he struck his foot against an unseen stone.
"Hang ye, don' do that," he cried, angrily, as he heard the breaking of
a branch behind him. "Why don' ye blaze yo' way right along, or mark
yo' path with a rope? Do you wan' the whole settle-_ment_ follerin' us
up here?"
With praiseworthy discretion Bud still refrained from speech. A
particularly steep bit of climbing silenced his companion as well.
Yarebrough was the first to discover the landmark.
"Is that the black oak?" he asked.
"Where?"
He pointed above them and a little to the right, to a veteran whose
side had been cut by hunters for the discomfiture of a 'coon or 'possum
that had taken refuge within.
"Yep."
They climbed to it, and both men set their heavy loads upon the ground.
"Much further?" asked Bud.
"No, come on. Sun'll be up soon 'n we'll be late gettin' down."
Pressley pointed to the east, where a sort of inner glow seemed to
illuminate the haze and make it thinner and more penetrable. They
shouldered their packs and again Pink led the way. He advanced, now,
with a certain care. From the tree he counted a hundred paces to the
right, and called Bud's attention to the number.
"That brings ye to this hickory--see?--with a rock under hit. Now,
then, straight up from this is the place we's after, twenty-five steps,
about; but hit's hard to tell, hit's so steep."
He deposited his load upon a flat platform of rock, above which, at a
height of a dozen feet, the bank overhung. Under the bank was a hole,
not clear enough to be called a cave, nor of any great size. Bud sank
down, gratefully, beside his leader, and scrutinized the place.
"Not overly large," he commented, "but Ah 'low hit 'll be right smart
bigger when hit's cleaned out."
"Hit is," returned Pressley, laconically. He spoke with so much
decision that Bud looked at him sharply.
"You-all ain' ever----?" He hesitated.
"Used hit before? Not much! Ah ain' a plumb fool! But they's nothing
like comin' from a fam'ly that's observin' an' contrivin'."
A smile of self-appreciation swept over his face.
"Ah've knowed about this place ever since Ah was fryin' size. In fact,
mah father--well, never min' him. Only you'll fin' they's plenty o'
room inside to stow away that rubbish an' all our little do-es beside."
"Whereaway's the water?"
"They's a spring over yonder a little bit."
Bud stared at the hole sullenly, and slowly scratched his head.
Pressley, unlashing a mattock and shovel from his pack, did not notice
him.
"Ah swear, Pink," broke out Yarebrough, in puzzled indecision, "Ah
swear Ah donno's Ah like this business."
Pressley sneered.
"Don' talk so loud. Yo' rather late findin' hit out."
"No, Ah ain'. Ah ain' never been sho'."
"Sho' 'bout what?"
"Oh, Ah donno. Kin' o' hard to say. You-all don' think we'll get
caught?"
"Not 'f you keep that big mouth o' yo's shut."
"Mr. Baron did."
"Mr. Baron's a fool. He trusted a stranger."
"Hit'll kin'er make ye uneasy 'bout talkin' to fellers on the road,
won' hit?" said Bud, who was the most sociable man in the settlement.
"Hit'll sharpen yo' judg-_ment_. The way you-all go on now you ain' fur
off Mr. Baron fo' never suspectin' nobody."
It was this very quality in Bud that was playing into Pink's hands.
Yarebrough, however, felt properly rebuked.
"Ah ain' had yo' experience, ye know. Ah never see but one marshal to
know him."
"When ye do see one, an' yo' sho', never forget him. Hit's the only
way. Here, take this mattock 'n pull those small rocks out, 'n pile 'em
on this crocus-sack so's they won' make any trash on this-yer
platform."
Bud did as he was bid, and the men worked quietly and steadily for ten
minutes.
"Here she is," Pink whispered, at last, and peered excitedly into the
cavern.
It was, as he had said, not very large, but large enough.
"Now pick up that sack with me an' tote hit in here. We mus'n' leave
anythin' roun'. Here, this corner 'll do. Now bring me in that pipe 'n
the little keg. We c'n leave all the tools here _ex_-ceptin' our axes.
Axes looks well 'f we meet anybody goin' down."
"H'm," grunted Yarebrough once more, and scratched his head again. He
stepped out of the cave on to the platform that Nature's hand had laid.
The brightening light indicated the approach of dawn, though the sun
had not yet risen. The mist was not dispelled, but it had grown
thinner, and trees at some distance down the mountain began to have
individual shape through the veil of dry haze that inwrapped them. The
air was cool and sweet. The birds were singing, though still sleepily,
but one in a tree over his head burst into a glorious heralding of the
morning. Bud thrust his hands into his pockets and whistled softly.
Pink roused him roughly from his reverie.
"Come, boy, we gotter fix up this yer openin' somehow."
Bud answered irrelevantly:
"Ah wisht Ah was certain about M'lissy."
Pressley let fly the bush that he was bending across the mouth of the
cave.
"What about her?" he asked, sharply.
"Oh, everythin'!"
Explanation was difficult to his slowness of thought.
"She'll be wonderin' what takes me away from home so much at night; an'
Ah don' much like to leave her alone, neither."
"Cain' ye trust her?" jeered Pink, with an evil scowl, but Bud turned
on him so fiercely that he added, hastily,--"to keep still if ye tell
her?"
"Tell her? Tell M'lissy! Ah wouldn' tell her fo' a good deal! You-all
don' know M'lissy."
"She'd jump ye, Ah reckon."
"No, Ah don' allow she'd say much. The way hit is, ye see,
M'lissy,--hit's foolish 'f her,--but M'lissy kinder thinks Ah ain' a
right bad feller, an' Ah sorter hate to disabuse her min' o' that
opinion."
"She mus' know you-all drinks."
"Yes, Ah 'low she do."
"An' ye play craps."
"Oh, well, that ain' anythin'."
"An' ye fight chickens."
"Of co'se; everybody does that."
"'N you've killed paddidges befo' the law was off."
"Who hasn'?"
"If she knows all those things she sho' cain' think yo' a plumb angel."
"Ah don' s'pose she's lookin' fo' wings. All the same, Ah do hate to
have her know Ah'm about to do this."
"Oh, this is all right. She don' know yo' in debt an' need the money."
"No, she don'."
"Would that worry her?"
"Ah reckon hit would, specially if----"
"If what?"
"You seem powerful eager to know what'll worry M'lissy."
"If ye don' know what worries people ye cain' know how to help 'em."
Pink was suavity itself. "If what?"
"Ah was goin' to say, specially 'f she knowed it was you-all Ah owed
hit to."
"Lemme tell ye somethin' right now, Bud: M'lissy wouldn' fin' everybody
clever 'nough to len' money to a no-'count feller like you. She better
like me 'f she don'."
"She don' know hit, ye see. 'N she never shall 'f Ah c'n help hit."
Pressley grunted and seemed to reflect. Then he shook his head and
muttered to himself.
"Hit might spoil the other."
"What ye say?" asked Bud.
"Nothin'. Ah'm studyin' 'bout fixin' a sort o' do' fo' here, so's the
light won' shine out none when we-uns is workin'."
"Where's the smoke goin' to?"
"They's a split in that upper rock, fur back, we c'n run a bit o' pipe
through. Leastways, they was when Ah was a kid."
"'N 's they ain' been no _con_-vulsion o' nature since that happy time,
you 'low hit's still there."
"May be filled up; 'twan' overly big. But that's easy fixed."
"Say, Pink, don' you think we'd make any money--jus' as much money--'f
we paid the tax, 'n could retail openly?"
"Paid the tax? Paid---- Fo' the Lawd's sakes! Pink Pressley payin' the
gover'men' tax!"
He gave a great burst of laughter, which he quickly strangled, looking
about suspiciously, and shook and shook with suppressed mirth. Bud
stared at him seriously, and with some offence.
"Ah don' see nothin' e'er so ludicrous about that suggestion."
"Oh, Lawd!" Pink was rocking gently from side to side. "You don'? Jus'
look yere, then. Have you-all got twenty-five dollars to pay the
Federal gover'men' fo' this privilege? 'N fifty to pay the State? 'N
fifty to pay the county? 'F you got a hundred 'n twenty-five dollars to
spen' so free, Ah'd like to see hit!"
Bud rubbed his head and said nothing.
"'N who'd ye get to go on yo' bond? Mrs. Carroll 'n Miss Sydney, Ah
s'pose! Oh, dear!"
Again he laughed, soundlessly.
"If ye go into hit so expensive, ye gotter have the plant to do a big
business, 'n where'd ye get that? 'N ye'd have to get mo' co'n 'n you
'n me c'n make ourselves, 'n that'd mean ye gotter buy hit, or rent mo'
lan' 'n hire niggers to work hit, 'n how'd ye pay fo' that?"
Bud listened gloomily, chewing the side of his finger.
"Them gover'men' fellers cain' make nothin'," went on Pink. "Firs'
place they's co'n at fifty cen's a bushel. One bushel o' co'n makes
about two gallons o' whisky; they's an _ex_-pense o' nigh twenty-five
cen's a gallon to begin with. Then the gauger comes 'roun', 'n ye have
to pay a tax on all he's smart enough to fin',--a dollar 'n ten cen's a
gallon. They's a dollar 'n thirty-five cen's a gallon befo' the stuff's
lef' yo' sto'house. 'N what payin' market c'n ye fin' fo' hit when any
feller who wan's c'n get all the moonshine he needs fo' a dollar or a
dollar 'n a quarter a gallon? Oh, Ah tell you, 'f ye wan' to make any
money with a gover'men' still ye gotter have a switch-off that the
gauger cain' fin. 'N 'f ye do that, ye might's well's, far's yo' morals
is concerned, do hit all moonshine 'n save those ex-penses Ah listed
fo' ye right now."
"Ah s'pose yo' right," assented Bud. "Blockadin's blockadin', whether
ye do hit by moon or day. Do you-all 'low Calkins might inform on us?"
"Him's runs the still back o' Buck? Ah don' guess so. He knows Ah could
tell the sto'keeper the whereabouts o' a pipe in his still-house that
don' run into no sto'house. Oh, no, he won' inform on us."
"Ah hope not," said Bud, dismally. "Anyway, you-all better come on down
now. Gimme that axe, will ye?"
"We gotter be right careful not to make no path comin' here. We better
never come twict the same way."
Bud nodded his understanding.
"Come on," he urged. "Ah'm's empty 's a gun."
XIX
Hilda
Pink roses and red swung to and fro in the sunshine as they climbed the
Doctor's whitewashed porch. Big bees hummed their sleepy drone from the
fragrant hearts of the flowers, and a humming-bird whirred busily in
and out in search of the honeysuckle that he loved. Up-stairs Mrs.
Morgan was darning stockings in the coolest room in the house,--a
bedroom with a northern exposure. A white shirt-waist gave a puffy look
to a body that could ill endure such appearance of enlargement, and a
black belt accentuated the amplitude of girth that it encircled. The
good lady sat in an armless rocking-chair, or rather _on_ it, for she
was by no means contained therein, but bulged over and beyond at all
points. Her feet, shod in heelless black slippers, above which puffed
white stockings, rested upon a low footstool, and her widespread knees
provided a generous lap for the support of her supply of socks and her
implements,--her needle-book' and darning-gourd and balls of cotton.
She had that look of comfort that fat people seem to radiate even when
it is evident that physical annoyance is their own share.
[Illustration: "Pink roses and red swung to and fro in the sunshine as
they climbed the doctor's whitewashed porch"]
Discomfort had no part in the picture that Mrs. Morgan presented,
however, for a cool breeze gently ruffled her hair, and her eyes, when
she lifted them from her work, rested contentedly on the fertile fields
of the Doctor's farm, which were thriving, under Bob's management. She
nodded with, pursed-up lips, as she wove her little lattices in heel
and toe.
"He's doing better than ever Ah thought he would," she murmured.
"Better, even, than Ah dared to hope,--thank God!"
Up and down, over and under, in and out went her needle.
"It's such a joy to Henry to have him so."
The scissors snipped a thread at the end of a darn, and a new hole
displayed its ravage over the yellow surface of the gourd.
"It's been going on some months now, bless him! Ah'd like to know how
he started in. Ah believe mahself it's Sydney."
The work sank into her lap for a space, while her shrewd eyes roamed
over the fields, and sought Buck Mountain beyond, thrusting its topmost
clump of chestnut-trees against the sky. She nodded to her thoughts as
she picked up the unfinished sock.
"She's a wise mother who knows where her son ties his horse, and Ah
confess Ah haven't always known, but it strikes me it's mostly the
Oakwood hitching-post."
She smiled at her own sagacity.
"Not that Sydney'd have him. Though she might do a great deal worse, a
great deal worse," she added, loyally. "But he cares for her enough to
want to please her, and it takes the best to satisfy Sydney."
A step on the stairs outside made itself heard.
"Come in, dear. Ah was just thinking about you."
Bob flung his cap on the bed, sat down on a cricket beside his mother,
and leaned his head against her shoulder.
"Tired, dear?"
"No, just hot. I've been over every field on the farm since breakfast."
"In all this sun!"
"Do you think it ought to cease to shine to shade your boy? There'll be
a right smart crop this year."
"So your father was telling me yesterday."
"I've got better hands than usual."
"And they have a better overseer."
She let fall the stocking from her left hand and patted the shock of
black hair resting on her shoulder. Silence fell between them--the
embarrassment that comes from the broaching of a delicate subject.
"It's hard work," he sighed, and her mother-love knew that he did not
refer to the management of the farm.
"We all have our dragons to fight, and yours is one of the hardest
kind. Ah'm sure he's growing weaker, though."
"But he's still in the ring," groaned Bob, with a comical look, and
they laughed in sympathy.
"I ought to have begun on him long years ago for your sake, ma dear,
but--it wasn't you!" he blurted out, and hastened to kiss her, lest she
be offended.
She could not help just a little sigh.
"It's what happens to most mothers, and we are thankful for the result,
and put our vanity into our pocket."
"I don't want you to suppose that I'm such a puppy as to believe that
she--you know who--cares for me--that way, you know. But I happened to
think one day when--well, never mind what happened--I just thought that
while she might never care anyway, she was dead sure not to if I went
on being the kind of thing I was."
"True, dear, and even if she never did,"--how she longed to give him
hope, as she had given him every toy he asked for in his baby days! But
wisdom came to her now, and love gave her strength,--"even if she never
did, the victory would still be a victory."
"And you'd care, anyway. Oh, mothers are good things! Do you mind my
telling you-all this?"
He was sitting before her now, with his elbows on his knees and his
chin in his hands. She leaned forward and kissed him.
"You've given me the greatest happiness Ah've known for years, dear."
He pulled at the stockings in her lap.
"I don't think I've had much show lately, do you?"
"You mean----?"
"Oh, well, I reckon I don't mean anything. It's all in the game.
There's father," as a cry of "O-oh, Sophy!" was heard below. "Sophy's
up here in the north room, dad," he called, eliciting from his mother
the expected--
"You impertinent boy!"
The Doctor came in, bringing with him an air of excitement that made
Bob cry,--
"What's up?"
Mrs. Morgan laid down her half-darned sock in anticipation.
"You never can guess the latest development."
"Ah've no desire to, Henry. Ah'd rather hear it at once."
"Who do you think's come?"
"Where?"
"To the Neighborhood."
"Henry, don't be so aggravating! Why don't you-all tell what you've got
to tell, if you _have_ got anything to tell."
This sarcasm drove on the Doctor to disclosure.
"Baron von Rittenheim's sister-in-law."
"His sister-in-law!" cried Bob.
"What in the world will he do with her in that cabin of his?"
ejaculated Mrs. Morgan.
"Is she pretty?" This from Bob.
The Doctor was quite satisfied with the sensation he had aroused, and
sat down to tell his story comfortably.
"Ah've just come from Oakwood, and Sydney told me. It seems she turned
up last night after the Baron got home from the picnic; drove out from
Asheville. He had to go and get Melissa Yarebrough to come and look
after her."
"He wasn't expecting her, then?"
"Sydney says no. Of course he couldn't ask visitors to that shack of
his."
"Ah suppose she hadn't any idea he was living that-a-way."
"Ah reckon not. She's his brother Maximilian's wife, or widow, rather,
for she brought him the news of his brother's death. Sydney says he was
quite broken up about it when he came over soon this morning to ask
Mrs. Carroll if she would take her in. The old lady'd gone to fetch her
when Ah got there."
"Did you wait?"
"You bet!"
"Is she pretty?" Bob asked again, with some insistence. Perhaps the
Baron--how could he, though? But there was at least a chance of his
falling in love with his own countrywoman.
"Pretty? I should say so! She looks like a lovely child, or an angel on
a Christmas card, or something. Oh, you needn't grin. She won't look at
you!"
"Saving all her looks for you, I suppose! Can she speak English?"
"Yes; but not enough to hurt anything. You'd ought to have seen her run
up to Sydney, just like a little girl, and cry out, 'Oh, I thank you
for that you have been so kind, every one, to my dear Friedrich!'"
"How did Sydney take that?" Mrs. Morgan could not resist a glance at
her son.
"Oh, Sydney always does everything all right."
"What did she say to you, dad?"
"Oh, something about Friedrich telling her that Mrs. Carroll and Ah
were his best friends."
"How long's she going to stay?"
"Ah don't know. Ah came away right off."
At Oakwood Baroness Hilda von Rittenheim's coming partook of the nature
of an event. Sydney, who never had happened to hear even her name
mentioned, went about during the time of her grandmother's absence in a
state of agreeable anticipation. She was curious to see this unexpected
arrival, and she took pleasure in arranging flowers in her room, and in
shading the windows to produce the most desirable light.
"It will please him," she thought, "for us to be nice to her. Poor
thing, she's lost all she cared for in the world; everybody ought to be
nice to her." And she thought how happy she was herself, and resolved
to be as kind as she knew how to be to the new-comer.
Sydney had a strong reluctance to face emotional or spiritual crises,
and not even after her conversation on the bridge did she acknowledge
to herself that von Rittenheim loved her, or that she cared for him.
She was content to feel the glow that warmed her when she knew that she
was the princess of his fable, and not to analyze her own feeling
further, or to posit in him more than admiration.
Americans usually think of German women as fat and affectionate, or, if
they are extremists, as "fit only to propagate their own undesirable
race." Sydney formulated no idea of Hilda's appearance, but she found
herself none the less surprised when she and Dr. Morgan watched from
the window the tiny figure in its black robes, descending from the
carriage.
"Why, the Baron said she was twenty-five, but she doesn't look any
older than I do," she cried, and she flew down the steps to welcome
her.
Hilda's little speech of thanks was natural and pretty, and Sydney
liked her at once because she liked Friedrich. Katrina was delighted
with her. Tom declared that he could listen to that accent forever, and
John went into absurd raptures that were more serious than they
sounded. Even Mrs. Carroll, usually not enthusiastic, granted her to be
"Pretty? Yes, even lovely. And charming? Very."
Hilda must have felt herself to be under scrutiny during the day, yet
she betrayed no knowledge of it. Her behavior was perfect. Several
times she alluded to Max.
"Poor Max! The shock of his death was to me severe. Have I known
Friedrich long? Oh, yes, indeed. Before ever I met Maximilian. I was
living with my aunt in Heidelberg when he was at the University. I was
a little girl then. Ah, yes, Friedrich always was _nett_ to me, even so
before Max. Yes, always shall I love Friedrich."
It occurred to Sydney that there was a shade too much insistence on
this mutual affection, but she berated herself for a "jealous piece,"
and ordered Uncle Jimmy to bring out on the lawn coffee as well as tea,
in deference to her guest's probable predilection.
"Yes, dear Frau Carroll," said Hilda, in answer to a question. "Indeed,
have I much to talk with him. He comes this evening to see me. I have
much to tell him and to hear from him."
Over her cup she glanced shrewdly at Sydney, who was enraged to feel
herself blushing.
When Baron von Rittenheim appeared in the evening, Sydney and the
Schuylers and John were just starting for the Hugers' dance.
"Surely you will go," the little Baroness had said, "and you will not
think of me one time."
"You ask too much," murmured John.
She glanced at her mourning with a look that might have meant yearning
for Max, or a desire to go to the ball.
Then she raised her eyes to Friedrich's, and Sydney was surprised to
see a look of anger sweep over her childish face. Seeking its cause she
found von Rittenheim's eyes fixed on herself, so full of love and
longing and sadness that her one wish was to comfort him. Involuntarily
she took a step towards him, and held out her hands. Then she
remembered herself, and swept him a low courtesy, as if in thanks for
the admiration of his gaze.
"You like my frock, M. le Baron?" she asked.
Von Rittenheim's eyes went to the fluffy white mass lying on the floor,
and rose again to her face.
"He's speechless with rapture, Sydney," said John.
"I am, indeed," said Friedrich, bowing with his hand on his heart.
"Then come on, Sydney, and let language flow once more." And Tom
dexterously threw her cape over her shoulders.
"See that? I've learned to do that really well since I was married.
I've been practising in private. Mrs. Schuyler, allow me." And he
repeated his performance and swept his flock before him to the door.
XX
Sacrifice
"I know that you two have much to say to each other," said Mrs.
Carroll, when the noise of departing wheels had died away. "Ring the
bell, Baron, please, and tell James to light the lamp in the little
sitting-room. And in considering your plans, let me beg both of you to
remember that it will be a pleasure to us all if the Baroness will stay
at Oakwood as long as she wishes."
Hilda ran to the elder woman in her childish, impulsive way, and
thanked her with many little German phrases of gratitude. Von
Rittenheim raised her hand to his lips and murmured,--
"You make my decision easier, dear lady."
In the little sitting-room Hilda established herself in a huge
arm-chair, whose high back cast a shadow on her face, and Friedrich, at
the window, drew in great breaths of sweet summer air. He turned to her
when Uncle Jimmy had gone.
"First tell me about Max."
"Yes, I must tell you about Max. I am afraid it will be an added grief
to you to know that Max----"
"What is it?" he asked, sharply and apprehensively, as she hesitated.
How familiar to him was that feeling of apprehension about his brother.
Hilda was sitting erect in the big chair, looking at him fixedly.
"Max--shot himself."
"My God! Shot himself! Poor girl!"
The expression on Hilda's face changed to one of relief--almost of joy.
After all, his first thought had been for her.
"Why did he--how did it happen?"
"He had had troubles----"
"Money?"
She nodded.
"I think they distressed him more than usual. And he was--he wasn't
quite himself."
Von Rittenheim stared persistently out of the window, his face almost
entirely turned away from her. He lost not a word of what she said, and
at the same time there ran through his mind memories of their boyhood
days together, and of their adventures at the gymnasium and the
university. Then their rivalry over Hilda. With what careless ease
Maximilian had won her away from his brother, just for the pleasure of
victory. He felt again a dash of the old bitterness.
"You mean he was drunk?" he asked, bluntly.
She raised her tiny hands before her face as if she were warding off a
blow. Friedrich hardly could hear her "Yes."
Her action suggested an idea to von Rittenheim.
"Tell me, Hilda." He stammered over the question. "Did he--did Max ever
strike you?"
Without a word Hilda pushed back the hair that fell over her forehead
at one side, and showed, close to the roots, a scar.
Friedrich gazed at her in horror.