To reach Peterborough Kike had to go through Morton's great diocese
of Jenkinsville Circuit. He could not ride far. Even so intemperate
a zealot as Kike admitted so much economy of force into his
calculations. He must save his strength in journeying or he could
not reach his circuit, much less preach when he got there. At the
close of his second day he inquired for a Methodist house at which to
stop, and was directed to the double-cabin of a "located"
preacher--one who had been a "travelling" preacher, but, having
married, was under the necessity of entangling himself with the
things of this world that he might get bread for his children. As he
rode up to the house Kike gladly noted the horses hitched to the
fence as an evidence that there must be a meeting in progress. He
was in Morton's circuit; who could tell that he should not meet him
here?
When Kike entered the house, Morton stood in the door between the two
rooms preaching, with the back of a "split-bottomed" chair for a
pulpit. For a moment the pale face of Kike, so evidently smitten
with death, appalled him; then it inspired him, and Morton never
spoke better on that favorite theme of the early Methodist
evangelist--the rest in heaven--than while drawing his inspiration
from the pallid countenance of his comrade.
"Ah! Kike!" he said, when the meeting was dismissed, "I wish you had
my body."
"What do you want to keep me out of heaven for, Mort? Let God have
his way," said Kike, smiling contentedly.
But long after Kike slept that night Morton lay awake. He could not
let the poor fellow go off alone. So in the morning he arranged with
the located brother to take his appointments for awhile and let him
ride one day with Kike.
"Ride ten or twenty if you want to," said the ex-preacher. "The
corn's laid by and I've got nothing to do, and I'm spoiling for a
preach."
Peterborough circuit lay off to the southeast of Hickory Ridge, and
Morton, persuaded that Kike was unfit to preach, endeavored to induce
him to turn aside and rest at Dr. Morgan's, only ten miles out of his
road.
"I tell you, Morton, I've got very little strength left. I cannot
spend it better than in trying to save souls. There's Peterborough
vacant three months since Brother Jones was first taken sick. I want
to make one or two rounds at least, preaching with all the heart I
have. Then I'll cease at once to work and live, and who knows but
that I may slay more in my death than in my life?"
But Morton feared that he would not be able to make one round. He
thought he had an overestimate of his strength, and that the final
break-down might come at any moment. So, on the morning of the
second day he refused to yield to Kike's entreaties to return. He
would see him safe among the members on Peterborough circuit, anyhow.
Now it happened that they missed the trail and wandered far out of
their way. It rained all the afternoon, and Kike got drenched in
crossing a stream. Then a chill came on, and Morton sought shelter.
He stopped at a cabin.
"Come in, come in, brethren," said the settler, as soon as he saw
them. "I 'low ye're preachers. Brother Goodwin I know. Heerd him
down at camp-meetin' last fall,--time conference met on the Ridge.
And this brother looks mis'rable. Got the shakes, I 'low? Your
name, brother, is--"
"Brother Lumsden," said Morton.
"Lumsden? Wy, that air's the very name of our school-miss, and she's
stayin' here jes' now. I kinder recolleck that you was sick up at
Dr. Morgan's, conference time. Hey?"
Morton looked bewildered.
"How far is Dr. Morgan's from here?"
"Nigh onto three quarter 'round the road, I 'low. Ain't it, Sister
Lumsden?" This last to Patty, who at that moment appeared from the
bedroom, and without answering the question, greeted Morton and Kike
with a cry of joy. Patty was "boarding round," and it was her time
to stay here.
"How did we get here? We aimed at Lanham's Ferry," said Morton,
bewildered.
"Tuck the wrong trail ten mile back, I 'low. You should've gone by
Hanks's Mills."
[Illustration: THE REUNION.]
Despite all protestations from the Methodist brother, Morton was
determined to take Kike to Dr. Morgan's. Kike was just sick enough
to be passive, and he suffered himself to be put back into the saddle
to ride to the doctor's. Patty, meanwhile, ran across the fields and
gave warning, so that Kike was summarily stowed away in the bed he
had occupied before. Thus do men try to run away from fate, and rush
into her arms in spite of themselves.
It did not require very great medical skill to understand what must
be the result of Kike's sickness.
"What is the matter with him, Doctor?" asked Morton, next morning.
"Absolute physical bankruptcy, sir," answered the physician, in his
abrupt manner. "There's not water enough left in the branch to run
the mill seven days. Wasted life, sir, wasted life. It is a pity
but you Methodists had a little moderation in your zeal."
Kike uneasily watched the door, hoping every minute that he might see
Nettie come in. But she did not come. He had wished to avoid her
father's house for fear of seeing her, but he could not bear to be
thus near her and not see her. Toward evening he called Patty to him.
"Lean down here!" he said.
Patty put her ear down that nobody might hear.
"Where's Nettie?" asked Kike.
"About the house, somewhere," said Patty.
"Why don't she come in to see me?"
"Not because she doesn't care for you," said Patty; "she seems to be
crying half the time."
Kike watched the door uneasily all that evening. But Nettie did not
come. To have come into Kike's room would have been to have revealed
her love for one who had never declared his love for her. The mobile
face of Nettie disclosed every emotion. No wonder she was fain to
keep away. And yet the desire to see him almost overcame her fear of
seeing him.
When the doctor came in to see Kike after breakfast the next morning,
the patient looked at him wistfully.
"Doctor Morgan, tell me the truth. Will I ever get up?"
"You can never get up, my dear boy," said the physician, huskily.
A smile of relief spread over Kike's face. At that word the awful
burden of his morbid sense of responsibility for the world's
salvation, the awful burden of a self-sacrifice that was terrible and
that must be life-long, slipped from his weary soul. There was then
nothing more to be done but to wait for the Master's release. He
shut his eyes, murmured a "Thank God!" and lay for minutes,
motionless. As the doctor made a movement to leave him, Kike opened
his eyes and looked at him eagerly.
"What is it, my boy?" said Morgan, stroking the straight black hair
off Kike's forehead, and petting him as though he were a child.
"What do you want?"
"Doctor----" said Kike, and then closed his eyes again.
"Don't be afraid to tell me what is in your heart, dear boy." The
tears were in the doctor's eyes.
"If you think it best--if you think it best, mind--I would like to
see Nettie."
"Of course it is best. I am glad you mentioned it. It will do her
good, poor soul."
"If you think it best----"
"Well?" said the doctor, seeing that Kike hesitated. "Speak out."
"All alone."
"Yes, you shall see her alone. That is best." The doctor's
utterance was choked as he hastened out.
Kike lay with eyes fixed on the door. It seemed a long time after
the doctor went before Nettie came in. It was only three
minutes--three minutes in which Nettie vainly strove to wipe away
tears that flowed faster than she could remove them. At last her
hand was on the latch. She gained a momentary self-control. But
when she opened the door and saw his emaciated face, and his black
eyes looking so eagerly for her, it was too much for the poor little
heart. The next moment she was on her knees by his bed, sobbing
violently. And Kike put out his feeble hands and drew the golden
head up close to his bosom, and spoke tenderer words than he had ever
heard spoken in his life. And then he closed his eyes, and for a
long time nothing was said. It came about after Nettie's tears were
spent that they talked of all that they had felt; of the life past
and of the immortal life to come. Hours went by and none intruded
upon this betrothal for eternity. Patty had waited without,
expecting to be called to take her place again by her cousin's
bedside. But she did not like to remain in conversation with Morton.
It could bring nothing but pain to them both. It occurred to her
that she had not seen her patient in Higgins's Hollow since Kike
came. She started immediately, glad to escape from the regrets
excited by the presence of Morton, and touched with remorse that she
had so long neglected a man on whose heart she thought she had been
able to make some religious impression.
_CHAPTER XXXII._