Revelations
The next morning was a trying one for them both. Jim felt dully that
something was the matter, but the girl's manner baffled him, and he
could not make up his mind as to whether she had glanced in the
note-book or not. It did not seem like her to do so deliberately, but if
she had he could only make things worse by broaching the subject, since
he was not at the moment in a position to explain.
As for Lou, she was trying her best to appear her old self with him, but
dissimulation was an art in which she was as yet unversed, and her whole
nature rebelled against playing a part. Only her pride kept her from
betraying her disappointment in him and running away. She told herself
fiercely that he didn't care what she thought of him; they were only
partners met by chance on the road, and perhaps never to see each other
again after the city was reached.
If he had lied to her about his name that was his own business, and she
would not admit even to herself that this deception was not the only
reason for the strange, hurt feeling about her heart.
She rose at dawn, and, creeping down from the clean little room which
Mrs. Bemis had given her, she had the stove going and breakfast on the
table by the time the little family was awake, and Jim appeared from the
barn, where he had slept in the loft.
While he worked in the field during the early morning hours, she
finished the ironing, and by ten o'clock they were ready once more to
start upon their way.
Mrs. Bemis insisted upon paying them both for their work, but it was
only out of consideration for her pride that Jim would accept fifty
cents of the two dollars she offered him.
"I only work for a quarter a time," he told her gravely. "One for
yesterday and one for this morning; my sister can tell you that. I--I
would like to write to you if I may when we reach home, Mrs. Bemis. Will
you tell me what address will find you? You see, I want to thank you
properly for all your kindness to us, and I don't know whether this is
the township of Riverburgh or not."
"It's the Stilton post-office," the little woman stammered. "Of course,
I'd like to hear from both of you, but you mustn't thank me! I don't
know what I should have done without your help with the hay! And your
sister, too; I do hope you both find work where you're going."
To Lou's amazement Jim produced the little red note-book and wrote the
address carefully in it, adding what appeared to be some figures at one
side. Then he thanked their good Samaritan and they took their leave.
"That makes a dollar and ten cents!" he remarked confidentially as he
and Lou went down the hill road together toward the bustling little city
nestled at the river's edge. "Quite a fortune, isn't it?"
"She gave me a quarter for helping with the ironing, too, so that's
thirty-five that I've got." Lou exhibited a hard knot tied in the corner
of her handkerchief. "I couldn't get all of the egg out of my hat, but
it's good enough. Where do we go from Riverburgh?"
Jim gave a groan of mock despair.
"That's the dev--I mean, the deuce of it!" he exclaimed. "We've got to
cross the river there someway, and go on down on the other side. We
can't keep on this, or we will run into New Jersey and--and I mustn't
leave the State."
He blurted the last out in a dogged, uncomfortable way, but Lou did not
appear to notice his change of tone.
"Well, there look to be plenty of boats goin' back an' forth," she
observed placidly. "I guess we can get over."
"But you don't understand. I--I can't pay our way over; that's another
of the things I mustn't do." Jim flushed hotly.
"I wish I could tell you all about it."
"It don't make any difference." Lou kept her eyes fixed straight ahead
of her. "There ought to be some way for you to work your way across."
The road dipped sharply, and became all at once a pleasant, tree-lined
street with pretty suburban cottages on either hand. To the east and
north hung the smoke cloud of countless factories, but their way led
them through the modest residential quarter. The street presently turned
into a paved one, and trolley lines appeared; then brick buildings and
shops, and before they knew it they were in the busy, crowded business
thoroughfare.
Lou would have paused, gaping and wondering if New York could be
anything like this, but Jim hurried her down the steep, cobbled way
which led to the ferry. Once there, he took her to a seat in the
waiting-room.
"Sit here and wait for me," he directed. "I'm going to run back up to
the shops and get some provisions for us to carry along, and then I'll
arrange about getting across. I shan't be long."
When he came down the hill again some twenty minutes later laden with
packages, he found Lou waiting for him at the door of the ferry-house,
with a little exultant smile about her lips.
"Come on," she commanded shortly. "I've fixed it for us to get over, but
we gotta hurry. The boat's a'most ready to start."
"How in the world----" he began, but without deigning to explain she led
him to the gate. It was only after he had perforce preceded her that he
saw her hand two tickets to the officials at the turnstile.
"Lou!" he exclaimed reproachfully.
"Well, it's all right, isn't it?" she demanded. "You kin ride if anybody
asks you, can't you? I'm invitin' you to ride on this boat with me, Mr.
Botts!"
In spite of her assumed gaiety, however, the trip across the river was a
silent one, and when the landing was reached and they hurried out of the
settlement to the open country once more, both were acutely aware that
the intangible rift was widening. It was as though they walked on
opposite sides of the road, and neither could bridge the distance
between.
Both doggedly immersed in their own reflections, they walked on rapidly
in spite of the heat and with no thought of time or distance until Jim
realized that his companion was lagging, and glanced up to see that the
sun had started well upon the western trail.
"By Jove! You must be almost starved!" he cried. "I never thought--why
didn't you wake me out of this trance I seem to have been in, and tell
me it was long past time for chow? We must have walked miles!"
"I didn't think, either." Lou glanced about her wearily. "I don't see
any house, but I kinder think I hear a little brook somewhere, don't
you? Let's find it, an' then hurry on; if we've got to do sixty miles by
the day after to-morrow we got to be movin' right steady."
They found the little brook, and ate of their supplies and drank
heartily, for they were both famished by the long walk, but all the
carefree joyousness seemed to have gone out of the adventure, and when
Lou discovered that the knot in the corner of her handkerchief had
become untied and the remainder of her capital was gone, it appeared to
be the last cloud needed to immerse her in gloom.
Her feet were blistered and every muscle ached with fatigue, but she
shook her head when Jim asked if she were too tired to go on, and limped
determinedly out into the road after him. She had accepted his
companionship to New York, and she would drop in her tracks before she
would be a drag on him and prevent his reaching there in the time which
was so mysteriously important to him.
A mile farther on, however, an empty motor van picked them up, and
seated at the back with her feet hanging over, Lou promptly fell asleep,
her head sagging unconsciously against Jim's shoulder. He did not touch
her, but moved so that her head should fall into a more comfortable
position, and looked down with new tenderness at the tow-colored hair.
The ridiculous, outstanding braid was gone, and instead, a soft knot
appeared low on the slender, sun-burned neck, with tiny tendrils of
curls escaping from it.
What a game little sport she had proved herself to be! He wondered how
many girls of his own set would have had the courage and endurance for
such a test. Then to his own amazement he found himself thinking of them
with a certain sense of disparagement, almost contempt. They would not
have had the moral courage, let alone physical endurance.
Of course, this sort of vagabondage would be outrageous and utterly
impossible from a conventional standpoint, but with Lou it had been a
mere venture into Arcady, as innocent as the wanderings of two children.
And Saturday it must end!
At the outskirts of Parksville he called to the good-natured truckman
who sat behind the wheel, and the latter obligingly put on the brakes.
"My sister and I don't want to go right into the town, so we'll get out
here if you don't mind," Jim said. "This lift has been a godsend, and I
can't thank you, but I've got the name of the company you're working for
in New York and I'll drop around some night when I'm flush and you're
knocking off, and we'll see if the old burg is as dry as it's supposed
to be."
"You're on!" The driver grinned. "Got a job waitin' for yer? We need
some helpers."
"I've got a job." Jim thought of that "job" in the mahogany-lined suite
of offices which bore his name on the door, but he did not smile. "I'll
look you up soon. Come on, Lou; here's where we change cars."
She rubbed her eyes and gazed about her bewilderedly in the gathering
darkness as he lifted her to the ground and the truck rumbled off.
"Where--where are we now?" she asked sleepily.
"Just outside Parksville; see those lights over there?" he replied. "We
must have walked more than ten miles before that motor van came along,
so it isn't any wonder that you were tired, even if you wouldn't admit
it. Just think, nineteen miles to-day!"
He was wondering, even as he spoke, what they were to do for the night.
He had not enough money to secure even the humblest of lodgings for her,
and he knew that if they ventured as vagrants into the town they would
be in danger of apprehension by the authorities. But Lou solved the
question quite simply.
"Isn't that big thing stickin' up in that field a haystack? I--I'd like
a piece of that sponge cake that's left from what we ate at noon, and
then crawl in there an' sleep straight through till to-morrow," she
declared. "Did you want to go on any further to-night?"
"Heavens, no. I was just wondering--I don't see why it couldn't be
done," he replied somewhat haltingly. "There isn't any house near, and I
don't think anything will hurt you."
The latter probability seemed of no moment to Lou. She fell asleep again
with her sponge cake half eaten, and he picked her up and nestled her in
the hay as though she were in very truth a child. Then, as on the first
night at the deserted mill near Hudsondale, he sat down at the foot of
the haystack, on guard.
It was well for them, however, that the haying was done in that
particular field, and no farmer appeared from the big white house just
over the hill, for in spite of his most valiant efforts Jim, too,
slumbered, and it was broad day when he awoke.
Lou had vanished from the haystack, but he found her at a little spring
in a strip of woodland on the other side of the road, and they
breakfasted hastily, conserving the last fragments of food for their
midday meal, and started off.
They had left the last chimney of Parksville well behind them when Jim
suddenly observed:
"You're limping, Lou. Let me see your shoes."
She drew away from him.
"It's nothin'," she denied. "My shoes are all right. I--I must've slept
too long last night an' got sort of stiffened up."
The freckles were swamped in a deep flood of color, but Jim repeated
insistently: "Hold up your foot, Lou."
Reluctantly she obeyed, disclosing a battered sole through the worn
places of which something green showed.
"I--I stuffed it with leaves," she confessed, defensively. "They're real
comfortable, honestly. I'm just stiff----"
Jim groaned.
"I suppose they will have to do until we reach the next town, but you
should have told me."
"I kin take care of myself," Lou asserted. "I've walked in pretty near
as bad as these in the institootion. We'd better get along to where
there's some houses 'cause it looks to me like a storm was comin' up."
The sun was still blazing down upon them, but it was through a murky
haze, and the air seemed lifeless and heavy. Great, white-crested
thunder heads were mounting in the sky, and behind them a dense
blackness spread.
"You're right; I never noticed----" Jim paused guiltily. After leaving
the vicinity of Parksville he had purposely led her on a detour back
into the farming country to avoid the main highway, for along the river
front were the estates of some people he knew and he shrank from meeting
them in his tramplike condition if they should motor past. There was
Lou, too, to be considered. He might have offered some possible
explanation for his own appearance, but no interpretation could be
placed upon her presence at his side save that which he must prevent at
all costs.
Rolling fields and woodland stretched away illimitably on both sides of
the road, and not even a cow shed appeared as they hurried onward, while
the clouds mounted higher, and the rumble of thunder grew upon the air.
The sun had vanished, and a strange, anticipatory stillness enveloped
them, broken only by that hollow muttering.
"It's comin' up fast." Lou broke the silence with one of her seldomly
volunteered remarks. "Shall we git into the woods? I'd as lief dodge
trees as be drowned in the road."
"No!" Jim shook his head. "There is some kind of a shack just ahead
there; I think we can make it before the storm comes."
They were fairly running now, but the darkness was settling fast and a
fork of lightning darted blindingly across their path. The object which
Jim had taken for a shack proved to be merely a pile of rotting
telegraph poles, but no other shelter offered, and they crouched in the
lee of it, awaiting the onslaught of rain.
"Take this, Lou." Jim wrapped his coat about her in spite of her
protestations. "You're not afraid, are you?"
"No, I ain't--I'm not--but you're goin' to get soaked through! I heard
you coughin' once or twice at the bottom of that haystack last night."
He thrilled unconsciously to the motherliness in her tone. Then she
added reflectively: "I don't guess I'm afraid of anythin' I've seen yet,
but I ain't--I haven't seen much."
She ended with a sharp intake of her breath as a sudden gust of wind
whirled the dust up into their faces and another streak of white light
flashed before their eyes. Then with a rush and roar the storm burst.
The woods marched straight down to the roadside at this point, and the
trees back of the heap of poles moaned and writhed like tortured
creatures while great branches lashed over their heads with now and then
an ominous crackle, but it was lost in the surge of the winds and the
ceaseless crash and roar of the thunder. Jagged forks of lightning
played all about them like rapiers of steel, and at last the rain came.
The brim of Lou's hat, hopelessly limp since its cleansing of the
previous day, now flopped stringily against her face until she tore it
off and gasping, buried her head in her arms as the sheets of rain
pelted down. Jim's coat was sodden, and the thin cotton gown beneath
clung to her drenched body, but she crouched closer to the poles while
each volley of thunder shook her as with invisible hands.
Her lashes were glued to her cheeks, but she forced them open and turned
to see how Jim was faring. He had flattened himself against the poles at
their farther end, and just as she looked his way a flash of lightning
seemed to split the air between them and the huge old tree which reared
its branches just above his head, snapped like a dry twig beneath some
giant heel.
Lou saw the great oak totter and then sway, while a sickening swirl of
branches filled the air, and scarcely conscious of her own act she
hurled herself upon Jim. With all the strength borne of her terror she
pushed him from the heap of poles, sending him rolling out into the
middle of the road, to safety. Then she tried to spring after him, but a
hideous, waiting lethargy seemed to encompass her, and then with a
mighty crash the tree fell athwart the poles.
Half stunned by the unexpected onslaught upon him and the rending blast
of the falling tree, Jim lay motionless for an instant, then with a
sharp cry sprang to his feet and turned to look for Lou, but the pile of
telegraph poles was hidden beneath a broad sweep of branches and across
the place where she had crouched the great trunk of the tree lay prone.
"Lou!" The cry burst from his very heart as he sprang forward and began
to tear frantically at the stout limbs which barred his way. "Oh, God,
she isn't crushed! Don't take her now, she's so little and young, and I
want her, I need her so! God!"
He was unconscious that he was praying aloud, unconscious of the words
which issued sobbingly from his lips. He tugged and tore at the branches
while the skin ripped like ribbons from his hands and the boughs whipped
back to raise great welts upon his face.
He was unconscious, too, of a stir at the other side of the fallen tree
and a rustle of sodden leaves, as, very much after the manner of a
prairie dog emerging from his hole, Lou crawled out into the rain, and
sitting up, sneezed.
At the sound of that meek sternutation Jim whirled about.
"Lou!"
"Jim! Oh, Jim! You're not killed!" A muddy, bedraggled little figure
that once had been pink and white flew straight to him, and two soft
arms swept about him and clung convulsively. "I seen it comin', an'--an'
I tried to shove you out of the way----"
"Thank God, little girl! Thank God you aren't hurt!" he murmured
brokenly. "I thought the tree had fallen on you!"
"Only the boughs of it, but they held me down. Oh, Jim, if you'd been
killed I wouldn't 'a' cared what happened to me!"
His heart leaped, and his own arms tightened about her at the naive,
unconscious revelation which had issued from her lips. Then all at once
he realized what it had meant, that hideous feeling of loss when he
thought that she lay buried beneath the tree. It had come to them both,
revealed as by a flash of the lightning which was now traveling toward
the east, and in the wonder and joy of it he held her close for a moment
and then put her gently from him.
Sternly repressing the words which would have rushed from his heart, he
said quietly:
"Thank God we were both spared. Come, little Lou, we must find shelter."