NEXT day Master went to Tillbury for his mail, a-walk of some twenty
miles. He lingered for awhile near the shore of Buckhom on his way, but
saw nothing of her he loved.
Two fishermen had arrived at Strong's, and the Emperor had taken them to
spring holes in the lower river.
After supper that evening he built a big fire in front of the main camp,
and sat down beside the fishermen with Socky and Sue in his lap.
Darkness had fallen when Dunmore strode into the firelight.
"Dwellers in the long house," he said, removing his cap, "I am glad to
sit by your council fire."
"Had supper?" Strong inquired.
"No--give me a doughnut and a piece of bread and butter. I'll eat here
by the fire."
He took the children in his arms while Strong went to prepare his
luncheon.
"I love and fear you," said he. "You make me think of things forgotten."
Of late Socky had thought much of the general subject of grandfathers.
He knew that they were highly useful members of society. He had seen
them carry children on their backs and draw them in little wagons. This
fact had caused him to put all able-bodied grandfathers in the high rank
of ponies and billy-goats. His uncles Silas and Robert had been out of
camp so much lately they had been of slight service to him. The thought
that a grandfather would be more reliable, had presented itself, and he
had broached the subject to little Sue. How they were acquired--whether
they were bought or "ketched" or just given away to any who stood in
need of them--neither had a definite notion. On this point the boy went
to his aunt for counsel. She told him, laughingly, that they were "spoke
for" in a sort of proposal like that of marriage. He had begun to think
very favorably of Mr. Dunmore, and timidly put the question:
"Are--are you anybody's gran'pa?"
"No."
"Mebbe you'd be my gran'pa," the boy suggested, soberly. .
"Maybe," said Dunmore, with a smile.
"We could play horse together when Uncle Silas is away," was the further
suggestion of Socky.
"Why not play horse with your sister?"
"She's too little--she can't draw me."
"Gran'pas don't make the best horses," Dunmore objected.
"Yes they do," Socky stoutly affirmed. "May Butler's gran'pa draws
her 'round everywhere in a little cart."
"Well, that shows that old men can be good for something," said Dunmore.
"Where's your wagon?"
Socky ran for the creaking treasure.
"Now get in--both of you," said the whitehaired man.
Socky and Sue mounted the wagon. Dunmore took the tongue-peg in both
hands and began to draw them around the fire. Their cries of pleasure
seemed to warm his heart. He quickened his pace, and was soon trotting
in a wide circle while Zeb ran at his side and seemed to urge him on.
When, wearied by his exertion, he sat down to rest, the children stood
close beside him and felt his face with their hands, and gave him the
silent blessing of full confidence.
For Dunmore there was a kind of magic in it all. Somehow it faced him
about and set him thinking of new things. That elemental appeal of the
little folk had been as the sunlight breaking through clouds and falling
on the darkened earth. In his lonely heart spring-time had returned.
The children climbed upon his knees, and he began a curious chant with
closed eyes and trembling voice. The firelight fell upon his face while
he chanted as follows:
"I hear the voices of little children ringing like silver
bells,