CHAPTER XV--THE HERMIT
"Do you know," exclaimed Ruth, "I feel as if I were in an enchantedforest, and these strange people were witches and wizards! The robbermight have been a wood-elf, and now here comes the old witch. Perhapsshe will turn us into trees and animals."
"Oh, that is old Jennie, who gathers herbs and sells them at all thedrugstores in the towns around here," replied Stephen, as a strangefigure came into view.
The gatherer of herbs and roots was not, however, very witchlike inappearance. She was tall and erect, and walked with long strides like agrenadier. What was most remarkable about her were her wide, staringblue eyes, like patches of sky, that looked far beyond the young peoplewho had grouped themselves at the side of the path almost timidly,waiting for her to come up. She carried with her a staff, and as shewalked she poked the bushes and grasses with it as if it had been a longfinger feeling for trophies. The other hand grasped the end of an apronmade of an old sack, stuffed full of herbs still green, and fragrantfrom having been bruised as she crushed them into the bag.
"She is blind," whispered Stephen, "but in a minute she will perceivethat some one is near. She has a scent as keen as a hunting dog's."
A few yards away from them old Jennie paused and sniffed the air like ananimal. Reaching out with her stick she felt around her. Presently thestaff pointed in the direction of the boys and girls, and she cametoward them as straight as a hunter after his quarry. The girls, alittle frightened, started to draw back.
"She won't hurt you," whispered Stephen. "Why, Jennie," he said in alouder voice, "don't you know your old friend and playmate?"
A smile broke out on Jennie's handsome face, which, in spite of her age,was as smooth and placid as a child's.
"It's Master Stephen!" she cried, in a strange voice that sounded rustyfrom lack of use. "I be glad to hear you, sir. It's a long time sincewe've had a frolic in the woods. You don't hunt birds' nests in thesummer now, or go wading in the streams. I found a wasps' nest for you,perhaps it was a month, perhaps a year ago, I cannot remember. But Isaved it for you. And how is young Master Martin? He was a little fellowto climb so high for the nests."
"We are both well, Jennie, and you must come over to the hall and seeus. We may have something nice for you, there, that will keep you warmwhen the snow comes."
"Ah, you're a good boy, Master Stephen, and I'll bid ye good day now,and good day to your friends. There be four with you I think," she addedin a lower voice, sniffing the air again. "I'll be over on my next tripto the village." Old Jennie moved off as swiftly as she had come,tapping the path with her long stick, her head thrown back as if to seewith her nostrils, since her eyes were without sight.
"What a strange old woman!" cried Stephen's companions in one voice.
"And the strangest thing about her," replied Stephen, "is that she hasno sense of time. She can't remember whether a thing happened a year agoor month ago, and she thinks Martin and I are still little boys. Wehaven't hunted birds' nests with her for six years. I have not even seenher for two or three years, but she sniffed me out as quickly as if Ialways used triple extract of tuberose."
"Where does she live?" asked Bab.
"She lives in a little cabin off in the forest somewhere. Her father andmother were woodcutters. She was born and brought up right here. Shedoesn't know anything but herbs and roots, and night and day are thesame to her. She knows every square foot of this country, and never getslost. Martin and I used to go about with her when we were little boys,and she was as faithful a nurse as you could possibly find."
"No wonder you love these woods, Stephen," said Bab. "There is so muchto do and see in them. I wish we had something better than scrub oakaround Kingsbridge."
"Wait until you see the chief treasure of the woods, Barbara, and you'llhave even more respect for them."
"Meaning the hermit?" asked Jimmie.
"But he won't tell anything, will he?" demanded Ruth. "Didn't you say hewas a mystery?"
"The greatest mystery of the countryside," replied Stephen. "Nobodyknows where he came from, nor why he has been living here all theseyears--it's about fifty, they say. You see, he is not ignorant, like theother wood people. He is a gentleman. His manners are as fine asuncle's, and the people who live in the woods all love him. They come tohim when they are sick or in trouble."
"How does he live?" asked Alfred.
"He must have some money hidden away somewhere, for he always has enoughto eat, and even to give when others need help. But nobody knows wherehe keeps it. In a hole in the ground somewhere, I suppose."
While they were talking they had approached a clearing on the side of ahill. Most of the big trees had been cut away, and only the silverbirch, "the white ladies," as old Adam had christened them, and thedogwood, mingled their shade over the smooth turf. The grass was asthick and well kept as on the major's lawn, only somewhat browned nowfor lack of water. All the bushes and undergrowth had been cleared awayyears before, and the place had a lived-in, homelike look in contrast tothe great black forest that seemed to be crouching at its feet like amonster guarding it from the enemy. And indeed, that must have been whatthe mysterious man had intended when he built his little house at thetop of the hill, for five miles of woods intervened between him and theouter world on one side, while on the other, was a high precipice thatmarked the end of the forest.
The house, a log cabin with a big stone chimney at one end, commanded aview, from the back, of a long stretch of valley. The portico in frontwas shaded by honeysuckle vines. Here, in an old-fashioned armchair, satthe master smoking a meerschaum pipe.
Stephen approached somewhat diffidently, taking off his cap.
"May we rest here a little, sir?" he asked. "We have walked a long waythis morning."
"You are most welcome," said the old man in a deep, musical voice thatgave the young people a thrill of pleasure. They looked at himcuriously. He was tall and erect, with a beak-nose and black eyes thatstill had some of their youthful fire in them, despite the man's greatage and his snow white hair.
"Come in, and we will bring some chairs out for the young ladies."
Stephen followed their host into the house while, through the open door,the others caught a glimpse of an enormous open fireplace and wallslined with books. The girls took the proffered chairs and sat downrather stiffly, while the old man reappeared, carrying a bucket and agourd.
"Perhaps you are thirsty. Will you draw some water from the well?" heasked, turning to Stephen. He stopped abruptly and looked closely at theboy. "Why, it's little Stephen," he exclaimed, and with an expressionhalf of pain, half pleasure, he added, "grown to be a man and howlike"----But he paused and turned hastily away.
"I am glad to see you, sir," replied Stephen, politely. He never knewexactly how to address the hermit, and he found not knowing his namesomewhat awkward. "May I introduce my friends? Miss Ruth Stuart, MissBarbara Thurston, Alfred Marsdale and Jimmie Butler."
The old man bowed to the company as gracefully as if he had beenreceiving guests in a fine mansion.
"The names are," he repeated gently, "Miss Ruth Stuart and--did I hearyou aright--Miss----?"
"Barbara Thurston," finished Stephen.
"Barbara Thurston?" repeated the old man under his breath. "BarbaraThurston! Come here, my child, and let me look at you," he added, in anagitated voice.
Barbara obediently came forward and stood before the hermit, who hadcovered his eyes with his hand for a moment, as if he were afraid to seeher face.
"Barbara Thurston!" he exclaimed again. "Little Barbara!" And drawingfrom his pocket a pair of horn spectacles, he put them on and examinedher features. He seemed to have forgotten the others. Suddenly heremoved the spectacles and looked up in a dazed way.
"On the very day! The very day!" he cried, and waving his arms over hishead in a wild appeal to heaven, he turned and rushed down the hillside.In another moment the forest had swallowed him up, while the five youngpeople stood staring after him in amazement.
"Oh, he's touched of course," said Stephen, tapping his head. "He mustbe. You know old Adam said he's always pretty bad at this time of theyear. I suppose it is the anniversary of something. But, Barbara, whatdo you mean by going and stirring up memories?"
"It wasn't I; it was my name," replied Barbara. "Once there was a girlnamed Barbara, but the rest of the story can never be written, becausehe won't tell what it is."
"Let's have a peep at the house before we go," said Jimmie, "and thenlet's eat. I'm starving."
"All right," said Stephen. "Step right in and have a look foryourselves, but hurry up before the old gentleman comes back."
The place was certainly comfortable and cosy-looking, in spite of thewooden walls and bare floors. It was spick and span and clean, kept thatway by Adam's wife, Stephen explained. There were a great many books,some of them in foreign languages, two big easy-chairs near the openfireplace, and on an old mahogany table, the only other piece offurniture in the room, a brown earthenware jar filled with honeysuckle.Only one picture hung on the wall, a small miniature suspended from anail just over the pot of flowers. Ruth examined the picture closely.Besides his books, she thought, this little miniature was perhaps theonly link with the outer world that the old man had permitted himself tokeep.
"Come here, everybody, quick," she called, "and look at this miniature.As I live, it's enough like Bab to be a picture of her, except for theold-fashioned dress and long ringlets."
They looked at the picture carefully, taking it down from its nail inorder to see it in the light.
"My word!" exclaimed Jimmie. "It's as good a likeness as you could wishto find. It must have been the resemblance that gave the old man thefit, then, and not the name."
The miniature showed the face of a young girl, somewhat older thanBarbara, but certainly very like her in features and expression. She hadthe same laughing mouth and frank, brown eyes, the same chestnut haircurling in crisp ringlets around the forehead, but caught up loosely inthe back in a net and tied with a velvet snood. She wore a bodice ofrose-colored taffeta cut low in the neck, and fastened coquettishlyamong the curls was a pink flower.
"Who is it, Barbara?" asked Stephen. "Have you any idea?"
"I can't imagine," replied Bab. "Perhaps it's just a coincidence. I amnot an uncommon type and may have lots of doubles. There are many peoplein this world who have brown eyes and brown hair. You meet them at everyturn."
"Yes," said Ruth, "but all of them haven't regular features and littlecrisp curls, and just that particular expression. However, we must go.We shouldn't like the hermit to come back and find us prying into hisaffairs. And that is why he is here, evidently--to hide from pryers."
"Yes," agreed Stephen, "I really do think we had better be going. I knowa pretty little dell where we can eat lunch if Jimmie can restrain hisappetite until we get there."
"Well, cut along, then," ordered Jimmie, "and let us hasten to thebanquet hall."
Closing the door carefully behind them the young folks hurried towardthe woodcutters' road.
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