Before sunrise this morning I was up, and out. I sleep with both windows
open and the shutters up, so the first daybeams rouse me. Thereafter I
do not attempt to sleep, but rise at once. This is another of 'Crombie's
commands. He said the air was fresher and sweeter, and the distillations
from the earth and vegetation purer and more efficacious. He said all
this would do me good, and I am trying to follow out his wishes to the
letter, because life is sweet to me, and I want to get well. (I must say
that I never felt more vigorous than I do to-night.) It went hard with
me at first--this rising with the lark--for, in common with most bookish
folk, it had been my custom to sit up into the small hours, and sleep
late the next morning. Now I am growing used to it, and I love it. I
find that I feel better; stronger, more active and alert. There must be
some tonic properties in the early morning air to affect me in this way.
The world is never so lovely as when she wakes from sleep. Not even when
her old tirewoman, the sun, flings her golden coverlet over her just
before nightfall, does she appear so bewitchingly beautiful. This
morning, for instance, when I stepped without my door, I felt as if I
had been transported by magic into some new and mystical land. Like a
maiden whose virginal slumbers have been filled with peaceful dreams of
her beloved, the earth was waking. Gently--so gently--she pushed the
fleecy fog-billows from her breast. Afar the folds of night seemed yet
to cling about her, as though loath to leave her form. Nearer, but way
up the valley, grayish, shifting mists writhed slowly, uncoiling
vaporous lengths before the ever increasing light. Nearhand, trees,
bushes and stones showed dew-sweet and clean. And when, at length, the
day had triumphed, and I beheld the rim of a gold ball topping the far
eastern range, my breast throbbed with a quick elation, and a song burst
from my lips.
I spent the morning working on my garden. It is my peculiarity that when
I begin a thing I find no rest until it is finished. By ten o'clock I
had cleared the surface of all the available area, and felt much pleased
with my efforts. I had worked hard, for there were loose rocks to be got
rid of, some of them large and difficult to handle, in addition to the
leaves and sticks. But prospects seemed excellent for a fine crop. There
was no doubt that this was virgin soil, and as it lay in sun for several
hours each day, there was no valid reason why it should not produce
abundantly. I must now let it dry out for a few days, then spade it up
and plant my seed. Seed! Why, I hadn't so much as a pea or a bean on the
place, except in cans! I had several sacks of potatoes, but I wanted a
diversified garden. Almost immediately the solution came. I would go to
Hebron and buy all the seed I wanted. Comforted by this thought, I set
about an early dinner. I hummed contentedly as I bustled around in my
small kitchen. It was not until I sat down to eat that I realized the
song I had been persistently repeating was the absurd tune which had
heralded Jeff Angel's coming and farewelled his departure.
Later, with the sun swinging exactly at meridian, I took my staff and
headed down the road, intending for the Dryad's Glade. Ever since my
brief talk with the girl there had been a slow, steady pulling within me
toward that creek which flowed south. It didn't worry me especially; in
fact, it didn't worry me at all--why should it? But it was there. When I
was employed I was not aware of it, but whenever my mind rested there
flowed into it, like the resurgence of a low, moon-touched wave, the
picture of one standing on the brook's bank, with copper-red curls
crowned with white stars. It was a pleasant picture, and I did not try
to banish it.
Now, fairly started on my way, I wondered that I had not gone before. I
moved with restive eagerness, and presently reached the spot where I had
encountered the girl--Lessie. I did not like the name. It was empty,
vapid, meaningless, ugly; just a sound by which one was known. She could
not help it, of course. It might have been Mandy, or Seliny. Lessie did
not seem so terrible when I thought of others much worse, but it did not
fit her.
I tarried for a moment under the dogwood tree. Its blossoms were fading
now. I saw the jagged ends of several low branches where she had broken
off her coronal. But there was no sign of squirrel or bird. Passing on,
I plunged into the undergrowth which lined the creek bank as far as I
could see, and made my way along. There was something of a valley here,
and it would have been easier going nearer the base of the knob several
rods away, but the stream's course was erratic, so I clung to the bank
and fought my way forward. It was a toilsome journey, and the half-mile
was beginning to seem interminable when all at once I burst, perspiring,
into an open, and found I had arrived.
Just before me the creek split on a tongue or wedge of land, which came
sweeping gradually down from a vast spur in the background. Shaping
itself to a sharp point represented by an enormous, deeply imbedded
bowlder, the formation broadened backward rapidly and generously, widely
deflecting the halved stream. A quarter of a mile away I could see a
house--or cabin--surrounded by a dilapidated rail fence, with sundry
pens and outbuildings in miniature clustered in the rear. In the
foreground, to the left, was an acre or two of tilled soil. Paralleling
the left fork of the cloven creek, looping the point and fording the
right fork, was a mountain road. In front of me, spanning the left fork,
was the trunk of a huge beech tree, lopped of its branches, and that
this was a bridge which some far-gone storm had placed I knew at once,
for a crude ladder led up to its root-wadded butt.
For several minutes I stood, panting from my exertions, and conscious of
a slight pain in my right side. This did not alarm me, for I was
convinced it was nothing but what old people call a "stitch," caused by
my recent strenuous walk. I had reached Lizard Point--a most
insignificant name for such an impressive portion of country. There was
but one dwelling visible; therefore there could be but one place for me
to seek for Lessie. I came to the ladder, and had placed my foot upon
the bottom-most cross-piece when I halted, and in secret manner,
although there was no need of secrecy, drew the jar from my pocket and
hid it under the tree's lowest roots. I had promised Lessie I would tell
her why I carried it with me the next time I saw her, and this I did not
want to do, for she would fail to understand, and I would only appear
ridiculous. Queer how a man shuns being made ridiculous, but after all
it is only natural, especially if one is inclined to sensitiveness.
I mounted to the tree, and saw that the bark along its top surface had
been completely worn away. The tree had evidently been in use as a means
of passage for a long time. I walked across, sure-footed and steady, and
found a slight path winding up the easy ascent toward the house. This I
followed, keeping my eyes on the log dwelling ahead. As I drew nearer, I
made out a small porch, or stoop, and on this some one was sitting.
There was no other sign of life, if I expect a bony, yellow dog which
came slowly into sight from around the corner, and a string of white
ducks filing sedately down to the creek. I passed through a gap in the
crazy fence and traversed the yard. I now saw that it was an old woman
who sat on the porch. She was very fat, and she sat in a low
rocking-chair with her knees apart. A ball of yarn lay in her lap, and
she was knitting and rocking, knitting and rocking. Her great bulk
completely hid her support, but I knew it was a rocking-chair from her
motions.
As I stopped at the edge of the stoop and respectfully took my cap off,
the dog gave a low growl, then lay down, keeping one topaz eye fastened
upon me suspiciously. The fat old lady paid no more attention to me than
if I had been a hen or a duck, but sent her needles flying the faster. I
regarded her in silent wonder for a moment. Her dress was a plain
one-piece garment of some dark, cheap stuff, utterly unrelieved from
somberness except for a row of shiny white horn buttons down the front.
Her feet were large and flat, and were encased in carpet slippers with a
gaudy pattern of alternate crimson and green. She wore iron rimmed
spectacles which rested so near the tip of her pudgy nose I wondered
they didn't fall off. Her gray hair was parted very precisely in the
middle and slicked back close to her head. Her mouth was thin and hard,
and her face acrid looking.
"Uh-h-h--good morning," I said, hitching at my trousers; an
unconsciously nervous action.
"_Marnin'!_"
I jumped--really I did--for it was as though she had let a gun off in my
face. I had never heard such a voice. Vinegary? Well!
I curled my fingers around my chin and looked at the dog. His fiery eye
had not wavered. Then I looked at the cat--for in that moment I was
firmly convinced this old beldam _was_ a cat. Her mouth had squared into
yet firmer lines, and her brow had grown portentous. Still her needles
fussed about the half-made sock in her yellowish hands, and her gaze was
down, as before.
"Do the--"
I started to ask if people by their name lived here, but when I came to
the name I could not supply it; I had never heard it. I stammered,
coughed, then knew that a pair of fierce little green eyes were flashing
at me.
"Air yo' a plum' fule? Whur air yo' wits 'n' yo' tongue 'n' yo' commin
sinse? Can't yo' tell a body whut yo' want wi'out stam'rin' 'n'
stutt'rin' 'n' takin' all th' day? Folks as has got work to do ain't got
no time to waste on tramps 'n' sich! _Talk!_"
Like a cyclone this tirade enveloped me, bursting upon my ears in a
high, rasping voice which dragged on my nerves after the manner of a
file.
I became desperate. This old virago should not oust me. I thrust my body
forward, and, chin out, replied with some heat:
"Is this where Granny, and Granf'er, and Lessie live? That's what I want
to know?"
"Land sakes! Jony 'n' th' w'ale!... Air _you_ him?"
Her hands dropped in her lap; she cocked her head and viewed me afresh.
During the momentary silence which followed I heard shuffling footsteps
within, and an old man appeared in the open doorway in front of me. He
wore a shirt made of bed ticking; his trousers were not visible, because
of the coffee-sack which wrapped him from his waist to his shoes. He was
bald, his white beard was a fringe about his face, his upper lip shaven.
He was drying a white dinner plate of thick ironstone china with a
cloth.
"S'firy!" he said, in a squeaky, timorous voice; "S'firy!"
He got no further.
Granny turned her head sideways, at right angle to the speaker, and
promptly exploded.
"Jer'bome! Git right back to yo' work! Git! 'N' don't let me see nur
hear yo' till them dishes is washed 'n' put away!"
Granf'er (it could be no one else) retreated obediently, without a word.
Granny's face swung around to me again.
"If all men wuz as triflin' 'n' ornery as that air'n o' mine, Lord knows
whut th' worl' 'd come to. _E_-tern'l perdition, I reck'n! He jes' lays
'roun' 'n' chaws terbacker, pertendin' he carries a ketch in 'is back.
Plum' laziness, I tell yo'! But I don't 'low no vagrints 'roun' me.
Jer'bome's got to work 's long 's he b'longs to me.... Now! I said, air
you _him_?"
"I'm the stranger who lives in the shack on Bald Knob."
Granny resumed her knitting at this point. I noticed that her shining
needles seemed to be fighting each other as she continued:
"Look whut I'm a-doin' fur 'im now! Slavin' to git somethin' to keep 'is
feet warm 'gin winter comes. He's not wuth it! Lak as not he'll crack
one o' them dishes 'fo' he gits 'em done. He's that keerless. Most
do-less man I _ever_ seen.... Yes, I've heerd 'bout yo'--twict."
"I hope you received a pleasant report?" I ventured.
"Jes' las' night he lef' th' dish tow'ls a-hangin' on th' lot fence 'n'
th' calf et 'em up. 'N' th' day befo' he fed a gang o' day old chick'ns
meal 'n' wadder 'n' they swelled up 'n' died. 'N' chick'ns wuth fifteen
cents a poun' at th' store!... Lessie come home a fo'tn't ago with a
tale o' meetin' some feller. I tol' 'er gels 'd better leave all tramps
be."
"But I'm not a tramp!" I protested. "I'm usually considered a
gentleman."
"That's whut Jeffy 'lowed. He's here last night--pore feller!--'n' tol'
us 'bout eat'n' a snack with you on Baldy--whut in th' name o' the sevin
plagues does a man in 'is right min' wan' to live thur fur?--tell me
that!"
"I find it very pleasant--"
Then the light went out, soft hands were pressing hard over my closed
lids, and a cool, ferny perfume drifted to my nostrils. I was conscious
of warm wrists alongside my head, and a stifled giggle just behind me.
"Lessie!" I cried, remembering the childhood prank.
The blinding hands were at once withdrawn, and as she leaped back new
vials of wrath were opened.
"Of all outlandish doin's!"
Granny had raised her head only at my exclamation, but she saw enough.
"Whut on airth air gels comin' to this day 'n' time?--tell me that!
Never seen 'im but onct--mought be a redhanded 'sass'n--ur a
thief--ur--ur--ur _any_thin'! 'N' all my teach'n' all these years. W'en
I've _tol'_ yo' that all men were 'ceptious, 'n' _tol'_ yo' to b'lieve
nothin' they say, 'n' _tol'_ yo' to have no talk with 'em but 'Howdy'
'n' 'Good-by,' 'n' here yo' air a-huggin' a stranger--teetot'l
stranger--'fo' my eyes!"
Granny's jelly-like body really trembled with rage, and I began to have
fears for the outcome of the incident. Of course, it amounted to nothing
at all so far as right or wrong was concerned. It was simply a natural
expression of the primeval simplicity which marked all the Dryad's
movements. She was a child, and she had played a child's trick.
She now stood a few feet to one side, looking at me in unfeigned
amazement, apparently indifferent to the old woman's outburst. She was
dressed nicer than when I saw her before. Her garment was pale green,
with little wavy stripes of darker color. Her shoes, too, were a grade
better, but still clumsy, and she had a ribbon on her hair, which hung,
as before, down her shoulders. She seemed averse to wearing anything on
her head, for she held her bonnet--a poke bonnet, like the one I had
handed her in the glade--in her left hand.
As she looked fully and squarely at me with her peculiar Irish gray
eyes, I felt the same sensation come as when I had first beheld her. It
was a feeling I cannot adequately describe, because no definite word I
can think of would do. If the word existed, and if I knew it, I would
set it down. I should be just as glad to know what that feeling meant as
you. Perhaps each of us shall find out later.
She gazed at me and I gazed at her, and Granny gazed at us both. Our
eyes met for a full breath, and then somehow mine fell to her throat.
When a woman's throat is beautiful it is altogether as attractive as a
lovely face. The Dryad's throat was a poem. If John Keats could have
seen it, another golden ode would have come down along with the famous
seven. It was simply a perfect column of warm, white, vigorous young
life. Not too slender, and swelling on to the shoulders in the gentlest,
most marvelous contour. It was while I was engaged in fascinated
contemplation of her throat she spoke.
"Land sakes!... How'd yo' know my name?"
"The Sa--Jeff Angel told me."
"Oh!"
Her face underwent a rapid change, and the next moment she had leaped
lightly upon the porch, flung her arms around Granny's neck and snuggled
her head against the old woman's bosom.
"Don't you bother 'bout me, Granny!" she said, in soothing tones, and
again that indefinable haunting cadence smote my ears and caused me to
stir uneasily as I stood watching the scene. What a creature of moods
this girl was!
Now one hand patted Granny's fat cheek, and another smoothed the
lusterless gray hair. The expression which stole over the truculent face
made me think of the sunlight falling suddenly upon some forbidding
cliff, and that moment I knew how deep and wonderful must be the love
which beat in that old heart for Lessie.
"La! Now, chil'," said Granny, "have yo' way if yo' mus', but be
keerful--always be keerful. 'Specially o' men folks, 'cus they's so full
o' Sat'n 'n' mischief."
With that she sniffed resignedly, uplifted her brows, carefully freed
herself from the caressing arms and picked up the sock and the ball of
yarn, both of which had fallen to the floor under Lessie's onslaught.
As the girl arose to her feet Granf'er appeared a second time. He had
not removed the badge of domestic toil which had enveloped his nether
half when I first saw him, and he was dragging a low, shuck-bottomed
chair behind him. It came down the step leading from the porch into the
house with a bump and a clatter, and Granny blazed out again.
"Jer'_bome_. Look at yo'! Tryin' to break that cheer to splinters! Ain't
yo' got stren'th to carry ev'n a _cheer_? 'N' is thim dishes washed 'n'
put in th' pantry, whur they should orter be?"
Granf'er dumbly lifted the chair, conveyed it stiffly to the furthest
front corner of the porch, and quietly placed it. Then he turned to me,
and with a show of dignity said, in his thin voice--
"Set down!"
I at once stepped upon the porch, advanced and shook hands with the old
man, then took the proffered seat with a word of thanks.
He turned and hurried indoors, returning immediately bearing two other
chairs identical with the first. One of these he handed the Dryad, just
across the porch entrance, and the other he brought around and gingerly
lowered to the floor about a foot from mine. When we were all seated
Granf'er stretched one leg out to its fullest length, in order to gain
freer access to his pocket, and after some tugging produced a half twist
of tobacco. This he silently extended to me with a comical facial
contortion which plainly meant that I should take all I wanted. I shook
my head, and smiled.
"Light Burley!" he explained. "Skace 's hen's teeth. Don't yo' chaw?"
"S'pec' ever' man yo' meet to _live_ on terbacker?" snapped Granny,
without looking up.
"No," I replied; "I smoke."
"Then smoke. Yo' come too later fur dinner, so now we'll hev to mix
terbacker instid."
It dawned upon me that it was a sort of guest rite he was offering me,
so I crumbled some of the light yellow leaf into my pipe and fired it.
Then he gnawed off a satisfactory chew, and stowed the remainder away.
He crossed his legs--by this time I had discovered that he wore boots
with his trousers legs stuck down in the tops--in that comfortable,
sagging way all old men have, and with one hand in his lap holding his
elbow, he plucked gently at the front of his fringe of whiskers while
his jaw worked erratically as he slowly adjusted the savory particles in
his mouth.
No one spoke now for two or three minutes. It certainly was a new
experience for me. A swift glance showed me that the Dryad had weighed
the situation and was amused. Imps of fun danced in her eyes, and there
was a tightening about her mouth which told me that she was holding
herself in check with much effort. She was speechless from choice; the
other two from nature.
Without warning Granf'er twisted his neck and ejected a curving stream
of amber. It came down with a splash on the back of a half-grown chicken
loitering near. There was a squawk of alarm, a flutter, a scurry from
danger.
"That's right!" shrilled the bundle of fat. "Ef yo' can't kill 'em no
other way, drownd 'em with terbacker juice!"
"Granf'er didn't see it!" championed Lessie. "It's under th' aidge o'
the po'ch, 'n' 'tain't hurt no-how."
Once more I saw her teeth, like two rows of young corn when the husks
are green.
Granf'er paid no more heed to his helpmeet's words than if it had been
the wind blowing down the chimney. Even his expression did not change.
Already a real pity was creeping into my heart for Granf'er. It took
neither seer nor mindreader to discern that he belonged to that most to
be pitied class of all who live and breathe--a man who has become simply
a woman's creature. A man who, for one or more of a hundred reasons, had
abdicated his kingship in the home, suffering a reversal of rule
contrary alike to all divine decrees and natural laws. Such a man
deserves what he gets, it is true, live he in a mansion or a hovel. Man
was created to rule, and woman knows it. It is by ruling only that he
retains her love. When his reign ceases, then not only does her love
cease, but her respect also. Look about you!
Granf'er drew the palm of his hand across his lips, mechanically--and
with what seemed like a very natural motion--smoothed out some puckers
in his coffee sack apron, and spoke. He was looking out upon the quiet
majesty of the encircling hills, but I knew that he was addressing me.
"Y' see, Jeffy's S'firy's nevvy. He come wrong, we-all 'pine. Leas'ways,
they's some'n' in 'is head that's somehow onbalanced 'im. No nat'r'l man
'd go tromp'n' thoo th' woods frum morn'n' till night 'ith nothin but a
fiddle fur comp'ny. S'firy's special'y sot ag'in a fiddle, holdin' 'ith
lots o' folks that th' dev'l's in it--"
"I'd jes' love to smash it to smithereens over a stump!" interpolated
Granny.
"--but ez fur me 'n' Lessie, we kind o' en_j'y_ Jeffy's scrapin' 'n'
sawin'. Lessie's re'ly plum' cracked 'bout it, 'n' 'd foller Jeffy over
th' hull durn county if we didn't p'suade 'er pow'ful."
"Seems to me, Jer'bome, yo' c'n tell it 'ithout cussin'. Only las'
Sunday I had to speak to Father John 'bout yo' increasin' wickedness!"
"The hull durn county!" repeated Granf'er, quietly and reflectively, his
gaze still fixed on the high hills. "They has big times--thim
two--though Jeffy's mos' unsartain in 'is visits. Sometimes it's a month
w'en we don't ketch sight o' 'im, 'n' ag'in he lingers with us a day or
so at a spell. We sets lots o' store by Jeffy, 'cus th' Lord in 'is
wisdom has saw fit to 'flict 'im. Th' wus' thin' 'bout 'im is th'
liquor--"
"I'd hev _some_ pride, Jer'bome!"
"--n' w'en he gits holt o' that he goes plum' lunatic crazy sometimes.
Y' see, it's th' shiners 's whur he gits th' mos.' Th' ryavines over yan
air full o' the'r still-houses, 'n' Jeffy fiddles fur 'em fur 'is bottle
full o' liquor. Puss'nly, I hol' that a little liquor is pow'ful
he'pful, but S'firy 'lows it's no good fur nothin' 'cep' to make
dev'lment 'twixt people--"
"Ef I had my way not another drap'd go into a bottle!"
"--'n' I 'gree they's some sinse in her argyment, though it's my b'lief
that a w'ite man 's got to drink some'n', 'n' 't' 's well be pyore
whiskey as anythin'."
He stopped to relieve his overcrowded mouth, uncrossed his legs and
recrossed them the other way, "to keep 'em frum goin' to sleep," and
continued:
"'Pears to me Lessie said yo' come frum Lets'nt'n--uh-huh--some little
ways off. 'S never thur. Walked over to Ced'rt'n onct, but home 'n'
Hebrin's good 'nough for weuns. We ain't th' wanderin' kin', yo' mought
say, but live peaceful 'n' work our--"
"_Work!_"
"--work our lan', whut little we've got that's fit'n'. You's good to our
Jeffy--to S'firy's Jeffy, that is, fur he ain't no kin to me (not that
I'd be 'shamed o' Jeffy, onderstan', on 'count o' his not bein' jes'
right in th' head)--so I says to yo' here 'n' now 'ith S'firy 'n' Lessie
to witness, as head o' this house I says yo're welcome here to-day 'n'
any day!"
Then, quite unexpectedly, he clamped his hand across my leg above the
knee, and gave me a squeeze which hurt.
I spent the remainder of the afternoon on that small front porch.
Granf'er entertained me in the manner I have outlined; a mixture of
opinion, native philosophy, and local news, with occasional caustic
interruptions from Granny's two-edged tongue. Lessie said very
little--what chance had she in the face of Granf'er's garrulity?--and
once she went in the house and stayed for half an hour. When she came
back she had on yet another dress, pure white this time. There were some
frills and tucks and a touch of imitation lace here and there. I'm sure
it must have been her Sunday frock. She was showing off her wardrobe,
after the manner of a tot of eight or ten.
The sun had halted for a moment in its downward course on the crest of a
range as I arose to go.
Granf'er was voluminous in his invitation to "Come ag'in 'n' set a
w'ile"; Granny tendered me a defiant nod in response to my polite
good-by, and lo! as I turned to bid Lessie farewell last, she had
already moved into the yard, and was waiting for me! Side by side we
started down the narrow, hard-beaten path. That is, she took the path
and I walked in the new grass which bordered it.
"I'll go to th' crick with yo'," she said, demurely; then, with
characteristic irrelevance--"Ain't Granny tur'ble?"
"Granny's jealous of you, and I suppose she has nagged at Granf'er so
long it has become a fixed habit. I'm really sorry for the old fellow,
Dryad."
"Whut?"
She turned a quizzical, puzzled face.