by John Fox
CHAPTER 6
LOST AT THE CAPITAL
It had been arranged by the school-master that they should all meet atthe railway station to go home, next day at noon, and, as the Turnerboys had to help the Squire with the logs at the river, and theschool-master had to attend to some business of his own, Chad roamedall morning around the town. So engrossed was he with the people andthe sights and sounds of the little village that he came to himselfwith a start and trotted back to the boarding-house for fear that hemight not be able to find the station alone. The old lady was standingin the sunshine at the gate.
Chad panted--"Where's--?"
"They're gone."
"Gone!" echoed Chad, with a sinking heart.
"Yes, they've been gone--" But Chad did not wait to listen; he whirledinto the hall-way, caught up his rifle, and, forgetting his injuredfoot, fled at full speed down the street. He turned the corner, butcould not see the station, and he ran on about another corner and stillanother, and, just when he was about to burst into tears, he saw thelow roof that he was looking for, and hot, panting, and tired, herushed to it, hardly able to speak.
"Has that enJINE gone?" he asked breathlessly. The man who was whirlingtrunks on their corners into the baggage-room did not answer. Chad'seyes flashed and he caught the man by the coat-tail.
"Has that enJINE gone?" he cried.
The man looked over his shoulder.
"Leggo my coat, you little devil. Yes, that enJINE'S gone," he added,mimicking. Then he saw the boy's unhappy face and he dropped the trunkand turned to him.
"What's the matter?" he asked, kindly.
Chad had turned away with a sob.
"They've lef' me--they've lef' me," he said, and then, controllinghimself:
"Is thar another goin'?"
"Not till to-morrow mornin'."
Another sob came, and Chad turned away--he did not want anybody to seehim cry. And this was no time for crying, for Chad's prayer back at thegrave under the poplar flashed suddenly back to him.
"I got to ack like a man now." And, sobered at once, he walked on upthe hill--thinking. He could not know that the school-master was backin the town, looking for him. If he waited until the next morning, theTurners would probably have gone on; whereas, if he started out now onfoot, and walked all night, he might catch them before they leftLexington next morning. And if he missed the Squire and the Turnerboys, he could certainly find the school-master there. And if not, hecould go on to the mountains alone. Or he might stay in the"settlemints"--what had he come for? He might--he would--oh, he'd getalong somehow, he said to himself, wagging his head--he always had andhe always would. He could always go back to the mountains. If he onlyhad Jack--if he only had Jack! Nothing would make any difference then,and he would never be lonely, if he only had Jack. But, cheered withhis determination, he rubbed the tears from his eyes with hiscoat-sleeve and climbed the long hill. There was the Armory, which,years later, was to harbor Union troops in the great war, and beyond itwas the little city of the dead that sits on top of the hill far abovethe shining river. At the great iron gates he stopped a moment, peeringthrough. He saw a wilderness of white slabs and, not until he made hisway across the thick green turf and spelled out the names carved onthem, could he make out what they were for. How he wondered when he sawthe innumerable green mounds, for he hardly knew there were as manypeople in the world living as he saw there must be in that place, dead.But he had no time to spare and he turned quickly back to thepike--saddened--for his heart went back, as his faithful heart wasalways doing, to the lonely graves under the big poplar back in themountains.
When he reached the top of the slope, he saw a rolling country of lowhills stretching out before him, greening with spring; with farstretches of thick grass and many woodlands under a long, low sky, andhe wondered if this was the Bluegrass. But he "reckoned" not--not yet.And yet he looked in wonder at the green slopes, and the woods, and theflashing creek, and nowhere in front of him--wonder of all--could hesee a mountain. It was as Caleb Hazel had told him, only Chad was notlooking for any such mysterious joy as thrilled his sensitive soul.There had been a light sprinkle of snow--such a fall as may come evenin early April--but the noon sun had let the wheat-fields and thepastures blossom through it, and had swept it from the gray moist pikeuntil now there were patches of white only in gully and along northhill-sides under little groups of pines and in the woods, where thesunlight could not reach; and Chad trudged sturdily on in spite of hisheavy rifle and his lame foot, keenly alive to the new sights andsounds and smells of the new world--on until the shadows lengthened andthe air chilled again; on, until the sun began to sink close to thefar-away haze of the horizon. Never had the horizon looked so far away.His foot began to hurt, and on the top of a hill he had to stop and sitdown for a while in the road, the pain was so keen. The sun was settingnow in a glory of gold, rose, pink, and crimson over him, the stillclouds caught the divine light which swept swiftly through the heavensuntil the little pink clouds over the east, too, turned golden pink andthe whole heavens were suffused with green and gold. In the west, cloudwas piled on cloud like vast cathedrals that must have been built forworship on the way straight to the very throne of God. And Chad satthrilled, as he had been at the sunrise on the mountains the morningafter he ran away. There was no storm, but the same loneliness came tohim now and he wondered what he should do. He could not get muchfarther that night--his foot hurt too badly. He looked up--the cloudshad turned to ashes and the air was growing chill--and he got to hisfeet and started on. At the bottom of the hill and down a little creekhe saw a light and he turned toward it. The house was small, and hecould hear the crying of a child inside and could see a tall mancutting wood, so he stopped at the bars and shouted
"Hello!"
The man stopped his axe in mid-air and turned. A woman, with a baby inher arms, appeared in the light of the door with children crowdingabout her.
"Hello!" answered the man.
"I want to git to stay all night." The man hesitated.
"We don't keep people all night."
"Not keep people all night," thought Chad with wonder.
"Oh, I reckon you will," he said. Was there anybody in the world whowouldn't take in a stranger for the night? From the doorway the womansaw that it was a boy who was asking shelter and the trust in his voiceappealed vaguely to her.
"Come in!" she called, in a patient, whining tone. "You can stay, Ireckon."
But Chad changed his mind suddenly. If they were in doubt about wantinghim--he was in no doubt as to what he would do.
"No, I reckon I'd better git on," he said sturdily, and he turned andlimped back up the hill to the road--still wondering, and he rememberedthat, in the mountains, when people wanted to stay all night, theyusually stopped before sundown. Travelling after dark was suspicious inthe mountains, and perhaps it was in this land, too. So, with thisthought, he had half a mind to go back and explain, but he pushed on.Half a mile farther, his foot was so bad that he stopped with a cry ofpain in the road and, seeing a barn close by, he climbed the fence andinto the loft and burrowed himself under the hay. From under the shedhe could see the stars rising. It was very still and very lonely and hewas hungry--hungrier and lonelier than he had ever been in his life,and a sob of helplessness rose to his lips--if he only had Jack--but heheld it back.
"I got to ack like a man now." And, saying this over and over tohimself, he went to sleep.