"Sit down," I continued. "Here, the bench is big enough for two. I'm so
glad you have come to see me to-day. You almost missed me; I've been up
on Baldy."
We sat side by side. There was barely room enough; as it was our hips
came in contact. Then I told her of my little trip toward the clouds.
I'm sure she was not at all interested. In fact, after the first
brightening of her face at the moment of my appearance, a sort of shadow
had come upon it, as though cast from a mind not at rest. I watched her
as I talked, and I know she was paying no heed to my recital. She toyed
with the book, pressing the pages together, bending them in her fingers,
and allowing them to slip under her thumb with a rustle. Now I saw her
hair at close range for the first time, and it was truly a crown of
glory. Solomon's wisdom was not at fault. A woman's hair holds some
mysterious power for a man fully as potent as any of her other charms.
There is sorcery in it--and sometimes love-dreams--and sometimes
oblivion--and sometimes madness! As I gazed at the Dryad's hair my voice
unconsciously dropped to a lifeless monotone. Quickly I noted a fact
which formed a fitting supplement to my former discoveries regarding the
care of her person. By all legitimate courses of reasoning her hair
should have been stringy, sleek, unkempt, and--dirty! But I beheld it
the reverse in every particular. No boudoir bred Miss of any city could
have produced better cared for tresses. Each silken strand lay separate
from its fellows. The whole mass was shining clean, and fresh, and
fluffy; the well-shaped ears were transparently spotless, and her neck,
where the yet finer hair grew upward and where tiny rings of cobwebby
gold fluttered, was immaculate. Fellowman, do you marvel that my tale of
climbing the peak came to an end almost in drivel?
As I stopped, rather sheepishly, she lost her hold on the book, and it
slipped from her knees to the ground. Each bent to recover it. I was the
quicker, but in the forward and downward movement which she made the
Dryad's hair tumbled over her shoulders onto my neck, head and face, in
a subtly scented, smooth, tickly mesh. It lasted but a moment; I think
the shortest moment of my life. We came up laughing, both our faces red.
But as for that, one's face is always red when one bends to pick up
something.
I opened the book at the front, found a big capital A, and pointing to
it, asked Lessie what it was.
She shook her head.
"I don' know."
The pity of it! I could scarcely credit her reply.
"Would you like to know? Would you like to know all the letters in this
book, big and little, so that you could read them at a glance?" I asked.
Again that hungry, helpless look came to her.
"Oh!... Yes!"
The first word was spoken with a sharply indrawn breath of eagerness.
The last one fell softly a moment later.
"You shall, Dryad. It's a shame you can't do it now. Is there no school
here--in the neighborhood--at Hebron? Why have you never been to
school?"
"They wuz a school in Hebron. Granny wouldn't let me go."
She was fingering a ruffle on her dress just above her knees in an
embarrassed way.
"Wouldn't let you go!" I exclaimed, indignantly ... "Why?"
"A man had it--a young man--'n' Granny hates men, 'specially young men."
"Why does she hate young men?"
"I don' know--you heard whut she said 'bout 'em. She's always preachin'
that to me."
I thought my former reading of Granny's attitude correct now, but I did
not speak of this to Lessie.
"Granny has done you a great injustice," I said, gravely; "however
honest her intentions. I'm going to see that you have a chance, Dryad.
But if I'm to help you, I must speak of things exactly as they are, and
there shall have to be many corrections. You won't mind this, will you?
I mean you will understand why it is done--that it is absolutely
necessary for you to get along. You won't take offense--won't get mad,
will you?"
She turned her eyes full into mine, her mobile face for the moment
serious and calm.
"I'll do _anythin'_ to learn--to know! Oh! I git so lonesome fur--fur
_knowin'_! I'm all shet up, 'n' they's things in my head 'n' in here
that's jes' bustin' to git out!"
She placed her hand on her breast. Her brows had drawn together and I
knew each word was the exact truth.
"All right; it's a bargain," I answered. "We'll begin this very minute.
Have you noticed that I talk differently from you, and Granf'er, and
Granny'?"
Her mouth was set firmly as her chin moved up and down. I think she was
a little scared at the beginning of her lessons.
"I talk correctly, and you talk incorrectly. That's hard to say, but we
can't build without solid truth for a foundation. You should learn to
speak correctly in a very short time, if you will be very careful, and
try. It will take longer to learn to read, and write, but even that will
not prove such a great task. Now, answer me--why did you come here
to-day?"
"I come 'cause I wanted to!"
Quick as a flash her reply was out, and I could see she was watching me
in a fascinated, apprehensive manner. I smiled to reassure her.
"You should say--'I _came be-cause_ I wanted to.' Say it that way."
"I--came--_be_-cause I wanted to!"
There was something almost pitiful in her fearful earnestness. This was
the beginning of the opening of a sealed door before which she had stood
so long, with no one to break the fastenings for her. She had put one
hand against the dark trunk of the tree, and now her finger tips were
white around the nails from the pressure she had unconsciously brought
to bear, and she was trembling the least bit. Poor little Dryad in her
windowless house! It must have been an ordeal for her.
How queerly that simple sentence broke upon my ears. It was the first
perfect one she had ever spoken, and she enunciated it with painful
precision, breathing each word forth in trepidation.
"Good!" I exclaimed, clapping my hands, whereat her tenseness vanished,
and her bearing became like one who is somewhat confused, but happy.
"Don't forget that, now. Always say 'I came.' Many of your words are not
words at all, but fearful corruptions which long use and carelessness
have made worse. Then you drop your 'gs' outrageously, but that is a
fault you'll overcome by practice."
Thus for an hour we sat on the narrow bench under the tall pine, while I
made her answer question after question in her own way, then had her say
them again the right way. Her aptness was amazing. Her mind seemed to
seize and absorb the elemental instruction I gave her as a parched plant
does moisture. She remained constantly intent, alert, ready; and when at
length the slowly deepening shadows warned me that she should be going,
and I told her the lesson for the day was over, I saw that she was
agitated, excited, and her eyes shone as if brightened by wine.
"Oh, you're a capital pupil!" I complimented, warmly, as we arose and
stood for a moment side by side. "Now how would you answer me, Dryad?"
She cast me a sidewise glance; partly mischievous, partly shy, partly
earnest.
"I'm glad!" she said, quickly.
I knew that she had evaded my trap cleverly, and I did not lay another
for her.
"Now you must go."
I spoke reluctantly, for the hour had been an unusually charming one for
me. I had always maintained that I had rather be a roadmender than a
school teacher, and generally speaking, I hold to the idea still. But I
can think of no more delightfully pleasant experience that has ever come
my way than when I gave Lessie her first instruction under the pine on
the edge of the plateau.
At my words the shadow sprang to her face again, more noticeable than
before. It was almost a look of distress now.
"What is it, Dryad?" I asked, suddenly; "what worries you?"
She did not answer, but stood meditatively with the tips of her fingers
resting upon her lower lip, and her eyes intently focussed downward.
"Come," I added; "I must get some water from the creek, and I'll go that
far with you--farther, if you will let me, because it will be late
before you get home."
"Oh, no!" she burst out, with what looked like unnecessary vehemence.
Then her agile mind took a turn, and she added--"But why don't yo' git
yo' water out o' the well?"
I forebore to correct her. The lesson was over, and I must not worry
her.
"Well?" I repeated, open mouthed. "What well?"
"The well over yonder--the well the man dug!"
She pointed to a distant corner of the yard, overrun with a
heterogeneous mass of greenery.
I almost gasped. A well had been here under my nose all these weeks, a
well of cool, good water, and I had been slaving rebelliously to supply
my needs from the creek below, which had lately become infested with
tadpoles!
"Show it to me!" I cried.
With a hearty "All right!" she started running, and I followed at a
smart walk. It was just like her to run. She was a creature of impulse.
I watched her skimming over the ground, lightly leaping little
obstacles, her wheat-gold hair all a-tremble. When I came up she had a
stick, and was diligently prodding about in the weeds, vines and
brambles.
"It's here," she muttered, intent on her business. "I've saw it, 'n'
drunk out o' it. It's jes' as cold as the spring at home whur granny
keeps 'er milk 'n' butter. W'en I--"
My eyes had been fastened on her face, and now she evidently remembered
and checked herself purposely, for I saw her teeth clamp her lip for an
instant. Then she went on, softer and more slowly, never looking up.
"When--I--came--las'--time--it's--_here_!"
With the last word she jabbed her stick down, and straightened up
triumphantly.
I pressed forward to her side, and peered into the bush. The end of her
stick rested upon a piece of wood. With a word to Lessie to wait a
moment I hurried back to the lodge and procured a scythe from the store
of miscellaneous things which had accompanied me when I came out to make
friends with the wilderness. Directly I had uncovered the well's top, a
surface of oaken planks four feet square. In the center of this lay a
large, smooth stone, covering the hole which gave access to the water
below.
"By Jove! Girl, how can I thank you?" I cried, elated at the discovery.
"I've been drinking sulphur water and bathing with tadpoles, never
dreaming this was here!"
"It'll be a big savin'," she agreed. "Tot'n' water's pow'ful hard work."
She turned to go. I dropped my scythe and said:
"You must let me go part of the way. I know you're not afraid, but won't
you? I'd feel better."
She clasped her hands, wrung them once, and took two or three forward
steps silently. Something was wrong with Lessie, but nothing like a true
solution entered my thick masculine head until she stopped, halfway
turned, and flung from tight lips--
"It's 'bout Buck!"
Buck! The ominous figure I had seen watching me in the deep twilight the
day before. Buck! Of course, Buck! He had seen me part from Lessie; he
had come to her immediately afterward, and had doubtless told her some
things which were not good for her peace of mind. Is man really a
savage, at rock bottom? In the moment following Lessie's intense
announcement of the cause of her distress, what were my feelings? Simply
these. There came to my mind the realization that I, too, was a man of
physical might; that I, too, had immense muscles of thigh, and chest,
and arm; that the trouble which had sent me here was surely checked as I
felt my vigor growing day by day, and that if somebody wanted to fight I
would give him his fill, rather than be hectored into forsaking Lessie's
company--for I felt assured already that this was the burden of Buck
Steele's demands.
Something of all this must have showed in my face as I stepped
deliberately to Lessie's side and took one of her hands, for I saw
traces of terror in the gray eyes.
"Yo'--yo' mustn't git together!" she exclaimed, tempestuously, her
fingers closing around mine in a grip which caused me to wonder. "Oh!
Yo' mustn't!--Yo' mustn't! Yo' don't know Buck; he c'n ben' a
horse-shoe!"
"Lessie," I said, returning her grasp and looking at her determinedly;
"I'm not afraid of any man that lives and moves. I don't believe in
violence, but there are times when it becomes necessary. And when the
necessity arises in my life, I'm going to face it. You have said that
you wanted me to help you, and if you still feel this way, nothing and
no one is going to prevent me from carrying out my part of the
agreement. I've a notion I know pretty much what took place last night,
but you must tell me now, as we walk along. We must talk it over--come."
I kept her hand until I had faced her about and we had gone a short
distance. Then I let it go.
"Yo' see," began Lessie, in a perplexed little voice, and without
waiting for further urging, "Buck's ben comin' to see me fur mos' a
year, off 'n' on. He's the only young feller Granny'll 'low on the
place. He's ben pow'ful good to me, 'n'--'n' well, he's ast me to marry
'im. But I don't love Buck. I can't he'p lak'n' 'im, 'cause he's so good
'n' kin' 'n' 'd do anythin' on earth I'd ask 'im to. He don't pester me
'bout comin', neither, 'n' w'en I don't feel lak seein' 'im he'll go on
'way, meek lak 'n' not complainin'. 'N' after w'ile here he'll be back
ag'in, tryin' to tell me thin's I don't wan' to lis'n' to. I jes' can't
hurt 'is feelin's. Somehow 'r 'nother he heerd that you'd come out here
'n' had seen me by the dogwood tree that day--I s'pec' Granny tol' 'im
'bout it, 'cause I didn't tell nobody but the home folks. 'N' so las'
night he come--he _came_ out home to 'quire 'bout it, 'n' he saw you
tell me good-by at the bridge. 'N' after you'd gone he came on--'n' I'd
never seen 'im look lak he looked then. His eyes wuz black 'n' had fire
in 'em 'n' his face wuz lak a piece o' gray rock 'n' his voice wuz
diff'unt 'n' ever' now 'n' then he shuk all over."
Her words had gradually increased in velocity until, when she stopped,
she was speaking so rapidly I could hardly understand what she said.
"Yes," I replied, but nothing more until we had come to the foot of the
knob. Here, as we turned westward toward the creek leading to Lizard
Point, I spoke again.
"He talked to you, Dryad, of course. Now you must tell me everything,
and keep nothing back--nothing. Even though he said very ugly
things--things which may have frightened you, you must tell me them,
too."
She stooped to pluck a cluster of little wild flowers growing on a
single stem, giving a low exclamation of pleasure as she did so. Then,
as she twined the flowers in her hair over the ear away from me, she
answered.
"Yes, he talked to me. I tried to make 'im hush, but he wouldn't. 'Twuz
'bout you, mos'ly. He said he knew city fellers 'n' they's all wicked
'n' dang'rous, 'n' that you's jes' tryin' to run with me to pass the
time 'n' make a fool o' me--but I didn't b'lieve 'im!"
With the last words she turned toward me a frank and honest countenance.
"No, Dryad; you mustn't believe him when he talks that way. I'm sure
that Buck is a good man naturally, but he was excited when he told you
that. There are some bad men in the cities, and there are some bad men
in the country. There are more bad men in the city because there are
more people in the city. But he was wholly wrong when he spoke of my
motive in going with you--go on."
"He said he wasn't goin' to have yo' comin' to see me, 'n' that I mus'
promise 'im not to see you agin. I tol' 'im I couldn't do that, 'cause
you's goin' to learn me. Then he went plum daffy crazy, 'n' cussed 'n'
damned, 'n' bruk a great thick stick he had in 'is han's--bruk it 'n'
kep' a-breakin' it till it wuz all in little pieces in 'is fis'--'n'
then he flung 'em all on the groun' 'n' stood lookin' at me lak he's
goin' to hit me, but he didn't. We's down at the en' o' the path nex' to
the road, fur we hadn't gone up to the house. I's skeered fur a w'ile,
he looked so big 'n' he's so mad. I didn't know a feller c'd git so
crazy 'bout--'bout a girl;--did you?"
Her candor never ceased to amaze me. She seemed to be utterly unaware of
anything existing within herself which might lead a man up the dangerous
heights of Love, whither this brawny one had plainly gone.
"Ye-e-s," I answered, slowly. "When a man loves a girl, Dryad, he will
do anything when the circumstance which calls for that thing exists."
Then, realizing that I was talking riddles to her, I added: "I mean,
that when a man's in love, especially if he be a strong man, he won't
allow any one or anything to come in the way, if he can help it. And
that's Buck's position, exactly. He thinks he can't live without you,
and he's a big, husky animal whose feelings largely control him. When
another man approaches you, he grows jealous, and jealousy is about the
hardest headed, most unreasonable, meanest passion the human family
has.... What else did Buck say?"
It was too dark now for me to see her expression, but when she replied
her voice shook with apprehension, and that haunting note--like a rare
minor chord in music--which so moved me when we first met had crept
strangely into it, dominating the natural, lighter quality of her
speech.
"Oh!"
An exclamation formed of a trembling sigh was her first word, but she
went on almost at once.
"He--he said _awful_ thin's! He said he couldn't _stan'_ to see me 'n'
you together no more, 'n' he said he's goin'--he's goin'--to _kill_ yo'
if--if--"
Here Lessie broke down and began to weep in little, spasmodic snuffles,
as you have seen small children do.
I took her hand again and tried to assuage her fears as we went on under
the big forest trees through the shadowy, dimly luminous atmosphere. I
told her that Buck had spoken in the heat of anger, and that he did not
really mean what he said, and that his passion had gotten away with his
discretion, and had made him act very foolishly. I ended by laughing at
the threats, and treating them in the nature of a joke, but my companion
would not have it so.
"Yo' don't know 'im! Yo' don't know 'im!" she insisted, drawing the back
of her free hand across her eyes. "He _did_ mean it, 'n' he _will_ do
it--I know he will!"
"Don't you think I can take care of myself?" I asked.
"I don't know; maybe--but Buck's so strong!"
"I'm strong, too, Dryad."
She did not answer, and soon we came to the glade. Here Lessie stopped
and faced me.
"Yo' _mustn't_ come no fu'ther," she said, so emphatically that I almost
blinked. "'N'--'n'--yo' mustn't come to the P'int no more 'n' I won't
come to Baldy no more 'n'--"
"Why, Lessie!"
I dropped her hand, and put all the reproach I could summons into the
words.
"Yo' know--w'y--"
"And give up all the things I am going to teach you just because--"
It was too much. She turned with a hurt, despairing cry which somehow
cut me savagely, and ran swiftly from me across the open ground. I saw
the misty fluttering of garments in the gloom, caught the dull glow from
her flying hair, then knew that I was alone.
I have just written to 'Crombie. I did not tell him of any of the people
I have met. I wrote a chatty letter describing my daily life, my
improved condition, and telling of my inability, so far, to locate the
life-plant. But on this point I had hopes. I'm sure he will scratch his
head when he reads my postscript, and wonder if I have developed brain
trouble. Here is my postscript:
"Kindly forward me by mail to Hebron, at once, a primer and a copybook."