"Well, it was cur'us," said Theodore. "You know I had old Sam this
morning, bringing in a little jag of wood for Armidy, and lengthened
out the traces to fit the old waggin. Well, all I know about it is
what I guess. I see from the looks they must 'a' concluded to go to
the village with some eggs and so on, 'cause you can see in the road
where they smashed when the basket flew out; and Jerry didn't know no
more than to hitch up into the buggy without shortenin' the traces,
and you know how that would work. Well, the cur'us thing is that I was
out in the paster mowin' some brakes--here, let me hitch up this
side, while you do the other--and I heard somebody or somethin' comin'
slam-bang, and I looked up--I wa'n't near enough so as to see who
'twas nor anythin'--and I looked up, and see 'em comin' like hudy,
down one of them pitches. Thinks said I, well, there's a hitch-up
that's goin' to flinders--and just then the forward wheel struck a big
stone, and I see the woman and man and all fly inter the air and come
down agin, and the hoss went."
"Where's the horse now?" said Lucas.
"I don't know, and I don't care. Tell ye, best put a feather-bed in
the bottom of this waggin, because her arm's broke for certain, and I
don't know what else. I'll fetch it--if you've got some spirits."
"Yes," said Lucas, "I'll fetch some;" and both hurried into the house,
and soon came out again and hastened off.
"How did you know who 'twas?" Lucas inquired, with solemn curiosity
fitting the occasion.
"Why, I didn't; but I knew when they didn't offer to git up, whoever
'twas wanted help, and I put across the lot to 'em, and sure enough
'twas Armidy and Jerry. I looked her over, and see by the way she
lay that one of her arms was broke, anyway, and stepped over to where
Jerry was, and sir! he was as dead as Moses! Head struck right on a
big stone and broke his neck--his head hung down like that," letting
his hand fall limply from the wrist.
"Does she know?" said Lucas.
"No, and I hope she won't for a spell. She hadn't come to when I left
her."
Lucas struck the horse with the end of the reins to urge him on.
"There, now you can see 'em," said Theodore, rising in his seat and
pointing down the road. Lucas followed his example, and looking before
them they could see both husband and wife lying motionless in the
road.
[Illustration: "LOOKING BEFORE THEM THEY COULD SEE BOTH HUSBAND AND
WIFE LYING MOTIONLESS IN THE ROAD."]
Between them they soon lifted poor Armida into the wagon, and laid
her on the bed as tenderly as might be, eliciting a groan by the
operation.
"Best give her some?" said Lucas, bringing a bottle of brandy from out
his pocket. "Come to think of it, best not. She won't sense it so much
if she don't realize."
A brief examination of Jerry was sufficient. The brothers exchanged
glances and shakes of the head. "And to think," said Theodore, as they
regarded the body, "that it was only this morning I said to Armidy
there was one tramp too many in the house, meaning me, and now to have
my words brought before me like this! 'Twasn't anything but a joke,
but I hope she won't remember it against me."
"Well, first thing we've got to do is to get her to the house," said
Lucas.
Armida having been made as comfortable as the present would allow,
and Jerry having been brought up and consigned to the best chamber,
as befitted his state, Lucas hastened after the doctor and Aunt Polly
Slater. The doctor found Armida in a sad case. "Though I don't think,"
he assured the brothers, "if she isn't worried she will be hard sick.
She's naturally rugged, and it's merely a simple fracture of the
forearm. The sprained ankle will be the most tedious thing, but I must
charge you to keep her in ignorance of her husband's death."
Theodore helped Aunt Polly in caring for Armida, and never was woman
more tenderly cared for. Many were the lies he was forced to tell,
as Armida was first surprised, then indignant, at Jerry's apparent
neglect.
"Even Lucas has come to the door and looked at me," she complained,
"and Jerry ain't so much as been near me."
Theodore was fain to concoct a story about a strained back that would
not allow Jerry to rise from the bed. When it was deemed prudent
to tell her, the task fell to Theodore, who was very tender of his
sister, remembering that though he considered Jerry a shiftless, poor
shack of a creature, Armida probably had affection for him. She took
her loss very quietly.
"He was always good to me," she said, "and he cared for me when no one
else did."
"You're wrong there," Theodore remonstrated.
"I used to tell myself I was," she replied sadly. "I knew I give the
first offence, but Lucas never would 'a' done as he did by the house
if he'd cared for me."
Lucas heard the reproach where he stood out of sight in the little
entry that led to Armida's room, listening to the brother and sister
as they talked together within. He often lingered there, wishing to
enter, but not daring to; longing to atone for the unhappiness he had
caused his sister, but not knowing how to set about it. Now, taking
Theodore into his confidence, he set to work to obliterate all outward
signs that made it "the divided house," leaving to his brother the
task of keeping it from Armida. As she querulously inquired what all
the hammering and pounding that was going on in front of the house
meant, Theodore had a story ready about the steps to the front porch
being so worn out that Lucas had to have some new ones, "or else break
his legs goin' over them." The smell of paint was accounted for by
Lucas "havin' one of his spells of gittin' his side painted over
agin;" on which Armida gave way to tears, until her brother comforted
her by saying it didn't make much difference, a new coat couldn't make
it any whiter than it was.
It was a great day when Armida was pronounced well enough to eat
breakfast in the kitchen. Hobbling out with the aid of Theodore's arm,
she stepped on the threshold, and looked over to where Lucas stood
by his window. He greeted her with, "How are ye, Armidy?" but did not
leave his place.
"It seems good to git out of my bedroom," said Armida; then stopped,
gazed about her, and sank into a convenient chair, exclaiming, "What
does it mean?"
For both her and Lucas's old stoves were gone, and a new one stood
directly before the middle of the chimney, with its pipe running into
the old pipe-hole that they used before the house was divided. The
coffee-pot steamed and bubbled over the fire, and a platter of ham and
eggs stood on the hearth, while the table, set for breakfast, stood
exactly in the centre of the room; the dividing line had been wiped
out by the paint-brush, and Lucas's side shone with yellow paint like
her own.
"What does it mean?" she cried, trembling and clutching at Theodore's
arm. Theodore said nothing, but slipped out of the room, and Lucas,
after an awkward pause, said: "Armidy, I wanted, if you was willin',
that we should quit doin' as we have done and have things together as
we used to. Seems as if it would be pleasanter, and if you can forgive
what I've done, I'll try to make it up to ye."
"Why, Lucas!" was all she could say.
"I know I hain't done by ye like a brother," said Lucas, anxious to
get his self-imposed humiliation over, "and I'm sorry, and I'd like to
begin over again."
"I'm just as much a transgressor as you be," said Armida, anxious
to spare him. "If I hadn't said what I did, I 'spose you'd married
Ianthe, and like as not had a family round ye."
"I don't know as I care _now_," said Lucas; "I have felt hard to ye;
but I see Ianthe last March"--he laughed--"and I didn't mourn much
that her name wa'n't Huxter. But that's neither here nor there. If
you feel as if you could git along with two old brothers to look after
instead of one, and overlook what's passed--"
"I'd be glad to, Lucas, if you won't lay up anything against me."
"Well, then;" and coming to her side Lucas bent over her, and, to her
great surprise, kissed her. Turning away before she could return the
kiss, he opened the back door and called to Theodore.
As Theodore came in, Lucas said: "If you had a shawl round ye, Armidy,
wouldn't you like to git out a minute before breakfast?" and without
waiting for an answer, he brought her shawl and wrapped it round her,
then put on her bonnet.
"Can't you and I," he said to Theodore, "make a chair and take her
out? You hain't forgot sence you left school, hev you?"
Locking their hands together they formed what school-children call a
chair, and lifting Armida between them, carried her through the hall,
out at the front door, down the walk to the gate, and turned round,
while Theodore bade his sister look up at the house. Armida obeyed.
She saw the house glistening with paint, her side of it as white as
Lucas's, and blinds adorning her front windows, while the front porch,
with new-laid floor and steps and bristling with brackets, was, in her
eyes, the most imposing of entrances.
Could it be true? she asked herself, and shut her eyes; then glanced
again, then looked at her brothers, who were both silent, Theodore
smiling with joy, while Lucas looked gravely down at her.
"Oh, Lucas!" she cried, throwing her arms around his neck, "you done
this for me!"
"I _told_ you I was sorry, Armidy," he said.