The next morning when Powell entered the living room before breakfast,
he found Katherine and Donnie already there. The child, though pale,
smiled shyly at the Doctor.
"Hello! How's the arm this morning, Donnie?"
"It doesn't hurt at all," replied the child, while his mother held out
her hand to her host and spoke, "He slept splendidly all night, so I
know he did not suffer."
The doctor's answer was interrupted by Chappo at the door leading into
the dining-room. The Mexican smiled mysteriously and beckoned Donnie,
who glanced at his mother, then at her nod of acquiescence, the boy
followed in Chappo's wake. The noise of sharp barks and childish
ejaculation mingled with a stream of chatter in Spanish between the
child and Mexican in the kitchen. The door closed, and Katherine and
Powell were left alone.
Her eyes wandered to the sketches on the walls, and the doctor rose,
saying, "My pictures and books have travelled with me to many strange
lands, but this is the first time they have really seemed to be at
home."
She followed him as he pointed out special pictures, and told some
intimate detail of the artist's life, for the pictures had been gifts
from their creators, his personal friends. Most of the signatures were
world-known. Katherine turned to the rows of books, and recognizing many
old friends whom she had not seen for years, she dropped impulsively on
the floor and touched them with caressing fingers, her face alight with
a radiant smile. Powell read the book-hunger, and begged her to select
as many as she pleased.
"I love my books as few men love their friends," he said earnestly,
standing above her and taking a rare first edition from its place. "They
will be enhanced in value if you will only share them with me, so I can
talk about them with you sometime."
Together they selected, while Katherine crouched on the floor read the
titles, commenting and questioning, as they agreed or disagreed.
"It's like a child with a big box of candy," she laughed as she rose,
assisted by Powell, who carried a number of chosen books and placed them
upon the table. "I don't know what to start with."
She settled again in the chair before the fireplace, and the
conversation slipped by degrees into the doctor's work in the east, and
his plan to transform the Hot Springs ranch into a sanitarium for poor,
tubercular children.
"My work in hospitals taught me the need of such a place. There are
thousands of children who die each year because they lack the things
Nature provides, pure air, nourishing food and an outdoor playground in
this wonderful climate with its magical healing powers. I believe that
environment can conquer heredity, in physical as well as moral
conditions. You cannot realize what child-life means in the slums of our
crowded cities of the east, Mrs. Glendon," he turned a face full of
enthusiasm and her own glowed in response. "The first step was my good
fortune in getting this place. It will take time, money and labour, but
I know it is worth the effort."
"It will be wonderful to watch you develope your plans! Thank you for
telling me about it all!"
Chappo appeared and announced breakfast, and Powell with Mrs. Glendon
found Donnie already waiting them. The collie, Tatters, was beside the
child, and it was evident a friendship had been cemented between the
two.
The little Mexican cook beamed with pleasure as he installed Mrs.
Glendon at the end of the table and placed the coffee-pot before her.
Chappo and Juan were old friends, so Katherine and Donnie knew him
well. His reputation as a cook was demonstrated in the meal he served,
and he watched jealously that nothing was neglected. Donnie's attention
was divided between his mother, the doctor and Tatters. The dog sat
beside the boy's chair, occasionally poking his nose against Donnie's
knee to remind him that he, too, liked butter muffins and tidbits of
bacon.
Donnie patted him, but hesitated to respond to the dog's appeals, then
as the child looked down and broke into a sudden burst of hearty
laughter, Katherine was startled into the realization that it was the
first time she had ever heard her boy laugh like other children.
"Look, Marmee!"
The dog, believing his wheedling ineffectual, was sitting on his
haunches uncertainly, waving his paws frantically in efforts to keep
balanced. It was hard work for a puppy, and his wildly rolling eyes made
him more ridiculous. Even Chappo joined in the laughter with the doctor
and Katherine. Tatters, understanding approval, barked and danced about
them, until Powell tossed a piece of muffin which the dog caught and
gulped down.
"I'm afraid I am not bringing him up properly," apologized the doctor,
"but we are alone so much and he is such an intelligent, affectionate
dog, that I spoil him. He thinks your breakfast must be better than
mine, Donnie," he ended as the dog rejected a bit of muffin proffered by
Powell and swallowed what Donnie held out.
At last breakfast was over, and the little party stood on the porch,
prepared to start for the Circle Cross. Tatters yelped and begged to be
included, but his special efforts were directed at Donnie.
"He seems to have adopted you, Donnie," the doctor laughed. "If your
mother does not object, I think Tatters would be a fine friend for you."
"If he were a less valuable dog--" began Katherine, but Powell cut short
her protests by his answer.
"It is natural for a boy to have a dog. A pup will desert a man anytime
to respond to a boy's smile. If the dog will not cause you any
annoyance, I'd be happy to know he was with Donnie. Tatters is unusually
intelligent and affectionate, almost uncannily so at times. He would be
a loyal friend."
Donnie watched with appealing eyes, and when his mother accepted the dog
for him, the child's right arm went around Tatters' shaggy neck, and the
dog, as though understanding, pledged his fealty with a quick touch of
his pink tongue against the lad's cheek. Then Chappo drove the buggy
from the stable and stood at the head of the team until Powell, Donnie
and Katherine were seated and the reins in the doctor's hands.
The Mexican mounted a pony and loped ahead of the handsome span of fast
trotters, while Tatters yelped before them, dashing away from the road
into the brush to chase imaginary foes. They reached the Circle Cross
and after an inspection of the broken wall, Chappo asserted he could fix
it unassisted in a couple of days, since the adobe bricks were in good
condition in the shed where Juan had stored them the previous summer. No
damage had been done to the room inside, or the furniture.
"I think you and Donnie had better remain at the Springs until the place
is fixed," suggested Powell. "The wall will be damp for a week, you
know."
"If my bed is moved into the corner of the dining-room, Donnie and I can
sleep there and get along splendidly;" was Katherine's answer. "The rest
of the house is in good condition. The bedroom was the only room when we
came here, and we built on the other three rooms. The old wall at the
side of the house cracked last spring, and the rains weakened it, as the
roof leaked badly. I noticed the crack widening several weeks ago, but
you know, an adobe wall holds together when any other material would
break away. We did not dream there was any immediate danger of its
falling."
"I'll help Chappo," asserted Powell, despite her protest that the
repairs could wait until Juan and her husband returned, and Powell and
Chappo began their task.
Donnie and Tatters trotted to and fro, as Chappo wheeled the adobe
bricks to Powell, who whistled cheerfully as he laid them accurately on
top of each other between the soft layers of mud which he skillfully
applied with a large trowel. The whistle was interrupted by snatches of
conversation between Chappo the doctor and Donnie, partly in English and
partly Spanish.
"Lunch is ready," called Katherine through the kitchen window.
"Fine!" answered Powell, "we're all good and hungry," then followed the
sounds of splashing water, and in a few minutes Powell, with Donnie at
his side, bustled into the dining room announcing they were ready to eat
the dishes.
It was a merry meal, and afterwards while Chappo was eating his lunch,
the doctor and Katherine sat on the porch talking. Donnie perched on the
lower step, his eyes betraying his admiration for the man who was unlike
any other man the child had ever known in his short life.
Work was resumed, and as it neared sunset, Powell said that he must
tighten the bandages on Donnie's arm and the adjustment was completed
with Katherine's aid. The splints had held in place, and the doctor
announced everything satisfactory.
"I will be back early in the morning," said the man, clasping
Katherine's extended hand. "Oh, by the way, we killed a calf a few days
ago, so I will bring down a loin. Chappo and I are cultivating hearty
appetites, you see!"
He was in the buggy before she could thank him, and the team whirled
away in a cloud of dust.
Katherine watched the buggy until it disappeared, then Chappo and Donnie
emerged from the stable and came toward her, talking volubly in
Mexican-Spanish--which the boy had acquired from old Juan. Katherine had
also fallen into the habit of using the same tongue when she and Donnie
were alone with Juan, whose one symptom of allegiance to Mexico was his
persistence in his native tongue, though he spoke English fluently.
"I will feed the chickens and bring wood and water, Senora," said
Chappo; "then you can tell me what you want me to do. The cow is
milked."
"There is nothing more, thank you, Chappo;" she replied. "You can go
home now, for Donnie and I will manage nicely."
"I stay here teel Senor Glendon and Juan come home. El Doctor say
'stay.'"
"But, Chappo," she protested, "they may be away a week or more. You must
go home and look out for the doctor."
"El Padrone say 'stay.' I must stay. He say, 'you come home too queek, I
fire you;'" the Mexican smiled expansively, "Eet is all right, Senora. I
stay!"
She realized that her objections were of no consequence to either the
Mexican or the doctor, and a sudden wave of gratitude overwhelmed her.
It was so new to have others think of her comfort or safety, to have the
heavy burden lifted even for a few hours. What a difference it would
have made in her life and Donnie's if Glendon were only a man like the
doctor. Then there would have been no loneliness in the canyon, for the
high walls could not have held her happiness. Her heart would have sent
its message to every tree, bush, rock, bird and cloud, so that the very
universe might share her joy.
Early the next morning Donnie was on the watch for his new friend, and
his delight made him speechless when Powell told the boy that the pony
tied to the back of the buggy was for him.
"He is too small to carry a man's weight," explained Powell, "but he is
perfectly gentle, so you need have no fear."
"I can't let you do so much," faltered Katherine, "the dog was more than
enough. You are heaping a debt of obligations that I cannot pay. Last
night I tried to make Chappo go home, but he refused. He said you had
ordered him to remain, and that you would discharge him if he disobeyed
you. I know how many things need attention on a ranch and it worries me
to cause you any further inconvenience. Donnie and I are used to being
alone, you see, so there was no need of Chappo staying here all night."
"You must think I am a regular tenderfoot," retorted Powell, smiling. "I
have roughed it under the most primitive conditions in South America,
and am glad to do a bit of hustling to wear off the rust. Civilization
makes many men helpless, you know."
"Then, let us compromise," she persisted. "Suppose you come down for
your dinner each night while Chappo is here? I cannot consent to his
remaining otherwise."
"Do you know," confessed Powell gaily, "that was what I was hoping you
would say!"
So, each afternoon following, when the shadows lengthened in the canyon,
Donnie, watching down the road would shout welcome, and Katherine coming
on the porch, watched Doctor Powell pause at the bend of the road,
waiting for the child, just as old Doctor King had formerly done, then
Donnie, perched on the saddle before the doctor, rode in state to the
front porch and his smiling mother.
On one of these rides, Donnie looked with serious eyes at the man, and
said, "When I grow up, I'm going to be a doctor like you, and then,
maybe, you'll let me come and help you. Marmee says that helping others
is just the same as fighting in tour'ments or hunting the Sangreal!"
"Your mother is right, Donnie," was the grave reply. "Someday I want you
to be my partner, and we'll work together. Now, remember, this is a
contract between us, and I won't forget my promise."
After dinner had been eaten each evening, a romp with Donnie and
Tatters, or teaching the dog a new trick, occupied Powell and the child,
and later, Katherine and the doctor sat on the little porch and talked
of the doctor's plans, while Donnie leaned against his mother's knees
listening intently, for someday, he, too, would help in the doctor's
work. The shadows in Katherine's eyes turned to laughter, her face
became girlish in relief from constant worry, and Donnie watched her
with adoring, wondering eyes.
"Marmee's lots prettier when she laughs, isn't she, Doctor?" asked the
child suddenly one evening.
Katherine's eyes and Powell's met, and for the first time a feeling of
awkwardness tinged their comradeship, but Powell relieved the situation
with a laugh, as he said, "Little boys are lucky, because they can say
just what they think, but grown-up people are not allowed to do it. How
is Pet today?"
Donnie launched upon a report of the most wonderful pony in Arizona and
the man kept plying him with questions until the strain of the situation
had passed. But, Katherine was unusually silent for the rest of the
evening, and the doctor rose early to say "Good night." He drove home
slowly, thoughtful, troubled and yet glad. No matter what Fate might
deny him in life, these wonderful days could never be filched from the
treasure-house of Memory.
After Donnie had been tucked in bed, Katherine Glendon sat in silent
self-examination. She realized the happiness of the last five days could
not continue, but even though she could not have the kindly friendship
of the doctor, it warmed her heart to know that for these few days they
had walked side by side as comrades. It had imbued her with new hopes.
Yet, she knew there was not the least tinge of disloyalty to her husband
in any word, deed or thought. The pleasure she had experienced was as
innocent as that which she felt when she and Donnie, walking in the
canyon, found a new flower.
So, with untroubled eyes she knelt beside the bed where her boy lay
sleeping, and prayed for the child, then her lips moved in a plea for
the father of that child.
The following day Glendon returned home in a repentant mood, as was
usual after a protracted carousal. He thanked Chappo effusively, and to
show his gratitude, held out a whiskey bottle. But the little Mexican
declined, "I promise El Doctor I would not drink again. Eef I do, maybe
I die pretty queek, he say."
"Oh, a little whiskey once in a while won't hurt you," urged Glendon,
who always liked company when he was drinking.
But Chappo was firm, though the battle was not won without a hard
struggle when the pungent odour from the glass in Glendon's extended
hand reached the dwarf's nostrils. Appreciating his own weakness, Chappo
hastened to the barn and saddled his pony without loss of time.
Then he rode to the door where Katherine stood. "Adios, Senora. Yo me
voy," (Good bye, Senora. I am going,) and he galloped away from
temptation as fast as his pony could carry him.
Katherine told her husband of the kindness shown her and Donnie, and in
response to her entreaties, he rode up to the Springs the following day.
Powell received him courteously and tried to evade the effusive thanks,
but Glendon had reached a point of intoxication where he was garrulous.
"I want you to come down any time and make yourself entirely at home,"
he urged. "A man gets tired having no one but a woman to talk to, and
Katherine's head is always in the clouds. The boy is getting just like
her. When he's a little older though, I'm going to take him in hand
myself. If Katherine hadn't been so high-headed with my folks things
would be mighty different with me today. But here I am, stuck down in a
God-forsaken canyon in Arizona and no prospects of ever getting out. If
she had catered to my family we wouldn't be here, you bet. So, it's
nothing more than she brought on herself, and I've got to take the
medicine with her. The old man has plenty money, but it's doubtful if I
smell a penny of it when he dies. If she'd come off her high-horse the
old man might leave a wad to Donnie. Of course, I take a few drinks when
I feel like it. Any man does. Once in a while it gets the upper hand of
me, but I can stop when I want to, and I won't make any promises to any
one to quit till I get good and ready."
Once started he rambled on. Powell gave up any attempt to check the
half-drunken confidences, and sat silently smoking, trying to conceal
his aversion. It was with a feeling of keen relief he saw Glendon rise
and take leave. The heavy-set figure swayed uncertainly in the saddle.
Then the memory of that man's wife, of the days they two had shared,
swept over the doctor. The knowledge that Katherine was subject to
contact of such a man as Glendon made his own loss more poignant. If he
had found the woman of his dreams married to a man worthy of her, he
knew he would have rejoiced at her happiness, though he went his own way
alone through life.
"Poor little Lady of the Pool," he whispered, "I have found you only to
lose you!"
He recalled a beautiful rose, frozen in a block of ice, which had been
sent him by a grateful patient. He had longed to warm the cold petals
and inhale their fragrance, but he knew that removing the icy barrier
would mean destroying the flower. He left it undisturbed.
And the rose, in its loveliness passed its life; shut away from the
caress of the summer breeze, from the kiss of the butterfly, from the
quivering touch of the humming-bird's wings, and all the wonderful
mysteries of life that throbbed around it.