaron's door and called for Tommy, but Tommy had left thehouse an hour ago. "Gone with her, the sacket; he very likely put her upto this," the doctor muttered, and the surmise seemed justified when heheard that Grizel and Tommy had been seen passing the Fens. That theywere running away had never struck those who saw them, and McQueen saidnothing of his suspicions, but off he went in his gig on their track andran them down within a mile of Tilliedrum. Grizel scurried on, thinkingit was undoubtedly her father, but in a few minutes the three wereconversing almost amicably, the doctor's first words had been so"sweet."
Tommy explained that they were out for a walk, but Grizel could not lie,and in a few passionate sentences she told McQueen the truth. He hadguessed the greater part of it, and while she spoke he looked so sorryfor her, such a sweet change had come over his manner, that she held hishand.
"But you must go no farther," he told her, "I am to take you back withme," and that alarmed her. "I won't go back," she said, determinedly,"he might come."
"There's little fear of his coming," McQueen assured her, gently, "butif he does come I give you my solemn word that I won't let him take youaway unless you want to go."
Even then she only wavered, but he got her altogether with this: "Andshould he come, just think what a piece of your mind you could give him,with me standing by holding your hand."
"Oh, would you do that?" she asked, brightening.
"I would do a good deal to get the chance," he said.
"I should just love it!" she cried. "I shall come now," and she steppedlight-heartedly into the gig, where the doctor joined her. Tommy, whohad been in the background all this time, was about to jump up besidethem, but McQueen waved him back, saying maliciously, "There's just roomfor two, my man, so I won't interfere with your walk."
Tommy, in danger of being left, very hot and stout and sulky, whimpered,"What have I done to anger you?"
"You were going with her, you blackguard," replied McQueen, not yet infull possession of the facts, for whether Tommy was or was not goingwith her no one can ever know.
"If I was," cried the injured boy, "it wasna because I wanted to go, itwas because it wouldna have been respectable for her to go by hersel'."
The doctor had already started his shalt, but at these astonishingwords he drew up sharply. "Say that again," ha said, as if thinking thathis ears must have deceived him, and Tommy repeated his remark,wondering at its effect.
"And you tell me that you were going with her," the doctor repeated, "tomake her enterprise more respectable?" and he looked from one to theother.
"Of course I was," replied Tommy, resenting his surprise at a thing soobvious; and "That's why I wanted him to come," chimed in Grizel.
Still McQueen's glance wandered from the boy to the girl and from thegirl to the boy. "You are a pair!" he said at last, and he signed insilence to T
ommy to mount the gig. But his manner had alarmed Grizel,ever watching herself lest she should stray into the ways of bad ones,and she asked anxiously, "There was nothing wrong in it, was there?"
"No," the doctor answered gravely, laying his hand on hers, "no, it wasjust sweet."
* * * * *
What McQueen had to say to her was not for Tommy's ears, and theconversation was but a makeshift until they reached Thrums, where hesent the boy home, recommending him to hold his tongue about theescapade (and Tommy of course saw the advisability of keeping it fromElspeth); but he took Grizel into his parlor and set her down on thebuffet stool by the fire, where he surveyed her in silence at hisleisure. Then he tried her in his old armchair, then on his sofa; thenhe put the _Mentor_ into her hand and told her to hold it as if it werea duster, then he sent her into the passage, with instructions to openthe door presently and announce "Dinner is ready;" then he told her toput some coals on the fire; then he told her to sit at the window, firstwith an open book in her hand, secondly as if she was busy knitting; andall these things she did wondering exceedingly, for he gave noexplanation except the incomprehensible one, "I want to see what itwould be like."
She had told him in the gig why she had changed the position of themirror at Double Dykes, it was to let "that darling" wave good-by to herfrom the window; and now having experimented with her in his parlor hedrew her toward his chair, so that she stood between his knees. And heasked her if she understood why he had gone to Double Dykes.
"Was it to get me to tell you what were the names in the letter?" shesaid, wistfully. "That is what everyone asks me, but I won't tell, no, Iwon't;" and she closed her mouth hard.
He, too, would have liked to hear the names, and he sighed, it must beadmitted, at sight of that determined mouth, but he could saytruthfully, "Your refusal to break your promise is one of the thingsthat I admire in you."
Admire! Grizel could scarce believe that this gift was for her. "Youdon't mean that you really like me?" she faltered, but she felt sure allthe time that he did, and she cried, "Oh, but why, oh, how can you!"
"For one reason," he said, "because you are so good."
"Good! Oh! oh! oh!" She clapped her hands joyously.
"And for another--because you are so brave."
"But I am not really brave," she said anxiously, yet resolved to hidenothing, "I only pretend to be brave, I am often frightened, but I justdon't let on."
That, he told her, is the highest form of bravery, but Grizel was very,very tired of being brave, and she insisted impetuously, "I don't wantto be brave, I want to be afraid, like other girls."
"Ay, it's your right, you little woman," he answered, tenderly, and thenagain he became mysterious. He kicked off his shoes to show her that hewas wearing socks that did not match. "I just pull on the first thatcome to hand," he said recklessly.
"Oh!" cried Grizel.
On his dusty book-shelves he wrote, with his finger, "Not dusted sincethe year One."
"Oh! oh!" she cried.
He put his fingers through his gray, untidy hair. "That's the only combI have that is at hand when I want it," he went on, regardless of heragony.
"All the stud-holes in my shirts," he said, "are now so frayed andlarge that the studs fall out, and I find them in my socks at night."
Oh! oh! he was killing her, he was, but what cared he? "Look at myclothes," said the cruel man, "I read when I'm eating, and I spill somuch gravy that--that we boil my waistcoat once a month, and make soupof it!"
To Grizel this was the most tragic picture ever drawn by man, and he sawthat it was time to desist. "And it's all," he said, looking at hersadly, "it's all because I am a lonely old bachelor with no womankind tolook after him, no little girl to brighten him when he comes homedog-tired, no one to care whether his socks are in holes and his combbehind the wash-stand, no soft hand to soothe his brow when it aches, noone to work for, no one to love, many a one to close the old bachelor'seyes when he dies, but none to drop a tear for him, no one to--"
"Oh! oh! oh! That is just like me. Oh! oh!" cried Grizel, and he pulledher closer to him, saying, "The more reason we should join thegither;Grizel, if you don't take pity on me, and come and bide with me and bemy little housekeeper, the Lord Almighty only knows what is to become ofthe old doctor."
At this she broke away from him, and stood far back pressing her arms toher sides, and she cried, "It is not out of charity you ask me, is it?"and then she went a little nearer. "You would not say it if it wasn'ttrue, would you?"
"No, my dawtie, it's true," he told her, and if he had been pityinghimself a little, there was an end of that now.
She remembered something and cried joyously, "And you knew what was inmy blood before you asked me, so I don't need to tell you, do I? And youare not afraid that I shall corrupt you, are you? And you don't think ita pity I didn't die when I was a tiny baby, do you? Some people thinkso, I heard them say it."
"What would have become of me?" was all he dared answer in words, but hedrew her to him again, and when she asked if it was true, as she hadheard some woman say, that in some matters men were all alike, and didwhat that one man had done to her mamma, he could reply solemnly, "No,it is not true; it's a lie that has done more harm than any war in anycentury."
She sat on his knee, telling him many things that had come recently toher knowledge but were not so new to him. The fall of woman was thesubject, a strange topic for a girl of thirteen and a man of sixty. Theydon't become wicked in a moment, he learned; if they are good to beginwith, it takes quite a long time to make them bad. Her mamma was good tobegin with. "I know she was good, because when she thought she was thegirl she used to be, she looked sweet and said lovely things." The waythe men do is this, they put evil thoughts into the woman's head, andsay them often to her, till she gets accustomed to them, and thinks theycannot be bad when the man she loves likes them, and it is calledcorrupting the mind.
"And then a baby comes to them," Grizel said softly, "and it is called achild of shame. I am a child of shame."
He made no reply, so she looked up, and his face was very old and sad."I am sorry too," she whispered, but still he said nothing, and then sheput her fingers on his eyes to discover if they were wet, and they werewet. And so Grizel knew that there was someone who loved her at last.
The mirror was the only article of value that Grizel took with her toher new home; everything else was rouped at the door of Double Dykes;Tommy, who should have been at his books, acting as auctioneer's clerkfor sixpence. There are houses in Thrums where you may still be told whogot the bed and who the rocking-chair, and how Nether Drumgley's wifedared him to come home without the spinet; but it is not by the salesthat the roup is best remembered. Curiosity took many persons intoDouble Dykes that day, and in the room that had never been furnishedthey saw a mournful stack of empty brandy bottles, piled there by theauctioneer who had found them in every corner, beneath the bed, inpresses, in boxes, whither they had been thrust by Grizel's mamma, asif to conceal their number from herself. The counting of these bottleswas a labor, but it is not even by them that the roup is remembered.Among them some sacrilegious hands found a bundle of papers with a sadblue ribbon round them. They were the Painted Lady's love-letters, theletters she had written to the man. Why or how they had come back to herno one knew.
Most of them were given to Grizel, but a dozen or more passed withouther leave into the kists of various people, where often since then theyhave been consulted by swains in need of a pretty phrase; and Tommy'sschool-fellows, the very boys and girls who hooted the Painted Lady,were in time--so oddly do things turn out--to be among those whom herletters taught how to woo. Where the kists did not let in the damp orcareless fingers, the paper long remained clean, the ink but littlefaded. Some of the letters were creased, as if they had once been muchfolded, perhaps for slipping into secret hiding-places, but none of thembore any address or a date. "To my beloved," was sometimes written onthe cover, and inside he was da
rling or beloved again. So no one couldhave arranged them in the order in which they were written, though therewas a three-cornered one which said it was the first. There was a violetin it, clinging to the paper as if they were fond of each other, andGrizel's mamma had written, "The violet is me, hiding in a cornerbecause I am so happy." The letters were in many moods, playful,reflective, sad, despairing, arch, but all were written in an ecstasy ofthe purest love, and most of them were cheerful, so that you seemed tosee the sun dancing on the paper while she wrote, the same sun thatafterwards showed up her painted cheeks. Why they came back to her noone ever discovered, any more than how she who slipped the violet intothat three-cornered one and took it out to kiss again and wrote, "It ismy first love-letter, and I love it so much I am reluctant to let itgo," became in a few years the derision of the Double Dykes. Some ofthese letters may be in old kists still, but whether that is so or not,they alone have passed the Painted Lady's memory from one generation toanother, and they have purified it, so that what she was died with hervile body, and what she might have been lived on, as if it were her trueself.