Joyce wondered, as she went cautiously through the grass lest she
stumble in the darkness, whether her house was going to be at all
habitable, and what she should do if it were not. She had no mind to
trouble Mrs. Bryant any further, neither did she care to have that
good woman know how thoroughly she was adrift in the world without a
spot to lay her head. Very likely Mrs. Bryant might offer her a bed
for the night, it would be like her good nature, and yet, she was an
utter stranger, and she shrank from accepting such a favor. Taking an
entire stranger into one’s home was a big thing to do, when one had no
introduction whatever except that one could cook.
She had had no time to look out at her new purchase while it was being
placed, and now was not even sure they had set it evenly on its floor.
It might be on end or toppled onto its roof for aught she knew, and
when this thought presented itself she walked on in a growing dismay.
But the street light just opposite proved a boon and shone right
between the two trees to the little white building which was nestled
all properly on a level spot, floor down, and even as a die, with its
little front porch facing the street and set back about fifteen feet
from the fence. When she put her hand on the porch rail it seemed to
be standing solidly. She could see, on stooping down, that it was set
on some stones with fresh cement. The men had taken trouble to make it
right and firm for her. How kind they were! She must try and hunt them
up tomorrow and thank them. Then she remembered the vine and tired as
she was stepped around to see how it had fared on its journey. Behold
it had been taken out of its lard can and set in the ground! They had
even found some water and watered it, for drops were glistening on
the leaves and an empty tin can lay on the ground. Somehow it brought
sudden tears to think that these two rough men had taken so much pains
to set out the vine for her, a stranger.
“It is just God,” she said to herself as she went back to the front
porch, “God is taking care of me!” Then she lifted her eyes to the
stars and said in a soft voice as she stood on her own little step,
“Dear Father in Heaven, bless this little house, and me, and take care
of me here for Christ’s sake.”
It occurred to her as she turned toward the door that it might be
locked and then where would she find a key to fit it? But the knob
turned and the door opened without any trouble and she stepped inside
and closed it softly after her. For a moment she could see nothing.
Then her eyes became accustomed to the semi-darkness, and the patches
of light on the floor that came through the little diamond panes of the
windows and door showed the room to be empty save for a wooden box in
the middle of the floor, and a great stack of newspapers in one corner.
Joyce had brought a few matches with her from Mrs. Bryant’s and now she
struck one and looked around carefully. The place was tolerably clean.
The floor was dusty of course and a few peanut shells were scattered
here and there, but nothing very bad. The walls were lined with compo
board and painted white, and in the flare of a few matches presented
no unpleasant features. The box was empty and the pile of newspapers
seemed to be different lots left over from some newsstand. They were of
old dates, folded but once, and quite clean. There did not even seem to
be any spider webs in that corner, and only the top papers were dusty.
Having satisfied herself so far she deposited the remaining matches on
the window sill for a possible time of need in the night and set to
work. Those newspapers were her only chance, and she was thankful for
them. She must make a bed out of them.
Her first act was to drag the box across the floor to block the door.
There was no key and she had no mind to sleep in a strange place, with
a door that could be opened by any one in the night. The box was just
high enough to reach under the knob, and heavy enough so that the door
could not be opened without making a good deal of noise; and after she
had placed it she felt quite secure in her new shelter.
She covered the top of the box with a clean newspaper and put her hat
and handbag upon them. Then she attacked the pile of newspapers. She
unfolded them sheet by sheet and crumpled them thoroughly, throwing
them into the corner and when she had covered a space on the floor
about six feet long by three feet wide with these crumpled papers
crowded close together, she laid several open sheets smoothly over them
tucking the edges well underneath, and began again crumpling papers
and putting on the top another layer. These in turn had several whole
newspapers laid smoothly on the top and then another layer until she
had quite a comfortable couch of springy paper. She even opened out a
couple of papers and filled them with crumpled pieces for a pillow.
There were still plenty of newspapers left and she spread them out
overlapping one another in layers, until she had a coverlet of good
proportions. Then she folded their edges back to hold them together.
“Now, I sha’n’t freeze if it turns cold in the night,” she thought
gleefully.
Next she went to her little new windows and wrestled with them. They
were casements, swinging in, but it required much pounding and pulling
to make them swing at all at first. At last she had them all open
wide letting in the sweet night air. She looked out into the dark
garden a trifle dubiously, it is true. It did seem a little uncanny
to sleep there alone with windows wide and the street so close, with
not even a curtain to shelter her, but she must have air and there was
nothing else to be done. She must just wake up early in the morning
before folks were astir. Curtains were among the first things she must
purchase. Of course there were the newspapers, but they would shut out
the air.
She knelt for a moment beside the wooden box in the path of moonlight
that came through her window and prayed for strength and guidance.
It seemed a strange thing she was doing, now that she had done it,
this buying a little house and daring to set up a home of her own on
practically no money at all. A sense of awe was upon her as she brought
her deed before God and tried to see it in the light of His wisdom.
Had she done wrong to fly off at the unpleasant words of her cousin
and seek a new environment? Somehow her soul rang true, however, as
she cast once more a retrospective glance back and asked approval and
guarding. She seemed so alone as she knelt there in the little empty
room in the moonlight. Aunt Mary gone. The death angel standing ever
between them and the dear old life they had lived together; the home
town with its dear friends who loved her and whom she loved, forever
lost to her because of the presence there of the cousins who had
nothing in common with her and who were possessed to spoil everything
she tried to do; were jealous of all her communication with the old
friends. There was simply no one or nothing left but God, and she must
cling close to Him.
She glanced out her little open window as she rose from her knees,
and dismay seized upon her as she heard footsteps coming along the
pavement. The street was so near. It was almost as if she were standing
in the way of the oncomer. She held her breath and the steps paused for
a full minute in front of the new little house in its strange setting,
and she shivered nervously as they finally passed on.
Then there came to her mind, as if a sweet voice had spoken, the old
words she had learned with Aunt Mary one Sunday afternoon long years
ago:
“The angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear Him and
delivereth them.”
“I will both lay me down in peace and sleep, for thou Lord, only makest
me dwell in safety.”
She crept into her strange, rattling couch and drew the crackling
coverlet up about her, laid her head upon her rattley pillow and
closed her weary eyes, resting her heart upon the words of the book
as upon a pillow of peace. Then suddenly, without warning, the tears
came stinging into her eyes, as she remembered how alone in the world
and desolate she was, and how she longed for her dear aunt and her old
home. There in her strange little bed she cried as if her heart would
break for a few minutes. Then into the confusion of her sad thoughts
came the words, “Even Christ had not where to lay His head.”
“And I have!” she said to herself severely, “I ought to be glad and
thankful. He gave me this house. It was just as plain as if I had heard
Him offer it to me.”
So she turned over the little damp spot on her pillow where the tears
had fallen, and deliberately settled herself to sleep, forcibly putting
away all thoughts of her strange experiences for another time and
addressing herself to rest. There might be dangers passing on the
street, but God had promised to care for her, and she knew she could
trust Him. She needed the rest and must take it. So she slept and night
settled down about the little cottage under the maples.
* * * * *
A hundred miles away in the darkness a man stole like a shadow through
the night, walking noiselessly down a deserted road to the graveyard,
vanished among the graves into the velvety blackness under the trees.
Appeared a point of light like a darting firefly fitfully now and then
lighting up the spectral marbles for a gleam and going out again as
if it had not been there. A soft sound of stirring among the growing
things on a grave as one knelt beside it and worked, breathing hard,
the light shining once more steadily for an instant on trailing vines
and glowing berries, then ceasing entirely. Steps to the back of the
graveyard, and strange, muffled sounds dying away into silence and
midnight.
Later, in a city cellar lair a meeting of angry, puzzled, incredulous
men, and one, resolute, calm, fearless, indifferent, determined,
dominating them all. Money going around, more than they had expected,
yet only arousing suspicion; and then, before they could protest, the
leader going out into the night alone, leaving them to voice their
suspicions, and plot against him.