A FISHERMAN
"'Humph!' grunted the other, 'I've noticed that there's a lot of
unnecessary things that have to be done.'"
In the crisis of Deborah's trouble, Hope had turned to Dan impulsively,
as the one woman turns to the one man. When she was powerless in her own
strength to meet the need she looked confidently to him.
But now that she was actually on the way to him, with Corinth behind and
the long road over the hills and through the forests before, she had time
to think, while the conscious object of her journey forced itself on her
thinking.
The thing that the young woman had so dimly foreseen, for herself, of her
friendship with this man, she saw now more clearly, as she realized how
much she had grown to depend upon him--upon the strength of his
companionship. How she had learned to watch for his coming, and to look
often toward the corner window of the house on the other side of the
garden! But, after all--she asked herself--was her regard for him more
than a natural admiration for his strong character, as she had seen it
revealed in the past months? Their peculiar situation had placed him more
in her thoughts than any man had ever been before. Was not this all? The
possibility had not yet become a certainty. The revelation of Hope
Farwell to herself was yet to come.
The hack, with its one passenger, arrived at Gordon's Mills about four
o'clock, and Miss Farwell, climbing down from the ancient vehicle in
front of the typical country hotel, inquired for Dr. Oldham.
The slouchy, slow-witted proprietor of the place passed her inquiry on
to a group of natives who lounged on the porch, and one, whose horse
was hitched in front of the blacksmith shop across the way, gave the
information that he had seen the Doctor and the big parson at the mouth
of the creek as he came past an hour before. He added that he "reckoned
they wouldn't be in 'til dark, fer they was a-ketchin' a right smart of
bass."
"Is it far from here?" asked the nurse.
"Somethin' less than a mile, ain't hit, Bill?"
Bill "'lowed hit war about that. Mile an' a quarter to Bud Jones', Bud
called hit."
"And the road?"
"Foller the creek--can't miss it." This from the chorus. And Miss Farwell
set out, watched by every eye on the place until she disappeared around
the first bend.
As she drew near the river, the banks of which are marked by a high bluff
on the other side, the young woman felt a growing sense of embarrassment.
What would Mr. Matthews think of her coming to him in such a way? And Dr.
Oldham--. Already she could feel the keen eyes of the old physician, with
their knowing twinkle, fixed upon her face. The Doctor always made you
feel that he knew so much more about you than you knew about yourself.
Coming to the river at the mouth of the creek, she saw them, and half
hidden by the upturned roots of a fallen tree, she stood still. They were
on the downstream side of the creek; Dan, with rubber boots that came to
his hips, standing far out on the sandy bar, braced against the current,
that tugged and pulled at his great legs; the Doctor farther down, on the
bank.
Miss Farwell watched Dan with the curious interest a woman always feels
when watching a man who, while engaged in a man's work or play, is
unconscious of her presence.
She saw the fisherman as he threw the line far out, with a strong, high
swing of his long arm. And as she looked, a lusty bass--heavy, full of
fight--took the hook, and she saw the man stand motionless, intent,
alert, at the instant he first felt the fish. Then she caught the
skillful turn of his wrist as he struck--quick and sure; watched, with
breathless interest as--bracing himself--the fisherman's powerful figure
became instinct with life. With the boiling water grasping his legs,
clinging to him like a tireless wrestler seeking the first unguarded
moment; and with the plunging, tugging, rushing giant at the other end
of the silken line--fighting with every inch of his spring--steel body
for freedom, Dan made a picture to bring the light of admiration to any
woman's eyes. And Hope Farwell was very much a woman.
Slowly, but surely, the strength and skill of the fisherman prevailed.
The master of the waters came nearer the hand of his conqueror. The young
woman held her breath while the fish made its last, mad attempt, and
then--when Dan held up his prize for the Doctor, who--on the bank--had
been in the fight with his whole soul, she forgot her embarrassment,
and--springing into full view upon the trunk of the fallen tree--shouted
and waved her congratulations.
Dan almost dropped the fish.
The Doctor, whose old eyes were not so quick to recognize the woman on
the log, was amazed to see his companion go splashing, stumbling,
ploughing through the water toward the shore.
"Hope--Miss Farwell!" gasped Dan, floundering up the bank, the big fish
still in his hand, the shining water streaming from his high boots, his
face glowing with healthful exercise--a something else, perhaps. "What
good fortune brings you here?"
At his impetuous manner, and the eagerness that shone in his eyes, and
sounded in his voice, the woman's face had grown rosy red, but by the
time the fisherman had gained a place by her side the memory of her
mission had driven every other thought from her mind. Briefly she told
him of Deborah's trouble, and a few moments later the Doctor--crossing
the creek higher up--joined them. As they talked Hope saw all the light
and joy go from Dan's face, and in its place came a look of sadness and
determination that made her wonder.
"Doctor," he said, "I am going back to Corinth with Miss Farwell tonight.
We'll get a team and buggy at the Mills."
The old man swore heartily. Why had not the foolish Irishwoman let them
know her situation before? Still swearing he drew from his pocket a book
and hastily signed a check. "Here, Dan," he said, "use this if you have
to. You understand--don't hesitate if you need it."
Reluctantly the younger man took the slip of paper. "I don't think it
will be needed," he responded. "It ought not to be necessary for you to
do this, Doctor."
"Humph!" grunted the other, "I've noticed that there's a lot of
unnecessary things that have to be done. Hustle along, you two. I'm
going back after the mate to that last one of yours."
On the way back to the hotel Dan told the nurse that the check would
mean much to the Doctor if it were used at this particular time. "But,"
he added thoughtfully, again, "I don't think it will be used."
They stopped long enough at the hotel for a hurried lunch, then--with
a half-broken team and a stout buggy--started, in the gathering dusk for
Corinth.
As the light went out of the sky and the mysterious stillness of the
night came upon them, they, too, grew quiet, as if no words were needed.
They seemed to be passing into another world--a strange dream-world
where they were alone. The things of everyday, the common-place incidents
and happenings of their lives, seemed to drift far away. They talked but
little. There was so little to say. Once Dan leaned over to tuck the lap
robe carefully about his companion, for the early spring air was chill
when the sun went down.
So they rode until they saw the lights of the town; then it all came
back to them with a rush. The woman drew a long breath.
"Tired?" asked Dan, and there was that in his voice that brought the
tears to the gray eyes--tears that he could not see, because of the dark.
"Not a bit," she answered cheerfully, in spite of the hidden tears. "Will
you see Judge Strong tonight?" She had not asked him what he was going to
do.
"Yes," he said, and when they reached the big brown house he drew the
horses to a walk. "I think, if you are not too tired, I had better stop
now. I will not be long."
There was now something in his voice that made her heart jump with sudden
fear, such as she had felt at times when Dr. Miles, at the hospital, had
told her to prepare to assist him in an operation. But in her voice no
fear showed itself.
He hitched the team, and--leaving her waiting in the buggy--went up to
the house. She heard him knock. The door opened, sending out a flood of
light. He entered. The door closed.
She waited in the dark.