ignoring his retort and pointing up to a vine covered tree, while
Steve thrust back into the secret place of his heart all the cherished
memories which the old wood held for him, realizing decidedly that
Nancy was no longer a shy, timid little girl ready to place her hand
in his, but a young woman who would need to be wooed before she was
won,--even though there were no Raymond.
"What had he expected anyway?" he reiterated sternly. "That she would
be waiting his coming, all ready for the plucking?" He straightened
himself in the saddle. He had long since learned how to work and wait
for things he wanted; he could do it again.
He led the conversation away from the personal. They talked of nature,
each finding under the spur of companionship many new interests in the
old wood; and being a devoted nature lover, Steve was pleased to find
that Nancy had added to her tender interest in the feathered folk much
information as to peculiar characteristics of varying species. It was
an easy transition from nature to nature's interpreters, the poets,
and the two found mutual interest in recalling some choice things of
literature. She had spent four years at a fine old Kentucky college,
graduating in June with high honours. There was still a sweet
seriousness about her as in the little Nancy of old, in spite of her
girlish gaiety, and while the years of study had brought her an
unmistakable breadth and culture, there was also a quaint freshness of
speech and manner that made her especially attractive. Steve found
keen satisfaction in the conversation, for the girl understood his
view-point and yet had fresh conceptions of her own which she knew how
to express.
He said to himself as he studied her (which having put aside the
personal he could now do), "She has the New England alertness of mind
inherited from her mother without the New England reticence, and from
her Kentucky father, eccentric as he is, she gets the vivacity and
charm which is the Kentucky girl's birthright."
And yet in the midst of his enjoyment an insistent despair of heart
returned as he recalled a certain good fellowship in her attitude
towards Raymond, which was missing with him. Obtuse as lovers usually
are, it never occurred to him that this was one of the best of
symptoms in his favour!
They had gone in leisurely fashion through the wood, but the tall
trees began to drop away at last, and they went down the slope till
the old mill stood before them in soft, quaker-gray upon the bank of a
turbulent, rushing mountain creek. The big, wooden wheel had fallen
from its place and the old mill itself was fast dropping into complete
decay, but the trees in fresh summer green still hung affectionately
over it. Just beyond the mill nestled the gray log cabin with its
porch across the front; and, yes, there was Tildy pacing back and
forth at her spinning-wheel just as she used to do when Steve and
Nancy were children. She was of the thrifty type of mountain women,
always cleanly, always busy, making the most of the meagre means at
hand. To the young people it was as though some magic lantern had
flashed before them a scene from the past, and the two turned
involuntarily to one another with a rush of something tender upon
their faces.
Without speaking they rode to the door, and before Steve could
dismount Nancy had sprung from the saddle, caught up her skirt, and
was warmly shaking hands with the old woman, whom now she did not
often see. Steve quickly followed, and with the air of an old friend
also, put out his hand cordially to Tildy.
She took it doubtfully, saying:
"Howdye, stranger?"
[Illustration: "Tilda pacing back and forth at her spinning-wheel"]
"Why, don't you know me, Mother Greely?" Steve asked.
"I shore don't," she replied, pushing her spectacles up on her nose
and peering earnestly through them. "No," she said finally, "I nuver
seed ye afore; leastways I ain't no recollection of hit ef I ever
did."
The old man, who with the old mill had fallen into decrepitude, then
came slowly hobbling out, an inquiring look on his kind old face.
Tildy turned to him, raising her voice shrilly, for he heard with
difficulty and asked: "Nat, have ye ever seed this young man afore?"
"No," the old man returned after searching scrutiny.
Then Steve said: "Don't you remember an old gray horse that used to
come to the mill with a little girl in white pinafore on his back, two
bags of corn behind her, and a tousled, brown-haired boy of about
twelve walking beside her?"
"And the little girl was always on the verge of starvation, and only
molasses cakes could rescue her," put in Nancy laughing.
"Nancy and Steve," exclaimed the old woman, and then with the
intuition of her sex for romance, she further exclaimed: "An' ye hev
done got married!"
"No," Steve hastened to say; but the old man, more accustomed to his
wife's shrill voice, caught her affirmation, and failed to hear
Steve's denial.
"Well, now," said he, rubbing his hands together, greatly pleased,
"Tildy and me allus said ye'd marry some day; ye was jes' suited to
one another."
Nancy hated herself for flushing so unreasonably again, and Steve, not
daring to look towards her, was hurrying to the rescue, when the old
woman with a swift, keen glance at both, broke in with:
"No, pap, no they hain't," piped shrilly into the old man's ear.
His face dropped with evident disappointment, and there was an
embarrassed moment for all of them.
"Mother Greely," said Nancy gaily, determinedly recovering herself,
"have you got any of those molasses cakes you used to give us when we
came over?"
"Wal now, I think I hev," said the old woman, rising as quickly as her
stiffened limbs would let her.
Steve looked down at Nancy as Tildy went in, smiled, and said:
"Shall we sit on the door-step, as we used to?"
Nancy's eyes did not meet his, and she turned her head to hide that
provokingly rising colour as she sat down in a matter-of-fact way.
When they rode away from the mill, having made the aged couple happy
with the renewal of old times, Steve again with eager yearning
strained his inner vision for a glimpse into her heart, but she
betrayed not the slightest consciousness of the embarrassing episode.
As the horses went leisurely back along through the wood, Steve and
Nancy talked gently of the two old people with their wondrous mountain
combination of barest poverty, dense ignorance, keen intelligence,
simple kindliness and gentle dignity,--qualities which the young folks
were now prepared to recognize.
"It is curious how like two people grow from constant association,"
said Steve at last, musingly. "The resemblance between the old miller
and his wife is striking, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is," returned Nancy; "the shape of face and type of feature
is the same in both, and as for expression, each might be a mirror for
the other."
"It would be interesting to know which had most influenced the other,"
said Steve; "whether she has conformed to his type or he to hers."
"Old Nat and Tildy certainly furnish a good opportunity for study of
that problem," said Nancy, "for there has been little except the
influence of each upon the other to leave its impress."
"The subject is an interesting field for the aspiring investigator,"
Steve went on. "I wonder that some fine-spun, scientific theory has
not already been advanced,--but it only remains another formidable
matrimonial hazard," he ended with his sudden smile.
"It does indeed," laughed Nancy. "Wouldn't it be dreadful to think of
growing daily more and more like some people?"
"And on the other hand," promptly returned Steve, "how delightful to
think of growing more and more like certain other people," turning to
her with a light in his eye.
"But then there is the uncertainty,--which is most likely to influence
the other," said Nancy, switching dexterously away from hinted
personal application, and then with a dash of daring gaiety, adding,
"When you marry a girl with a crooked nose, will yours begin to crook
likewise, or will hers take on your symmetrical lines?"
"But I am not going to take one with a crooked nose," said Steve,
smiling significantly in spite of himself.
"Perhaps not, but the question remains,--which is most likely to
conform, a husband or a wife," said Nancy, shying back to the abstract
again, with pretty positiveness. And then she called gaily, as she
touched Gyp with her whip and started both horses off on a brisk
canter, leaving the wood for the road, "Please let me know if you
solve the problem, so I may be relieved in mind or forewarned."
As she dashed on slightly ahead of him, spirit and beauty in every
line of pony and rider, Steve said to himself with a quizzical smile:
"How cleverly she manages to keep me at arm's length. Oh, little
Nancy, where did you learn such tactics?" and he did not know that
"such tactics" were sure forerunners of surrender.
As for Nancy, she stood a little later by her bedroom window. The
trim, smart riding-habit was laid aside and a little light muslin of
almost childlike simplicity had taken its place. She stood looking out
at nothing through brimming tears, with flushed cheeks and quivering
lips.
"I do blush so horridly when I am with him, and I'm afraid I say
things I shouldn't. Oh, what makes me, when I do like him so much!"
XIV
"ALL RIGHT, SON"
After dinner Steve walked over to the store with Mr. Follet, talked
with him a little, and then strolling up the street afterwards, he was
joined with great cordiality by Raymond Colton.
The talk was breezy as was inevitable with Raymond. He had graduated
at a great northern university in June, had any amount of _sang froid_
and had as yet caught no glimpse of life save as a field for
pleasure.
"What do you think of Miss Nancy?" he inquired enthusiastically.
"Isn't she the prettiest thing going? I have seen them north, south,
east, and west, but I honestly believe I never saw a sweeter flower
growing than Nancy Follet!" he went on without waiting for Steve to
answer his question, so a smile was all the response which seemed
necessary.
"I came here," went on Raymond, "to look after a land proposition for
father. They say there's lots of valuable coal and iron ore about
here. I've dipped a good deal into that sort of thing at college and
father sent me up to make some tests for him, and if I found anything
rich to take up a 'claim' instanter. I've been here three weeks and I
haven't done a thing yet. Miss Nancy has fascinated me so, I haven't
had eyes for sordid things. But there's plenty of time; no danger of
anybody's rushing in ahead in this sleepy little burg."
"I'm not so sure of that," returned Steve quietly. "You never know
when somebody may slip in ahead of you. Business competition is a very
lively thing I've been told, though I confess I don't know much about
it," he ended easily.
"Well, I've been getting a good bit of experience in business here and
there, and I can tell that there's nobody hanging about here that has
much business go." He had no intention of being personal and Steve
bowed, smiling remotely.
After some more desultory talk they separated and Steve went back to
join Nancy on the porch where he thought he would find her.
Raymond looked after him with a half smile.
"Poor old Steve," he said to himself, "he's caught already, and the
worst of it is, I am afraid he's got the best chance. She's a dear
little chum with me, loves to sing to my tenor and laugh at my
foolishness, but I noticed last night the blushes were for him." And
his handsome face set into unusual, firm lines as he went on: "But I
am going to win her! I'll do it in spite of him. To-night I'll walk
off with her whether or no, and he'll think his case is lost, for he
doesn't know girls, I can see that." And with restored confidence he
went over to the store to visit Mr. Follet. He and Mr. Follet were on
fine terms, and he spent an hour or so at the store every day. They
seemed in fact to have some project in common requiring much
consultation.
Evening brought Raymond again to the Follet porch, and after a little
music and general talk, turning to Mrs. Follet he said:
"Mother Follet, won't you let us children, Miss Nancy and me, go for a
little walk together? It is so hard for us to sit still." He said it
with mock childishness that was irresistible, and without waiting for
Mrs. Follet's consent, he laughingly grasped Nancy's hand and made off
with her, whether or no.
Steve could not see the laughing but real protest in Nancy's face, and
his lips set firmly as he watched her white frock swaying gently up
the long, straggling street.
Mrs. Follet then went in and Mr. Follet, turning to Steve, began in
pleased excitement:
"Raymond's mightily in love with her, ain't he?" and went on without
waiting for a reply, "I can't tell about her,--you never can tell
nothin' about girls, anyway, you know, and she's just wrapped up in
her piano music. She spends hours thumpin' on what she calls
classical music, but I wouldn't give it for one tune on the banjo.
She's been begging me to let her go to New York and study, but Lord,
she knows as much now as any woman under the cano_pee_'s got use for,
I think, and I've told her she can't do it. Raymond says, though, she
ought to go, and that he'd like nothin' better than to give her the
chance. His folks have got money, I reckon, and he can do it all
right. If anything'll help to get her that will."
Steve laughed in reply with as good grace as he could, and soon
followed Mrs. Follet to bed as one of the "old folks" before the
"children" returned.
It was evident enough that he did not count with anybody except the
Greelys as a possible suitor for Nancy, and his sturdy heart chafed in
almost bitter protest. Again sweet memories played truant in the small
attic chamber. "And little Nancy has musical aspirations," he thought.
"With the life I have chosen I could never gratify her. It is
absolutely hopeless for me,--I have nothing to offer her. I am old and
staid, anyway," he said finally to his rebellious heart. "I have known
the responsibilities of life too long, and Nancy is made only for
joy."
The next morning, putting aside his depression sternly, Steve went on
horseback alone, taking the same road he and Nancy had taken the
morning before. He lingered again in the Greely woods, this time on a
prospecting tour testing here and testing there carefully.
When he at last rode up to the little one-roomed log cabin the old
folks again made him welcome. After chatting a goodly length of time
with them, and getting his voice well pitched for the old man's
hearing, Steve asked if Mr. Greely would not like to sell off some of
his land.
The old man looked surprised at the question, for no coal fields had
then been opened up in that part of Kentucky, so that he was not aware
of the value of coal bearing land.
"Wal, course I would, but nobody would want ter buy hit. Thar's only
this patch the cabin and mill sets on what's any a'count, an' that I
want ter keep long's me an' the ole woman lives."
"I am sure you are mistaken about that, Mr. Greely. I think all that
woodland ridge is good land, and I would like to own it. Will you and
Mrs. Greely think it over, give me a price on it by to-morrow and let
me have the first chance at it?"
Astonished beyond measure the old man looked helplessly at his wife.
"Why, Steve, give me what ye think hit is wuth, if you really want
hit."
"Mr. Greely, I must tell you frankly that I cannot give what I think
it is worth, but I can pay you more a thousand times than you can ever
get out of it, for you are too old to attempt anything with it, and
there are no children. I think it can be made to yield returns in ways
of which you do not dream or I wouldn't buy it, but I do not _know_
and I am making a venture in buying it."
The old man thought a minute, then said: "Wal, I know as much now
about hit as I will ter-morror and you can have hit fer a hundred
dollars, ef ye kin pay that much."
"No, Mr. Greely, I can't take it for that," said Steve smiling; "it
will be worth much more to me if it is worth anything. I am willing to
venture more on it," and he named a much larger sum than the one
asked.
The old man could not speak for amazement. He had never heard of any
one in "them parts" having so much money at one time and the trade was
practically closed at once.
He left the old folks feeling like millionaires and felt immense
satisfaction himself that the deal had progressed so well. If the old
couple should live in luxury, as they might conceive the word, for the
rest of their lives, they could never spend that sum in the
mountains.
Steve knew the lay of the land for miles around and he felt sure
there was nothing so valuable as the Greely Ridge with the railroad
lying not far from its base.
Asking the Follets if he might leave his traps there for a few days he
went at once in the afternoon to the county seat to take the necessary
steps for the transfer of the land, and found the title perfectly
clear.
With elation over the assured deal and happy expectation of more than
cancelling his debt, he telegraphed Mr. Polk what he had done. A reply
came promptly back saying, "I will be on at once and bring expert."
It was with mingled feelings that Steve thought of the meeting as he
busied himself with the details completing the transaction, going over
with a notary public for the old folks to sign the papers, getting
everything ready for Mr. Polk's signature as purchaser since he was
coming and one transfer would be sufficient. He did not stop at the
Follets, but returned at once to meet his old friend.
When Mr. Polk stepped from the train and looked again upon the boy he
had loved as his own, he put an arm about him, as he used to in the
old days, and said:
"How are you, son?"
"Well, thank you," answered Steve, and both voices trembled a
little.
That was all, but it restored the old frank relations. They talked
with great interest about the purchase and went as soon as possible
with the expert to get his opinion upon it. When careful tests of the
property had been made, the expert was enthusiastic.
"I believe it will prove to be a rich coal deposit, and if well
managed ought to bring you a small fortune."
That night when they returned to the little "hotel," so named, Mr.
Polk and Steve talked long and interestedly over plans for developing
the mine. Mr. Polk had pretty well-defined ideas for the immediate
organization of a company and the beginning of operations.
Finally he turned to Steve and said:
"Son, I have grown since you left,--I hope, some wiser, and that
little woman made me see before I left home that I had no right to
dictate to you what you should do with your life. I know you have
worked hard these three years, or you never could have saved money
enough to buy this piece of land, even at so small a price, and I
don't doubt you have done good at the same time. But I still feel that
you might do just as good work perhaps by earning money for the cause
you are so greatly interested in, so I am going to make a proposition
to you. Suppose you take the oversight of this mining business,
handling the money and seeing that everything goes straight. We could
well afford to pay you a good salary for this service and give you
some shares in the company too. Then you can live right here and exert
your influence upon your people, as you call them, at the same time."
Steve listened intently, and the thought of money, and Nancy and music
lessons, while he remained in the mountains, made his brain whirl.
Finally he put out his hand. "You hev allus been kind an' generous ter
me," he said uncertainly, with emotion which carried him back for an
instant to the old-time speech. Then lifting his head he smiled and
added, "Let me think of this till to-morrow."
Mr. Polk agreed, and they separated for the night.
It was again a time of sore temptation for Steve. All night he tossed
and thought. In spite of recurring depression he had not given up hope
of winning Nancy. Her desire for musical advantages had been the most
discouraging thing of all, however, and if he accepted this offer, he
could hope to give her what she wanted, while since Raymond was not
accepted he felt free to win her if he could. He pictured the future
with increasing exhilaration, as the night approached its zenith, the
time of keenest mental activity; and then, as the ebb came with the
waning hours, suddenly a little figure reeled and staggered as it
tried to walk a crack in a cabin floor, and springing from bed Steve
strode to the window, and looked out upon the silent, starry sky.
"Oh, God," he said, "keep me from temptation;" and after a time he
went back to bed firm in the old resolution that whatever the
sacrifice involved, he would give himself, and not money alone, to the
work. And then he slept.
Next morning he smiled his sudden smile as Mr. Polk looked keenly into
his face, and said:
"I guess I am incorrigible, Mr. Polk,--I can't see it except in the
old way."
"All right, son," said Mr. Polk quietly, and when they separated it
was with a warm hand-clasp as Mr. Polk exacted a promise that Steve
would visit them his first opportunity. "'The little mother' longs to
see her boy," he said affectionately; then added, "Some day we hope to
be in shape to help you with your work."
When he was gone Steve left for the Follets again. A great peace had
come upon him with the renewal of his resolution, and his heart leaped
at the prospect of seeing Nancy again.
"How long it seems since I left her," he laughed to himself, and the
thought sprang to his mind from out the ever active realm of human
hope: "Perhaps I shall win her yet by some miracle!"
XV
FLICKERING HOPE
It was with keen satisfaction that Steve caught a glimpse of Nancy's
white dress out under the trees upon his return to the Follets. He
hurried over to the bench where she sat.
"Is there anything more satisfying than these Kentucky mountains?" he
said, with enthusiasm, as he seated himself beside her. "There is
something that constantly assures me I belong to them."
"I have wondered that you were not captured by the city with all its
allurements," said Nancy.
"No," returned Steve, "though perhaps I might have been at first had
not my little foster-mother been loyal to Kentucky mountain need. But
my experience the past three years as teacher has made it impossible
for me to ever get away from the outstretched hand of Kentucky
mountain children," and his voice dropped into deep earnestness.
"I can understand how you feel," said Nancy after a little silence. "I
could not help being interested in the school when it was opened here.
Little children came trudging in from the most barren cabin homes,
wide-eyed, and eager to 'larn,' and grown-up men and women tramped
barefoot miles and miles every day to try to get some of the 'larnin'
they'd heard about. Then they would plod away with the utmost patience
trying to read and write. It was intensely pathetic. Nothing has ever
touched and interested me so much as some supply work I have done for
our school," she added, a light upon her face, which thrilled Steve's
heart anew. What a help she could be to him in his chosen work!
"I am so glad you have felt the appeal of mountain need," said he,
struggling to keep the thrill out of his voice. And then he told her
of his hopes and plans, of the dream he had of a new school within
reach of Hollow Hut, a region to which new possibilities were about to
come, he had learned at the county seat, through a projected railroad
line. Of how he hoped to have help in the work from Mr. and Mrs. Polk
and perhaps other capitalists of the north, and she was most
interested, most appreciative, showing all the sweet seriousness of
little Nancy of old.
But this long talk of some two hours which revealed again congenial
tastes and ideals of life for the two only served to make Steve's
heart more intensely rebellious when, after supper, Raymond walked in
once more with his debonair proprietorship of Nancy. As it happened
she had just stepped out under the trees to get a bit of fancy work
left there in the afternoon, and Raymond joining her, barricaded the
way to the house, insisting that the "old folks" were glad to get rid
of them, till she laughingly sat with him there. It had been purely
accidental, her going out just then, and she remained with inward
protest, but Steve could only see in it complete surrender to the
ardent suitor.
Mrs. Follet had not yet come out and Mr. Follet turned to Steve,
laughing in a pleased way.