ASTRAY ON THE HILLS
Leaving the hall, Douglas walked slowly up the road. He had partly
expected to find Ben waiting outside, but he was nowhere to be seen.
Douglas had not gone far, however, ere an auto overtook him and went by
at great speed. He knew very well who was the driver, though he could
not tell how many were in the car. He smiled grimly to himself as he
thought of Ben's anger, and he wondered in what way he would try to
wreak a suitable revenge. He realised now that the Stubbles were his
principal opponents in the place, and he felt quite sure that they had
been the chief cause of the trouble in church affairs in the past. Why
did the people allow them to rule in such an autocratic way? he asked
himself. Surely there was some one strong enough to oppose their pride
and impudence.
It was a beautiful evening, and Douglas was in no hurry to reach home.
Several teams overtook him, and as they approached, the animated voices
became stilled. All knew the silent man walking alone in the night,
and they waited until they were well past before resuming their
conversation.
At length he came to the brow of the hill where it dipped into the
valley, and here a most glorious scene was presented to his view.
Beyond, lay the river, without a ripple disturbing its surface. Above,
shone the moon, and across the water a stream of light lay like a path
of burnished silver, leading to a world of enchantment beyond.
Douglas' heart was deeply stirred at the sight, and he sat down under a
fir which stood on the edge of a clump of trees, and leaned back
against the trunk. He feasted his soul upon the magnificent panorama
before him. It was just what he needed to dispel the miasma which had
been gathering around him owing to his recent contact with the
Stubbles. The air, rich and fragrant with the scent of new-mown hay,
stimulated him like a magic elixir. Mother Nature was in one of her
most gentle moods, and with unseen fingers soothed both heart and brain
of her ardent worshipper.
Ere long, the sound of voices fell upon his ears, causing him to listen
attentively. Several people were walking slowly along the road
discussing the incident at the hall.
"He's in for it now, all right." It was a man who spoke.
"What can Ben do?" It was a woman who asked the question. "He was
given the chance to fight it out there and then, but he acted like a
fool."
"Ha, ha, Ben was cornered for once to-night. It needed a stranger to
bring him to his senses."
"Who is that man, anyway? I liked the way he behaved, and his playing
was so nice."
Douglas could not hear what the man said in reply, though he longed to
know. It gave him a degree of comfort, however, to feel that all did
not blame him for the disturbance at the hall. He knew how necessary
it was to win the good will of the people in general if he expected to
work among them in the future.
For some time he sat there, and then continued on his way. He had just
reached the foot of the hill when he saw some one coming toward him.
Soon he was able to recognise the form of Joe Benton, the shoemaker.
"You are out late to-night," Douglas accosted. "You seem to be in a
great hurry. Is anything wrong?"
Joe came up close and looked keenly into the young man's face.
"Oh, it's you, is it?" he panted. "Have you seen anything of my lass?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"No?" There was something so pathetic about the way that single word
was uttered, that Douglas' heart ached for the old man.
"When did she leave home?" he asked.
"Just after supper."
"Oh, she'll come back all right, never fear."
"Ah, but Jean's so changed," and Joe clutched Douglas by the arm.
"She's not what she used to be. Before she went to the city I had no
fear about her not coming home in proper time. But now it is
different. There's something troubling the lass, and I believe her
mind is affected. Oh, it is terrible!"
"Has she told you anything?"
"No, not a word. It's not like Jean. She used to tell us everything.
She was a child then; but now--Lord have mercy upon her!"
As Douglas stood there watching the heart-broken old man, a sudden idea
flashed into his mind. Had he really seen Jean? Was it her face he
had beheld at the hall door? Yes, he felt almost certain that it was
she, the same woman he had rescued from the water of the harbour. But
what should he do? Dare he tell Joe all about it, and how Ben Stubbles
had tried to destroy her?
As he thought over these things, the shoemaker was standing looking out
over the fields. Only by the light of the moon could Douglas see his
face, and he noticed that it was very haggard. But he could not see
the fire of anger which was kindling in his eyes. Only when the bent
form straightened itself with a jerk, and a tense arm was thrust out,
did he fully realise the greatness of his emotion.
"My Jean is not to blame," he cried. "She is as innocent as a child.
Some villain has injured her, and I must find him. And when I do----"
"You will forgive him," Douglas added, as Joe paused for lack of
suitable words to express his wrath.
"Forgive him! Why should I forgive a man who has ruined my lass?"
"Because you are so bidden by the Great Master."
Joe looked quickly up into his companion's face, and his body somewhat
relaxed.
"But did he ever suffer like this?" he questioned.
"Surely you know what he endured."
"Ay, ay, I have read it all. But look, I could bear all that easier
than this. I could stand to have my body torn to pieces bit by bit
rather than see my darling child, my baby, injured. Was His suffering
anything like mine?"
"'God so loved the world that he gave his only Begotten Son,'" Douglas
quoted. "Have you forgotten what He said?"
Joe made no reply. A great struggle was going on in his heart between
right and wrong, and Douglas pitied him. Just then the sound of some
one hurrying across the field diverted their attention. In a moment
Empty had leaped the fence and stopped suddenly before them. He was
startled to see the two men standing there, and peered intently into
their faces.
"Gee!" he exclaimed. "Ye nearly jolted me to slivers."
"Empty, have you seen my Jean?" Joe eagerly enquired.
"Sure. She's out on the hills. I was jist hustlin' to tell ye."
"On the hills!" Joe repeated. "What is she doing but there?"
"Search me! I don't know what she's doin' there, an' I guess she
doesn't."
"W-what do you mean?" There was an anxious note in the old man's voice.
"Well, she's been wanderin' round there fer some time now, talkin' to
herself strange like, an' singin'. She gives me the shivers, that's
what she does. It ain't nat'ral fer Jean to be actin' that way. Ye'd
better come an' see fer yerself."
Silently the two men followed Empty across the field, and up the side
of a hill. At the top was a fence, and as they came to this, Empty
paused and peered cautiously through the rails, and held up a warning
finger.
"S-s-h," he whispered. "There she is now. Ye kin jist see her. She's
comin' this way. Listen; she's singin'!"
This hill had been used as a sheep pasture for many years. It was a
desolate place, devoid of trees, and full of stones. Looking across
this barren waste, Douglas was soon able to detect the form of a woman
silhouetted against the sky. Yes, she was singing, and he was able to
recognise the words:
"Truer love can never be;
Will ye no come back to me?"
Joe could now restrain himself no longer. With the cry of "Jean!
Jean!" he scrambled over the fence, and made straight for the advancing
woman. Empty was about to follow, when Douglas laid a firm hand upon
his arm and drew him back.
"Don't go yet," he ordered. "It's better for us to keep out of sight
for a while. Her father can do more than we can, and our presence
might frighten her."
Joe's cry had startled Jean and she stopped singing. Seeing him coming
toward her, she stood for a few seconds watching him. Then she turned
and fled along the path she had recently travelled, and disappeared
among the rocks.
Then it was that Douglas leaped over the fence and hastened forward,
with Empty close at his heels. For a few minutes he was guided by
Joe's voice as he called to his daughter. Then all was silent, and
though he and Empty searched long and patiently, they could not find
the missing ones.
"Well, I'll be jiggered!" Empty ejaculated, as he sat down upon a rock
to rest. "I can't make out what has happened to 'em. Guess it's not
much use huntin' any more. We'd better go home now an' git somethin'
to eat. I'm most starved."
Douglas realised that it would be useless to search any longer just
then. He would go with Empty, wait at his place until daybreak, and
then return if Joe did not reappear.
The house to which Empty led him was a humble one. A woman was
standing at the door as they approached.
"Where's Jean?" she enquired.
"Don't know," Empty replied. "She's out on the hills somewheres."
"What, ye didn't leave the poor girl there all alone, did ye?"
"Oh, her dad's with her, an' I guess he'll round her up all right. I'm
most starved, ma. Got anything good?"
Mrs. Dempster was a bright, active, talkative little body, and she bade
Douglas a hearty welcome.
"So ye'r the great wrestler, are ye?" she asked, as she offered her
visitor a chair, and then hustled about to get some food. "Empty has
told me all about ye, an' how ye defended him aginst Jake. It was
mighty good of ye, an' sez I to Empty, sez I, 'bring that man home with
ye some time, so I kin thank him fer his kindness to a poor fatherless
boy.'"
"I didn't do much, I assure you," Douglas replied. "I don't believe
Jake would have hurt him."
"No, Jake wouldn't really mean to hurt him, that's true. But ye see,
he's so big an' strong that what he might think was a little love tap
alongside of the head would knock an ox down. He doesn't intend to
hurt. But when Si Stubbles hits, he means it, an' so does Ben. My,
I'm mighty glad ye did up that skunk to-night. He deserved it all
right."
"So you've heard about that already?" Douglas asked in surprise.
Mrs. Dempster poured a cup of hot tea, brought forth a plate of frosted
doughnuts, and bade Douglas "draw up an' have a bite." When her
visitor had been served, she sat down on a chair by the side of the
table.
"Ye seem surprised that I know about that racket at the hall," she
began. "Empty was watchin' at the door, an' saw it all. He was
hustlin' home by the short-cut across the hills to tell me the news
when he heard Jean singin'. Say, I admire ye'r pluck. But ye must be
keerful, sir."
"Why?"
"It's always necessary to be keerful when ye'r dealin' with skunks. Ye
jist never know what they're goin' to do next."
"But why do the people put up with such creatures?" Douglas laughingly
enquired.
"Because they can't get rid of 'em, that's why. Me an' Empty have
always stood on our indignity, an' it's a mighty good stool to stand
on. We don't have to depend on the Stubbles fer a livin'. We have our
little farm, our cow, pig, an' hens. Empty ketches enough fish to do
us, an' he always gits a deer or two in the fall, an' that is all the
meat we want. We pick an' sell a good many berries, an' what eggs an'
butter we kin spare. Mark my words, there's somethin' wrong with a
place when all the people have to bow down to any one man, 'specially
when it's a critter like Si Stubbles. I git terribly irritated when I
think of the way that man is allowed to rule this parish."
"He rules in Church matters, too, I understand," Douglas remarked.
"Ye've hit the nail right on the head, sir. It was him that druv our
last two parsons out of the parish an' almost out of their minds, too."
"Did all side with Mr. Stubbles?"
"Oh, no, not all. There were a few who stood at his back, sich as the
Bentons, an' me an' Empty. Nellie Strong, God bless her, an' Nan, her
sister, didn't go agin 'em, but they were in a difficult persition with
that cranky father of theirs."
"Would Church matters have gone on smoothly but for the Stubbles?"
Douglas asked.
"They always did before Si an' his brood came to this place. Even
supposin' the parsons weren't up to the mark, we would have got along
all right. Country people, as a rule, are not hard to please, an' will
put up with most anythin'."
There were many questions Douglas wished to ask this entertaining
woman, but just then a noise was heard outside, and at once the door
was pushed open and the shoe-maker entered. His hat was gone, his
clothes were torn, and his hands and face were bleeding. He stood near
the door trembling in every limb, and looking appealingly into the
faces of those before him.
"Fer the love of heavens, Joe! what's the matter with ye?" Mrs.
Dempster exclaimed, as she rose to her feet and gave the old man her
chair. "Have ye been fightin'?"
Joe's lips moved, but a groan was the only sound he uttered, as he
crouched there, the picture of abject misery.
"Where's Jean?" Mrs. Dempster demanded, laying her right hand kindly
upon his shoulder.
"Gone! Gone!" was the low despairing reply.
"Couldn't ye find her?"
"See," and the old man pointed to his torn clothes and bleeding hands.
"I followed her over the rocks and through the bushes. I was too slow
and fell so often that she got away. Oh, my Jean, my little lass! She
doesn't know her father any more; she wouldn't listen to his voice
calling to her."
"You poor man," and Mrs. Dempster wiped her eyes with the corner of her
apron. "You are tired out, and must have a cup of tea an' somethin' to
eat. Then you must go right home an' git some rest. Me an' Empty will
find Jean as soon as it gits light. The dear child, she used to come
here so often, an' her an' Empty were great playmates."
The rest and the food strengthened the weary man, and Mrs. Dempster's
hearty manner cheered him. When he at length arose to go, Douglas
offered to accompany him, and together the two passed out into the
morning air.