BY THE OLD STONE BRIDGE
One came down into the long, main street of Marsden village from a hill
at either end, and through an avenue of trees whose branches met
overhead. There were a few side streets, with scattering houses, and the
"Crossroads" nearly midway of the chief thoroughfare, with its four
corners occupied by the church, the schoolhouse, the post-office, and
the tavern. On the north side the ground rose gently for a distance,
then climbed abruptly to the "mountain," in reality but a high, wooded
hill. On the south there were rich meadows, wide pastures, and the
winding noisy river, that darted here and there through the valley as if
having no mind of its own which way it should run. On this south side
was also the great forest called "Maitland's woods," that already
Katharine had learned to love almost as warmly as did Aunt Eunice. To
the latter the forest was as something sacred, a spot where nature
should have her will and not despoiling man. When firewood must be cut
from it, for coal was an unknown fuel in Marsden, she went herself to
select such trees as must be sacrificed--always the unsightly ones which
storms had broken, not trusting even Moses to cut one till she had
condemned it.
As that unfortunate man had observed:
"If Eunice she had let me trim out the under-bresh now an' then I
shouldn't ha' broke my leg a-stumblin' over old tree-roots. But, no!
Things must be kep' just as they was in the old Colonel's time, no
matter what! She 'pears to think that timber's got as much feelin' as
folks, an' I 'low there ain't no other oaks an' pines an' maples to
compare with 'em left this section of the State. It makes me plumb wild
to lie here helpless, an' think o' them villagers a-trompin' her brakes
an' scarin' them gray squir'ls that there's so few of, anyway, let alone
the birds an' chipmunks! Oh, hum!"
Surely, there was no lovelier spot in the world, so Katharine felt,
finding the basket rather heavy, and running across fields the sooner to
be rid of it. But this by-path led to the river and a quaint old-time
bridge which spanned it; and here the girl meant to rest and give
herself a lesson in angling. Setting her basket down in the shade of
some alder-bushes, she swung her feet over the stone ledge of the bridge
and prepared to arrange her tackle. To fit the jointed rod into a
desirable length was simple enough, and to attach the line with its
hook as easy; but there trouble began.
"I never thought a thing about bait, and where shall I get it? I suppose
the ground is just as full of worms here as it is in the garden where
the boys dig them. But--ugh! Shall I dare to touch one if I find it?"
she asked herself. Then as promptly exclaimed: "I must! I just must!
I'll catch the nicest fish out the water and take it home to Uncle Moses
for his supper. Susanna will cook it, I'm sure--or, maybe, let me do it
myself. Then I'll take it to that poor sick man on one Aunt Eunice's
prettiest dishes, and he'll forgive me for saying such impudent things
to him. It will make it easier to apologize if I have a gift in my
hand," said this wise little maid. Unfortunately, she said it aloud,
having the bad habit of talking to herself whenever there was nobody
else to talk to.
Then, picking up a sharp stick, she resolutely set to work to unearth an
angleworm. But this was difficult. The mold was hard and sunbaked, and
the stick of little use. Its point broke repeatedly; yet the longer she
labored the more determined she became, and finally she did succeed in
driving a red earthworm from its haunts. No sooner had it come to the
surface than she sprang away in disgust, exclaiming:
"Oh, you nasty, dirty, squirmy thing! I wouldn't touch you for anything!
Indeed, I'll never learn to fish if I have to handle such beasts as
you. Monty takes them in his fingers, and even cuts them in pieces if he
doesn't have enough without. The horrid boy! He says it doesn't hurt
them, that they're so used to it, an' till this minute I never thought
how little sense there was in that. I--I guess I'll put a leaf on the
hook and throw that in. I should think a fish would rather eat a nice
clean leaf than a worm."
Selecting a bit of the red sorrel growing near, she baited her hook and
cast her line. She had learned how to do that from seeing Uncle Moses
test his various rods at home, and set herself to wait and watch with
the "patience" he prescribed for any successful angler.
Waiting, she fell to day-dreaming, and, for her further ease in this
line, curled herself down in the shade of the alders and closed her
eyes. Beautiful pictures came to her behind those shut lids, none more
lovely than this very scene of which she fancied she was the only living
human feature.
"All alone in God's beautiful world! With the sky so blue and white; the
woods so--so every wonderful color; the river so dark and babble-y,
chattering over the stones that it had more to say than it had time to
say it in; the birds singing and flying; the air so soft and warm; and
nobody here but me! Well, I'm glad that even I am here, just a little
girl like me, to tell Him there is somebody who sees and thanks Him!"
Then away she drifted into thoughts she could not have framed in words,
but which kept all fear from her and filled her young soul with a
longing to be good and to do good.
But she was not alone as she believed. Among those same alders lining
the river bank lay another of God's creatures, whose dreams were unlike
the child's, indeed, but upon whose clouded mind the beauty of that hour
was not wholly lost. He had been asleep, as she afterward declared she
had not been, and her converse with herself aroused him. He had lain
down where the bushes screened him well--for hiding was a second nature
to this man--and he did not move when he awoke. He merely fixed his eyes
upon Katharine as he saw her through the branches and watched what she
would do. He saw her fix her tackle, her struggle with herself
concerning the earthworm, and smiled dully. Once he had fished from that
same bridge. From among many later and less pleasant memories that stood
out as clearly as anything in these later days was ever clear to this
unfortunate. Ah! the girl was going to sleep! and he would fish again!
Very slowly and cautiously, lest he should awaken her, he crept forward
through the bushes, out upon the bank where the smooth grass made
creeping easier, inch by inch forward till he had come face to face
with her. Then a sudden grasp at the rod in her hand and she awoke,
sprang to her feet, beheld him, and in her fear leaped backward,
unheeding where she set her foot. It had chanced to be upon a loose rock
which rolled downwards with her, and she felt herself falling into the
stream.
But she did not reach the water. Her skirts were clasped firmly and
herself dragged backward, to be dropped upon the ground with more force
than needful. It was all done in a second or two of time, but it
sufficed to show her that she had escaped one peril but to encounter
another. The man who had pulled her from the river, the man who sat now
close beside her, was Marsden's much discussed--tramp!
For a moment her heart almost stopped beating, and she turned her eyes
with a hopeless glance across the fields by which she had come. Oh, how
wide they were and how desolate! All their glorious beauty faded from
her vision till they seemed but an endless waste between her and safety.
Oh, if she had only gone by the straight and longer road, instead of
yielding to a whim she had not dared to speak of to Susanna! If she
hadn't stopped to fish she would already have been at the Mansion, which
now it seemed she would never see again. A tramp. It was the one thing
in the world of which she had the greatest fear, and the behavior of
Widow Sprigg, as well as the other villagers, had convinced her that
here was a tramp of the worst variety.
Then her sense of what was "fair" made her force her eyes toward her
unwished-for companion. To her surprise he was not paying the slightest
attention to her, and he didn't look so--well, not so fearfully wicked.
He certainly was clothed in the poorest and dirtiest of rags. His bare
feet showed through the holes in his shoes. His hat had a brim but
half-way around. His hair had not seen a comb for so long that he must
have forgotten what a comb was like. His face was roughly bearded, but
it was very pale and not so dirty as his hands. His eyebrows stood out
at an angle above his wild eyes, and were the bushiest she had ever
seen, except Squire Pettijohn's. He wasn't a bit like that sleek and
portly gentleman, yet, even as he had done in Alfaretta's case, he
brought the village potentate to mind. And--what was it he was doing?
With an old clasp-knife he had drawn from his rags he was digging bait!
Not as she had dug, with timid, tentative jabs from the point of a
stick, but systematically, thoroughly, just as Monty would have done. He
had found a spot where the earth was soft and rich, and was wholly
absorbed in his task. So absorbed that Katharine felt it safe to attempt
flight, and got upon her feet.
But he pulled her roughly down again. Yet he showed no enmity toward
her, and with the swift intuition of youth she comprehended that he
wished her to stay and see him fish. He, the tramp, was to give her her
first lesson in angling! What, what would Uncle Moses say?
Always quick to see the comic side of any incident, Katy laughed. She
couldn't have helped it even if he had struck her the next instant. He
didn't strike, he merely laughed in response--his first laughter of many
days. Then he looked into her face, stared, and stared again. Stared so
long that Katharine put her hand to it wondering what was amiss. When he
turned his gaze aside he fixed it on the chattering river and became
oblivious to everything else. Within his brain there was working another
memory, evoked by her brown eyes; eyes so like her father's that when
she sometimes looked at Susanna, that good woman begged her turn her
glance away, saying:
"You're so like Johnny you give me the creeps!"
Susanna was often getting the "creeps," and Katy wondered if she had
given them to this poor wretch also, since, though he had seemed so
anxious to fish a few moments ago, he had now apparently forgotten all
about it. She gathered all her courage and put out her hand to take the
rod.
"If you please, mister, I must be going now. Will you give me my
things?"
"Bime by. Wait. Don't talk. In a minute I'll have a whopper."
It was a relief to hear him speak in such an ordinary way. She had
supposed that the language of tramps was something wholly vile. His
voice was husky, but that might be from illness, for he certainly did
look ill. Well, if he wanted her to stay she would better please him. He
would tire of keeping her there after awhile, or so she hoped. Even a
tramp couldn't go on fishing forever, and somebody might come.
He was really very skilful. Almost as soon as Uncle Moses could have
done so he had landed his first catch and left it floundering on the
bank. Katharine had never thought about the cruel side of angling. It
was left for this forlorn creature to teach her that of this pretty
pastime there is something else than lounging beside charming waterways
and beneath green boughs. Angleworms might not suffer much, might even
get used to being tortured, as Montgomery averred; but how about that
beautiful shining thing done to slow death on the sward beside her? A
new pity for this humbler of God's creatures made her forget her
lingering fear of the man. With a cry she snatched the rod from his
hand, exclaiming:
"You sha'n't do that any more! It's wicked! Oh, the poor, pretty thing!
We have taken away its life and we can never give it back again. I feel
as if I had seen murder done. I understand Aunt Eunice now about the
poultry. Oh, it is dreadful!"
This was the girl's first knowledge of killing, and she was extreme in
her revulsion as she was in all things. But her emotion was a good thing
because it recalled her to the fact that she had something else to do.
She must be about it at once, and if the man followed or annoyed
her--why, she must trust she could escape him.
Rapidly unfolding the rod, she was conscious that the tramp was again
regarding her with that intent gaze which had nothing menacing in it,
but was rather wistful and sad. He did not resent her stopping his
sport, and, turning away from her, he picked up the fish and tossed it
back into the water. Then she went a few steps to where she had placed
the basket and drew it out from the alders.
Now his whole attitude changed. He had not suffered greatly from hunger
heretofore. The gardens and fields were too rich just then with fruits
and vegetables, and nobody missed a few potatoes from the heaps dug, nor
corn from the shocks. There were apples galore, and in some orchards
pears and even plums. The stone walls bordering the farms were hung with
wild frost-grapes, while the nut-trees offered their abundance to
whomsoever would accept. Beneath these same trees there was game to be
ensnared even by one who carried no gun, and as for poultry-yards,
nearly every householder had one. Nobody, not even a tramp, need go
hungry on that countryside, unless his scruples prevented him from
helping himself.
This particular tramp had no scruples of that sort whatever. As
Katharine picked up her heavy basket, he was upon his feet and relieved
her of the burden at once. She tried to retain her hold of the handle,
but was no match for him in strength, and had to watch him drop down
upon the bank, tear apart the two halves of the cover, and explore the
contents.
She made one effort to rescue Susanna's good things from this "thief,"
as she now knew him to be, but he flung her hands aside so rudely he
hurt them; and when she cried to him: "You mustn't! You must not touch
those things, they aren't mine!" he did not notice her.
Already one pumpkin pie was half-devoured. Uncooked food from the fields
may, indeed, prevent starvation, but here was luxury. If "the proof of
the pudding is in the eating," Susanna Sprigg should have been highly
flattered. Katharine had never seen anybody eat as this man did. Before
she could say, "Well, you sha'n't have the basket, even if you do steal
the things from it!" the first pie had wholly gone. He tried a little
variety: broke the brown loaf in two, and, unrolling the pat of butter,
generously smeared it, using his dirty hands for knife.
[Illustration: "ALREADY ONE PUMPKIN PIE WAS HALF-DEVOURED"]
This was wretchedly disgusting but--fascinating. It reminded the young
Baltimorean of feeding-time at the Zoo. She also dropped upon the sward
to watch, and to recover her basket when he should have done with its
contents.
He left none of them. The honey followed the bread and butter, and the
jell-roll followed the honey. Then he returned to his first delight and
finished the second pie. By this time satiety. Full fed and rested he
crawled back among the alders and lay down to sleep. Crawled so far and
so deep among them that even the watching girl could scarcely see him.
But she had no desire left for further observation. He had proved
himself a harmless bugaboo, and she would not be afraid of him, meet him
where she might--so she felt then.
Yet there remained some ugly facts to be dealt with. One, the empty
cupboard at the Mansion, always so faithfully replenished for the
Sabbath by the untiring care of Aunt Eunice. One, the cherished rod that
had snapped asunder as she forced it from the tramp's grasp. And
one--the well-deserved anger of the Widow Susanna Sprigg.
She gathered what comfort she could, hoping against hope that for once
Madam Sturtevant had made provision for her own Sabbath feasts; and
that, though the rod might be broken, and because of its association not
to be replaced, she could buy another even better. She had ten dollars
of her own, her very own. It was as yet unbroken even if in her
intention she had already expended it on many, many things. But there
remained that other formidable fact--the Widow Sprigg.
How meet her inquiring glances? How convince her that she was still
worthy of trust who had proved herself unworthy? How endure the torrent
of indignation, certain to be let loose upon her when she reappeared at
the kitchen door?
Well, she had the basket! That was yet another and comforting fact. She
hugged it close as she entered the back yard where the housekeeper was
washing the stone path with a vigor as great as if it were the beginning
and not the end of the day. As the gate-latch clicked Susanna looked up,
and Katharine saw that she was "just as cross as she always is on
Saturday afternoon."
"My suz! You back a'ready?"
"Yes, Susanna."
"Well, what you so mealy-mouthed about? You ain't nigh so peart and
hop-skippin' as you was when you started. Didn't you get a good welcome
to the Mansion? Wasn't Madam to home? Don't squeeze that basket so
tight. Eunice won't admire to have it smashed."
"I won't smash it, Susanna."
Katharine wondered why she should be so afraid of this sharp-tongued
woman when she hadn't been really afraid of the disreputable tramp. She
wondered why she couldn't burst forth with her story, which certainly
was a strange one, as sure of sympathy here as she would have been with
Aunt Eunice. Perhaps that dear, if dignified, old lady had returned, and
if so she would go straight to her.
"Has aunty come, Widow Sprigg?"
"No. She hain't. Nor likely to. Word's come, though, that we needn't
look for her till we see her. That sick woman is so glad to have her
she's goin' to keep her over Sabbath, an' I warn you, what with Moses on
my hands an' the hull house to look after, I want no monkey-shines from
you. Well, what did Madam say? Didn't she think my butter was as good as
hers? Hey? What?"
Hope died in Katharine's breast. At first she had loved Susanna best,
better than Miss Maitland. Now, for just one look into Eunice's face!
But she wouldn't be a coward. Feeling that she had done something very
wrong, yet not knowing how she could have helped it, she looked straight
into Susanna's eyes, and answered:
"I haven't seen Madam Sturtevant. I didn't go there."
Over the rest of that interview it is well to draw a veil.