The Golden Key
"Why, Dan, what's the matter?"
Nellie was sitting before the open fire busily engaged with her needle as
the lad entered the room. He stared at her for an instant, and then a
sheepish grin crossed his face. His clothes were torn, and his hair tossed
in the wildest confusion, while marks of blood spotted his cheeks.
"What in the world have you been doing?" Nellie insisted.
"Nuthin' much," came the slow reply,
"Well, you don't look like it. Have you been fighting?"
"Y'bet!" and Dan smacked his lips. "I swatted him good and hard, that's
what I did."
"Did what?"
"Swatted him--punched his face, and dug out some of his hair."
"Punched his face and dug out his hair!" Nellie exclaimed. "I don't
understand. Sit down, and tell me about it."
Perched upon a chair Dan gave a brief though vivid description of the
scene in the store, to which Nellie listened with almost breathless
interest.
"And did he say that father took old Billy's gold?" she asked. "Are you
sure?"
"Sure's I'm livin'. He said it, and he called him a rogue and me a--a--bad
name!" Dan was about to tell what that name was, but the word stuck in his
throat, and he found it impossible to bring it forth. "Sucker and
sponger!" how those words stung him. How contemptuously his father had
always spoken of such people. They rankled in his heart as he sped up the
road. A squirrel in an old fir-tree had shouted them at him, while a
forlorn crow soaring overhead had looked down and given its hoarse croak
of contempt. He was a sucker--a sponger! living upon others! What was he
doing to earn his living? Nothing. What would his father think were he
alive?
"Dan, I'm sorry you did that," and as Nellie looked into those big brown
eyes a deep love for this little lad welled up in her heart.
"Why. I thought you'd be glad," came the astonished reply. "If anybody
called my dad bad names when he was alive I'd been glad if someone swatted
him."
Nellie remained silent for a while, steadily working away at her sewing.
"Dan," she said at length, "I want you to promise me something, will you?"
"Y'bet. What is it?"
"I want you to promise that you will say nothing about this to my father."
"Why? Wouldn't he like to know how I punched that man?"
"No, no. And besides I don't want him to know what has been said about
him. It's a cruel lie, and if father hears of it, it will worry him so
much. Will you keep the secret with me?"
"Yes, if you want me to. I'll not say a word, but, oh, I think Parson John
would like to know how I punched him," and Dan gave a deep sigh at the
thought of losing such pleasure.
"Thank you," Nellie replied. "I know I can trust you. Run away now, change
your clothes, and wash your face; then get the wood in, before father
comes home."
Long and silently Nellie remained before the fire with her hands resting
upon her lap. Her brain was in a tumult, and her heart ached. What else
was being said about her father? To whom should she go for information?
She thought of Mrs. Larkins, but then she was over at the Hall getting
ready for a church sale to be given that very evening by the Ladies' Aid
Society. Stephen was coming for her early, as she was to have charge of
one of the fancy booths. Afterwards there was to be a quiet dance by the
young people, and she had promised Stephen that she would stay for a
while, and have her first dance with him.
At length she aroused from her reverie and prepared her father's supper.
How weary he looked, she thought, as she sat and watched him, and listened
to his casual talk about his afternoon visit and the auction in the
morning. A feeling of resentment filled her heart as she recalled what
Farrington had said. To think that he should say such things about her
father, who was always so patient and loving; who was ever trying to help
others, no matter who they were. Tears came to her eyes at the thought.
Suddenly she rose, and going to where her father was sitting put her arms
around him, and gave him a loving kiss.
"Ho, ho!" came the delighted exclamation. "What ails my little girl
to-night? What does she want now?"
"I want you, daddy," she replied. "I want to love you more, and be more
help to you."
"Help me more! What could you do more than you do now? There, run away and
get ready. I hear bells; Stephen must be coming, and I'm afraid you'll be
late. Dan and I will look after the dishes."
That evening in the church hall, when the sale had ended, the fiddler
tuned up his instrument, and several made ready for the dance. It was
truly a pleasant sight which met the eyes of a number of the older ones as
they sat back near the wall. Grouped around the large room the flower and
strength of the neighbourhood chatted with one another, while waiting for
the dance to begin. They seemed like one large family, these youths and
maidens, who had known one another from childhood. Bright and happy were
their faces, glowing with health, and the active exercise of daily life.
Somewhat apart from the rest stood Nellie Westmore, engaged in earnest
conversation with Vivien Nelson. Presently the former turned partly around
and her eyes rested upon Mrs. Larkins sitting quietly in one corner of the
room. A bright smile illumined her face as she crossed over and sat down
by her side.
"I am glad you stayed, Mrs. Larkins," she began. "I did not think you
would care to remain."
"I like to see the young people enjoying themselves," Mrs. Larkins
replied, "and I hope you will have a pleasant time, Nellie."
"I generally do," came the slow response; "but to-night my conscience
troubles me."
"And in what way?"
"Oh, about my father."
"Why, is he sick?"
"No, not that. He is troubled somewhat in his mind, and I feel I should
have stayed at home to cheer him up. I know he needs me to-night, and it
was just his love which made him forget himself. He is always like that;
thinking about others all the time."
"Don't worry, Nellie. Your father will have his books to occupy his mind."
"Yes, I know that. But he is feeling rather down-cast to-night after that
auction this morning. Some cruel things were said about him, and I always
know when he is in trouble, though he seldom complains."
Nellie paused, and gazed for a time upon the group in the centre of the
room, as if intent on what was taking place there. Then her dark eyes,
filled with a questioning look, turned full upon Mrs. Larkins' face.
"I am glad to be with you for a few moments," she whispered, "for I wish
to ask you something. I have only spoken of it to Vivien, for she is so
true and noble. Have you heard these stories about my father, Mrs.
Larkins?"
"In connection with Billy Fletcher's gold?" was the reply.
"Yes, yes, that is what I mean. Oh, it troubles me so much."
"Yes, I have heard some of them, Nellie. But do not give yourself
unnecessary concern. Evil-minded people will talk. I said nothing to you,
hoping the matter would soon die down. Has your father heard anything?"
"No, not yet, and I trust no one will tell him. He has enough worry now
without these. He has that trouble with the mine in British Columbia;
then, this morning's annoyance. Oh, he must not know what people are
saying!"
"I have heard but little lately," Mrs. Larkins responded in an effort to
comfort her. "Let us trust that the talk will not amount to much."
"But Vivien tells me that it is not so. Since the auction the stories have
started up again stronger than ever. People cannot understand where father
got so much money to pay for the farm. I don't even know myself, for
father never told me. Tom Fletcher and others are saying all sorts of
things. What shall we do?"
Her bosom heaved as she uttered these words, which somewhat expressed the
agitated state of her mind. Before Mrs. Larkins could further reply, the
music struck up, and Stephen came for Nellie to claim her for the opening
dance.
"How worthy," thought Mrs. Larkins as her eyes followed Nellie as she went
forward, "is she of a true man's love. What nobleness and strength of
character are there. But what of Stephen? If he would only get the right
grip. Such a face as his is surely meant for higher things than a life of
carelessness."
She was aroused by Farrington, who had taken the seat by her side which
Nellie had recently vacated.
"They're hevin' a good time," he began, nodding towards the dancers.
"Dick's in his element to-night."
"Rhoda Gadsby makes him a good partner," replied Mrs. Larkins.
"Only fair, Mrs. Larkins, only fair. She's not a bad girl, but no real
pardner fer my son Dick. I'm sorry her father is my opponent at the comin'
election. He'll never win, mark my word. Gadsby's too full of notions. He
wants to set the world on fire, an' has all kinds of new-fangled idees. He
will never do fer a Councillor-never. What Glendow wants is a real
practical man, one who understands human nater."
"But Mr. Gadsby is a superior man," replied Mrs. Larkins. "He reads much,
and is trying to farm along scientific lines."
"Tryin' to farm! Yes, yer right thar, Mrs. Larkins. But that's about as
fer as he's got. He has big idees, an' is allus talkin' about this parish
bein' behint the times."
"And in what way?"
"Oh, as regards the schools. They don't teach enough branches, sich as
botany, drawin' an' sich like. What do the childern of Glendow want with
botany stuck into their brains? Let 'em learn to read, write an' cipher.
Them things will pay. But as fer botany, who ever heerd of it helpin' a
man to manage a farm, or a woman to sew, cook or make butter? Now, look at
me, Mrs. Larkins. I never studied botany, an' behold my bizness. I don't
know a bit about botany, an' here I'm runnin' fer a Councillor, an'
lookin' forred to the Local House. No, no, this botany bizness is all
nonsense."
"But," remonstrated Mrs. Larkins, "do you not enjoy the beautiful? Life
should be more than the mere grubbing through dust and heat, grinding out
our little day, wearing out the body and cramping up the soul in field,
factory, office or behind the counter. Life is meant to be enjoyed, and
whatever tends to enlarge our children's perspective, which will give them
a love for the beautiful, will lessen the drudgery of life, and develop
their characters. The Creator who made human beings in His own image, and
endowed them with powers above the brute creation, surely intended that
these divine faculties should be used and not allowed to lie dormant."
Mrs. Larkins spoke more strongly than was her wont. She was naturally a
quiet woman. But this man's narrowness and ignorance nettled her.
Farrington, however, was not in the least affected by such words; in fact
he rather pitied anyone who did not see eye to eye with him.
"What ye say, Mrs. Larkins," he replied, "is very fine in theory. But the
question is, 'Will it pay?' Fer them as likes sich things they may study
'em to their hearts' content. But what do sich people amount to? I seen
the parson once stand fer a long time watchin' the settin' sun, an' when I
axed 'im what he saw he looked at me sorter dazed like. 'Mr. Farrington,'
sez he, 'I saw wonderful things to-night, past man's understandin'. I've
been very near to God, an' beheld the trailin' clouds of His glory!'
'Parson,' sez I, 'What will ye take fer yer knowledge? How much is it
worth? While ye've been gazin' out thar at that sunset I've been gazin' at
these letters, an' I find I'm better off by twenty-five dollars by gittin'
my eggs an' butter to market day afore yesterday, jist when the prices had
riz. That's what comes of gazin' at facts sich as price lists an' knowin'
how to buy an' sell at the right time. That's of more value than lookin'
at all the flowers an' sunsets in the world!' The parson didn't say
nuthin', but jist looked at me, while the men in the store haw-hawed right
out an' told the joke all round. Xo, you may find music in ripplin' water,
an' poetry in flowers, an' sunsets, as Phil Gadsby and the parson sez, but
give me the poetry of a price list, an' the music of good solid coin upon
my counter. Them's the things which tell, an' them's the things we want
taught in our schools."
Just as Farrington finished, cries of fright fell upon their ears. Turning
quickly towards the dancers Mrs. Larkins noticed that most of them had
fallen back in little groups, leaving Stephen Frenelle and Dick Farrington
alone in the middle of the room. The attitude of the two left no doubt as
to the cause of the disturbance. With clenched fists they faced each other
as if about to engage in a fierce struggle. The former's eyes glowed with
an intense light, while his strained, white face betokened the agitated
state of his feelings.
"Say that again!" he hissed, looking straight at his opponent. "Say it if
you dare!"
Dick stood irresolute with the look of fear blanching his face at sight of
the angry form before him. While he hesitated and all held their breath,
Nellie Westmore moved swiftly forward, and laid a timid hand upon
Stephen's arm.
"Stephen, Stephen!" she pleaded. "Stop! don't go any further! Be a man!
Come, let us go home!"
Quickly he turned and looked into her eyes, and at that look the pallor
fled his face, leaving it flushed and abashed. His clenched hands relaxed,
and without a word he followed her to the door. As they donned their wraps
and passed out into the night, sighs of relief at the termination of this
startling incident were plainly heard. Dick gave a sarcastic laugh, and
the dance continued as if nothing unusual had happened.
For a while neither Nellie nor Stephen spoke as they sped along the road,
drawn by a magnificent chestnut mare. The night was clear, and the
crescent moon rose high in the heavens. Not a breath of wind stirred the
trees, and the only sound which broke the silence was the jingling bells
keeping time to the horse's nimble feet.
"He called me a fool and a pauper!" Stephen at length exclaimed. "Did you
hear him?"
"Certainly," came the reply. "How could any one help hearing him?"
"I'd have knocked him down if it hadn't been for you, Nellie."
"I'm glad you didn't, Stephen."
"But I'll show him a thing or two. I'll get even with him yet. I'll teach
him to call me a fool and a pauper!"
"Why not get more than even with him? You can do it without any trouble."
Nellie spoke very impressively, and Stephen looked at her in surprise.
"I know I can do that, for he's nothing but a clown. But what else can I
do?"
"I didn't mean that, Stephen. That is only getting even with your opponent
in brute fashion. You will only be putting yourself on an equality with
him. You want to get more than even, not by hitting back and returning
abuse for abuse. No, not that way, but by rising above him in manhood."
"How? In what way, Nellie?"
"Settle down to steady work. Redeem your home. Show Dick and the people of
Glendow that you are not a fool or a pauper, but a man. Oh, Stephen, we
want to be proud of you--and I do, too."
"Do you, Nellie, really?"
"Indeed I do, Stephen."
For an instant only their eyes met. For an instant there was silence. But
in that instant, that mere atom of time, there opened up to Stephen a new
meaning of life. A virile energy rent the old husk of indifference, and a
yearning, startling in its intensity, stabbed his heart, to "make good,"
to recover lost ground and to do something of which Nellie should be
proud.
It was love--the golden key which had at last opened to the young man the
mystic door of life's great responsibility.