The tramp was not working that afternoon. He was recovering from a three
days’ vacation he had taken in the city following the weekly pay day. He
sat in the door a long time looking down toward the village and hating
the world. He always took it out in hating the world when he was out of
condition. He had a settled conviction that the world owed him a living.
He looked as usual toward the Silver house with jealous eyes and began
to calculate as he had often done before, how many millions they must
have and what he could do if he had only a small portion of their
wealth. And as before he began to work at a plan that had for a long
time been maturing in his brain. He had worked it out link by link till
he had all the details perfect up to a certain point. There he always
had to stop. He never could quite get beyond that missing link. He
always thought if he could just think a little harder it would come to
him, that missing link, but as yet it had not come.
And now he felt sick and sore from the three days’ debauch and the fire
was out and there wasn’t a bit of food in his lair, neither was there
wood to cook any food if he had any.
He stirred his stiffened limbs and got himself to his feet shivering
from sheer revolt against life. He knew that the afternoon was waning
and that he must go soon to get wood or there would be no way to get
supper, and supper he must have if he was to go to work in the morning.
And to work he must go if he were to live longer, because his last cent
was spent and bacon cost money. They were not trusting tramps for bacon
and tea in Silver Sands.
So down the mountain he trudged, gathering wood slowly in little heaps
by the way to be gathered up on his return trip. He must go trim that
hedge of Truman’s and that would bring him enough for sugar and butter
and all that he needed that night. Then on his return he would gather up
the wood and have a little comfort out of life. Strange that with such a
life he could still gather comfort from it. And Athalie Greeves in the
fine Silver house wept because there was nothing left for her in life!
It was ten minutes to five when he returned with his sugar and bacon and
cheese. He hadn’t cut the hedge very well, but Mrs. Truman had been
having a missionary meeting and hadn’t come out to see. She had sent the
money out to him before he had quite finished and he lost no time in
getting down to the store. His inner man required immediate refreshment.
So he sat down in a sheltered spot not far from the road to eat a snack
to stay him before he should gather up his wood. And suddenly his slow
jaws lagged and moved slower, and his little eyes peered cunningly
between the bushes, and his ears pricked up and listened, for down the
road in the distance he saw the missing link in the well forged chain of
his plans, approaching, and with eager caution and much peering he
stowed away his bundles under the leaves and moved down to a more
convenient station nearer the road where he could watch and be ready for
the right moment.
* * * * *
Silver had risen from her knees with a face in which sorrow and purpose
were having their way. She went straight to her desk and drawing pen and
paper toward her began to write rapidly.
“Dear Athalie:—
“I have been praying ever since I came that you and I might
learn to love one another and be real sisters. I have always
wanted a sister. But I see that I was mistaken and that cannot
be. So I am going away at once to show you that I really wanted
to love you. I haven’t wanted to hurt you in any way, nor to
steal father or anybody or anything away from you. You said a
good many things in your excitement that hurt me, but perhaps
you won’t remember them when you get calmer. I want you to know
that I forgive you, and want you to be happy. As you say, I have
had a happy home and you haven’t. Besides I am the older and
ought to go if one of us must, so it is all right. Only if I go,
Athalie, please make father happy. He is lonely too. And I shall
always pray that God will give you joy.
Sincerely, Silver.”
She folded it and wrote “Athalie” across the back then drew more paper
toward her and began again. This one was harder to write. It began:
“Dear Father:—
“Something has happened since you went to the city this morning
that has made me know that it is not right for me to stay with
you any longer. Not now, anyway. You know how sorry I am about
it, but I feel this is the only thing to do, so I am going to do
it quickly before you return. That will be easier for us both. I
have not time to tell you all it has meant to be with you, to
know I have a father, and to be sure I have your love. I shall
be rich in that knowledge always now wherever I am, but I feel
that Athalie needs you more than I do, and that you never can be
everything to each other while I stay. You will see it this way
too after a little and know that I did right. Perhaps some day
it will be right for me to come back, and then I shall return
with joy. Now I am going away and I am not going to tell you
where just yet for I am not quite sure of my plans, but as soon
as I am located I will send for my trunk which I will leave
packed and ready, and then perhaps you will write and tell me
you forgive me for going away without seeing you. I just felt
that I could not quite bear the good-bye, precious father! I
love you. Don’t feel bad. Love Athalie.
Silver-Alice.”
Silver paused a moment to wipe away the tears that would gather in her
eyes as she wrote the words that meant so much to her, then she began
another note.
“My dear Mr. Bannard:—
“I am writing in great haste and dismay to let you know that I
cannot fulfill my promise to go with you to the orchestra
concert in the city tomorrow because I find that I must suddenly
go away. It is a deep disappointment to me for I had looked
forward to the pleasure eagerly. I cannot tell you what pleasure
I have found in our work among the little children on the Flats,
nor how disappointed I am that I shall not be able to carry out
our plans for this winter. I am not sure how long I shall have
to stay. It may be quite a while. It is hard for me to have to
go, and to go thus suddenly without bidding my new friends
good-bye, but I know I am right in going at once.
I thank you for what your friendship and your sermons have meant
to me while I was here, and I hope that some day I may have the
pleasure of seeing you again.
Very Sincerely, Silver Greeves.”
This letter she sealed, addressed and stamped and put in her pocket.
Then she arose and quickly folded her garments from the closet, laying
them in her trunk, opened drawers and boxes and stowed everything away
with expedition. There was not very much for she had not brought a great
deal when she came. In her little suitcase she put the few things of
immediate necessity, locking her trunk, put on her hat, and a long silk
wrap over her simple dark china-silk frock and taking her suitcase
slipped across the hall with her letters. Her father’s she laid on his
chiffonier where he would be sure to see it as soon as he came in, and
Athalie’s she slipped softly under her door. It was all still in the
hall when she went down. She longed to speak to Anne and Molly before
she left but knew she might upset all her plans if she did, so she went
swiftly out the door.
“Well, now, where’s she going?” announced grandma from her window, “a
suitcase in her hand too! And this time of day!”
“Maybe she’s taking her suit down to the cleaners,” suggested Pristina.
“They would send for it if she phoned,” said Harriet.
“Well, she’s pretty independent. She doesn’t take any rich folks airs on
herself,” said Cornelia. “I wonder why they never go together. They’re
not so far apart in age.”
When Silver reached the station she found that the next train to the
city did not stop at Silver Sands, being an express, its only stop was
at the Junction two miles below.
Looking at her watch she found that there was plenty of time to walk it.
She knew the way well for she had driven there several times with Mr.
Bannard. She mailed her letter to Bannard at the station and took the
back street for several blocks to avoid the centre of the town as she
did not care to be noticed in this sudden flight.
When she came to the last cross street she turned into the main road
again and crossed the bridge. She hoped with all her heart that Bannard
would not happen to be out in his car and come across her. She felt she
could not bear that. But if he did she would just have to tell him how
things were. She somehow felt sure she could make him understand.
But nobody came along to disturb the afternoon peace. The white road
stretched like a ribbon ahead under arching trees, the crickets sang
under the browning golden rod, a cicada grated out his raucous voice,
the wild asters, white and pink and blue and yellow nodded in the soft
breeze with their first opening clusters of stars, and yellow
butterflies whirled dreamily, lighting in the dusty grass by the
roadside. It was beautiful and still. It looked so dear. She could not
believe she was going away from it all, out into the world alone. Her
soul cried out to return, to destroy her notes and unlock her trunk and
try to make some other finish to this day that had begun so gorgeously
and was ending so sorrowfully. But something drove her feet forward in
the way, and she passed on around the curve of the road till Silver
Sands and the way to the Flats were out of sight and the tears were
blinding her eyes so that she could not see ahead.
“Good-bye, dear home!” she whispered softly to herself. And then just
ahead of her, an old man hurried hobbling into the road and waved his
hand.
“Oh, lady, lady! I’m so glad you come by. There’s a little child up
there in that shanty dying I’m feered. It fell over the rocks an’ broke
its leg, an’ done somepin to its insides I guess, an’ I’m runnin’ to get
the doctor. Won’t you just go up there lady and stay with the baby till
I git back? I sha’n’t be five minutes. I just cantta bear to leave it
all alone.”
Silver looked at her watch and glanced up the hill. There was plenty of
time if the man hurried, even if it took him ten minutes, for the train
did not leave the Junction till ten minutes of five and it was just as
well that she should not get there till train time, lest someone might
see her.
“Yes,” she said, “but hurry! I must make my train.” Then she turned and
began swiftly to climb the hill while the old man began to run stiffly
down the road.
The hill was steeper than she thought and the suitcase heavy but she
managed to reach the little hovel in very good time, and stepping
inside, rubbed her eyes to get the sunshine out for the room seemed very
dark. She put down her suitcase and began groping across to find the
child, pausing a moment to get used to the dark, when suddenly she felt
the door shut behind her with a slam and something like a key turning in
a lock.
In horror she rushed back, almost falling over her suitcase, and groped
for the knob, but there was none. The door was fast, and when she
pounded on it there were only hollow reverberations. It was so still in
the little place that it did not seem possible that there could be
anyone else in the room, even a dying child. Perhaps it was dead
already. She felt so alone. Her heart was beating wildly. She tried to
tell herself that of course the door had blown shut and a night latch
had fastened it, but a night latch usually opened from the inside. It
must be she would be able to find a knob when she grew calmer and could
see better. She groped back to the door and tried once more, but with no
better success. The door seemed smooth all over and fitted close. There
was no crack for light to come in. Was that a step outside? No, she must
have been mistaken. And yet—how strange! She had seen the man run down
the road! But the child! She ought to be attending to it! Could it be
that she had got into the wrong place? Were there two buildings on the
hill? Should she cry out for assistance? It was not far from the road.
Someone would be passing soon. Surely there was no need for her to be
frightened. The old man would soon return with the doctor and then she
would be set free.
She remembered her little pocket flash that she always carried in her
handbag. She tried to find it and at last located it and touched the
spring. The ray of light revealed the bare stone walls, the rude box,
and huddled leaves, the empty fireplace, the frying pan, and cup, and a
crust of dry bread. There was no child anywhere.
She examined the window carefully and found it firmly sealed. There
seemed to be no implement with which she might attempt to break it open.
She swept the room with the light and saw no possible way to get out.
Her heart was fluttering so that her breath was labored.
“Help me, O Christ! Steady me! Show me a way to get out of here before
it is too late!” she prayed. Then she advanced to the fireplace and
turned the flash upward. The rough sooty stones loomed above her in
irregular knobs, jogging out here and there, and above them, in the
brilliancy of the speck of light, a branch of a tree, thick with leaves,
waved backward and forward.
“There is always a way up,” came the words in memory from some famous
story or sermon, she could not tell which, but it thrilled her soul. It
was not far to the branch. Could she make it, up the slippery, cobbled
way? Was the space big enough? Could she get her suitcase out too? She
measured the distance with her eye, noted the stones that stuck out.
Would they bear her? But how could she climb with a suitcase? Yet she
must have it if possible. There was a bolt of blue ribbon in her
suitcase, a whole ten yards. Was it strong enough to hold the suitcase
if she tied the other end around her waist and then pulled it up after
her? And supposing she made the top of the chimney, could she climb down
without breaking her neck? Well, it would be better there out in God’s
open than shut in this dark place where no one could see her or hear her
and perhaps she could climb the tree. As for the suitcase she would do
her best and then let it go if she had to. But she must get out of here
before that man returned if he was the instigator of some intention
against her. If it was only some mistake of a dead-latch she must find
the child. It even now might be crying with fear. She must work fast in
any case.
She hurried back to her suitcase, searched out the ribbon, tied one end
firmly to the handle, the other round her waist. Put her purse inside
the neck of her dress, turned her wrap inside out and tied it firmly
over her head and shoulders to protect hat and dress as much as
possible, and flash in hand began her perilous climb. It was a narrow
place to squeeze through. She put her suitcase up a couple of feet and
rested it on a ledge, supporting it with one hand as she climbed,
setting a foot here on a projecting stone, putting a hand there in a
crevice where the crumbling plaster gave way before her touch. Slowly,
painfully, stopping for breath, cautious because one wrong move might
undo all, she crept on. Once she missed her footing and the stone rolled
down leaving her with only one foot on a loose stone, and once the
suitcase slipped off suddenly jerking the ribbon around her waist and
almost bringing her down with it, but she caught herself in time, and
clinging to the wall prayed, “help me! Help me! O Christ, give me
strength! Give me steadiness!”
It was like those dreams that come sometimes, where we find ourselves
crawling through an endless tunnel that grows smaller and smaller, and
finally our strength gives out, we collapse and are stuck fast. Two or
three times she thought she could not go on, and closed her eyes to
rest. She could not look up because the dust and soot filled her eyes,
so on and on she crept, coming to one place so small she could just get
her head through, and was sure she could not go further, but finally
managed to wriggle through, with the dead weight of the suitcase
dangling after, hitting against the wall and bumping, impeding her
upward way. Perhaps after all she would have to cut the ribbon and let
it drop.
“Help! Help! O Christ—” and the blessed breath of air struck her face,
and light. Real sunlight blinded her eyes. She was out! She caught a
firmer hold, and just then the little flash light slipped away! She
caught at it and almost lost her own hold, but could not get it. She
heard it knock its way to the bottom of the hearth. Well, what matter!
She would not need it now. Then she pulled herself free from the
encasing wall and was out, head and shoulders above the little hut.
She paused to rest and look about. No, there was no sign of any other
building. No sound of crying child. What did it mean? Down below she
could see the road and there was no pedestrian on it. An automobile
swept by going very fast, but it was not the doctor’s car. Fear clutched
her by the throat. She must get away at once.
She writhed herself up out of the chimney. It proved to be a mere knob
above the low sloping roof. She had a struggle with her suitcase and
almost gave it up once, but finally brought it forth, crushed at one
side and badly scratched, but still intact, and then it was a
comparatively easy thing to slide cautiously down the roof and drop
carefully to the ground.
She was free! But she was trembling so that for a moment she could not
move. Her hands and face were scratched and sooty, and her arms were
bruised and sore. She looked up at the blue sky and her heart said
quickly in a burst of joy, “Oh, thank you Christ!”
Then new strength seemed to come, and breath, and she flew away down the
hill on the side where the undergrowth was comparatively light, got into
the highway, and the sunshine, and saw that she was not pursued,
gradually grew steadier, and began to straighten her garments, wipe off
the soot and give more thanks to God. There was a long strip torn out of
her crêpe de chine dress from hem to waist, an inch or two wide and left
somewhere behind in that chimney, but what did that matter? She was
free. Her shoes were scratched and dusty and not fit for a lady to take
a journey anywhere in, but that was a small matter. One glove was split
from wrist to finger and the other entirely gone, but what were gloves
in a lifetime! She was on the road, some road. It did not look familiar
and perhaps coming down this side of the hill she had missed her way,
but there would be a train sometime, somewhere, and she would find it.
God had set her free, and now she knew she had done right in coming
away. God had helped her on and not let her be hindered to make a lot of
trouble for everybody. She would be able to get to her destination and
write back in due time to set her father’s mind at rest. Then all would
be well.
Half an hour’s walk brought her to a small hamlet, but it was not the
Junction. She had missed her way and missed her train, but they told her
that a trolley line passed half a mile below and the cars ran every half
hour. They would take her to her destination in less than two hours, and
what did it matter? She lifted up her tired head, and went forward.