A small, silent procession was edging its way along Church Street,
darkly silhouetted against a faintly starred sky. It was a long hour
later now, and looked later still on Church Street. There were few
lights left in the string of houses near the white church, at the lower
end of the street, and here, at the upper end, there were no lights but
the one street lamp near the railroad bridge that arched black overhead,
and there were few houses. The street did not look like a street at all,
but a country road, and a muddy one.
The narrow board sidewalk creaked, so the procession avoided it, and
stuck to the muddy side of the road.
The procession looked mysterious enough, even if you were walking at the
tail of it and carrying a heavy market basket; if you had to smell the
lantern, swung just in front of you, but did not have the fun of
carrying it; if a shaker cloak, hooded and picturesque, in the
procession, hampered your activities; if you had questions to ask, and
nobody answered you.
"Willard."
"Sh!"
One by one, they came into sight, in the wavering light of the street
lamp, and melted into the dark under the bridge; Ed, in his white
sweater, captaining them, and keenly aware of it; Rena and Natalie, with
the larger market basket between them; Willard, bulky in two sweaters,
and tenderly shielding his lantern with a third, and Judith. Her face
showed pale with excitement against the scarlet of her hood. One hand
plucked vainly at Willard's sleeve; he stalked on, and would not turn.
Only these five, but they had consulted and organized and reorganized
for half an hour in the Drews' barn before they started, and had hung
only three May-baskets yet. However, the adventure was under way now.
"Willard, now it's my turn to carry the lantern."
"Judy, you can't."
"Why?"
"It might explode." The feeble flame gave one dispirited upward spurt at
this encouragement, causing excitement in front.
"Oh, Ed!"
"Ed, make him put it out."
"Rena and Nat, you keep still. Judy's not scared, are you Judy?"
"No! Oh, no!"
"The lantern's a sick looking sight, and he can carry it
if he wants to, but we don't need it."
"I like that. You tried to get me to let you carry it, Ed."
"Don't talk so much."
"Who started the talk?"
"Well, who's running this, anyway--you, Willard Nash?"
"There's a dog in that house."
"Sh!"
"But that dog's only a cocker spaniel. He can't hurt you."
"Judy, sh!"
Sh! Somebody was always saying that. It was part of the ceremony, which
had been the same all three times. The procession was halting opposite
the Nealy house. A whispered quarrel started every time they approached
a house, and was hushed halfway through and not taken up again. The
quarrel and the hush were part of the ceremony, too.
The Nealy house was small and harmless looking, and entirely dark, but
they did not allow that to make them reckless. They stood looking warily
across the dark street.
"But there's nobody there. Maggie Nealy's out, too, to-night, and her
mother----"
"Sh!" Willard put a hand over Judith's mouth. It smelled of kerosene,
and she struggled, but did not make a noise. Just at this dramatic
moment the Nealy's dog barked.
Judith could hear her heart beat and feel her damp feet getting really
wet and cold.
"Now," Ed whispered, close to her ear and uncomfortably loud, and she
fumbled in her basket. Willard jiggled the lantern dizzily over her
shoulder, tissue paper tore under her fingers, and bonbons rattled.
Hanging May-baskets was certainly hard on the May-baskets, and they were
so pretty; pale coloured, like flowers.
"I can't find the right one. The marks are all falling off. The candy's
falling out."
"We can't stand here all night. Here----"
"Willard, take your hands out. Not that one----"
"Willard and Judy stop fighting. That one will do. I'm going."
There was dead silence now, and Ed, clutching the wreck of a sizable
crepe-paper creation to the bosom of his white sweater, doubled into a
crouching, boy scout attitude, crossed the road, and approached the
house. Nothing but his own commendable caution delayed his approach. The
small dog's dreams within were untroubled now. There were no signs of
life.
He reached the front door, deposited the May-basket with a force that
further demolished it, and took to his heels. After another breathless
wait the procession formed behind him and trailed after him up the road,
hilly here, so that the market basket grew heavier.
"Some evening," Willard murmured to himself, not the rest of the world,
but he sounded amiable.
"Willard."
"Well, kid."
"There wasn't anybody in that house. Ed knew it."
"There might have been. They might have come home."
"But they didn't ... Willard, is this all there is to it?"
"What?"
"Hanging May-baskets. Throwing them down that way. I thought maybe they
really hung them, on the doorknob--I thought----"
"Silly! Ed's going cross lots, and up the wood road to Larribees'. Good
work. That will throw them off the track."
"Throw who off the track?"
"You scared? Want to go home?"
"Oh, no! But who? There's nobody chasing us. Nobody."
"No. We've got them fooled. It's some evening."
"Willard, where are the paddies?"
That was the question Judith had been wanting to ask more and more, for
an hour, but it came in a choked voice, and nobody heard. They were
plunging into a rough and stubbly wood lot, and hushing each other
excitedly. Twigs caught at Judith's skirt, and it was hard to see your
way, with the moon, small and high above the trees in Larribee's woods,
only making the trees look darker. The wood road was little used and
overgrown.
"If they get us in here!"
"They won't, Willard." Judith's voice trembled.
"Cry-baby!"
"I am not."
"Here, buck up. We're coming out right here, back of the carriage house.
If Ed catches you crying he'll send you home."
But Ed had his mind upon higher things. "You girls stay here with the
baskets. Don't move. Willard, you go right and I'll go left, and we'll
meet at the carriage-house steps, if the coast is clear."
"If they get us----"
If! The boys crunched out of hearing on the gravel, awesome silence set
in, and Rena and Natalie whispered; Judith was not to be awed. Four
May-baskets hung, and nobody objecting; dark cross-streets chosen
instead of Main Street and no danger pursuing them there. If there was
no danger in the whole town, why should there be in one little strip of
woods, though it was dark and strange, and full of whispering noises?
Judith had clung to Willard's hand in terror, turning into the
cross-streets, and nothing came of it. She was not to be fooled any
longer. There was no danger.
Not that she wanted to be chased. She did not know what she wanted. But
she had come out into the dark to find something that was not there. She
had been happier on the doorsteps thinking about it. This, then, was
hanging May-baskets--all there was to it. But it was pleasant here in
the dark, pleasanter than walking through mud, and quarrelling. Now Rena
and Nat were quarrelling again.
"Get back there! Ed said not to move."
"They've been gone too long. Something's the matter."
"There they come. I hear them. Get back!"
They were coming, but something else was happening. Willard's three
whistles sounded, then Ed's voice, and a noise of scuffling on the
gravel--and a new boy's voice.
Rena and Natalie, upsetting their basket as they started, and not
noticing it, pushed through the trees and ran. Judith stood still and
listened. She did not know the voice. It was shrill and clear. She could
hear the words it said above the others' voices, all clamouring, now, at
once. She held her breath and listened. She could not move.
"I don't want your damn May-baskets."
"Liar! Get back of him, Rena. Come on, Nat."
"You'll get hurt. Let me go."
"Liar--Paddy!"
The magic word fell unheeded. The boy was laughing, and the laugh filled
her ears, a splendid laugh, fearless and clear.
"Paddy!"
"I don't want your damn May-baskets."
"Paddy--Paddy!"
This time there was no answer. Judith, tearing at the hooks of her cape,
and throwing it off as she ran, broke through the circling trees. Then
she stopped and looked.
Rena stood high on the carriage-house steps and held the lantern. It
wavered and swung in her hand, and threw a flickering circle of light
round the group by the steps.
The sprawled shadows at their feet seemed to have an undue number of
arms and legs, and the children were a struggling, uncertain mass of
motion, hard to make out, like the shadows, but they were only four:
Willard, grunting and groaning; Natalie attacking spasmodically in the
rear, and the strange little boy, the enemy. He was the heart of the
struggling group, and Judith looked only at him. She could do nothing
but look, for Judith had never seen a little boy like this.
They were three against one, and the one was a match for them. He was
slender and strong, holding his ground and making no noise. He was
coatless and ragged shirted, and one sleeve of his shirt was torn, so
that you could see how thin his shoulder was. He held his head high, and
smiled as he fought. A shock of blond hair was tossed high above his
forehead. He had a thin, white face, and dark jewels of flashing eyes.
As she stood and looked, they met Judith's eyes, and Judith knew that
she had never seen a boy like this, because there was no boy like
this--no little boy so wild and strange and free, so ragged and brave.
If he could come out of the dark, it was full of unguessable things,
splendid and strange and new. Judith's heart beat hard, a hot feeling
swept over her, and a queer mist came before her eyes. A wonderful boy;
a fairy boy! What would they do to him? What did they do to paddies?
There was no little boy like this in the world.
"Judy!" The others had seen her and were calling her. "Come on. Help get
him down."
"He chased Willard round here."
"He led the gang last year."
"It's Neil Donovan."
"Get him down!"
Judith did not answer then. Her cheeks flamed red, and her eyes looked
as big and dark as the stranger's, and her small hands clenched tight.
It was only a minute that she stood so. The three were close to him,
hiding him. She saw his face again, above Willard's pushing shoulder,
and then--she could not see it.
"Judy, what's the matter? Come on!"
And Judith came. She plunged straight into the struggling group, and
hammered at it indiscriminately with two small fists. She caught at a
waving coat sleeve, and pulled it--Willard's, and it tore in her hands.
She spotted Eds white sweater, and beat at it fiercely, with all her
strength.
"That's me, Judy. Cut it out!"
"Then let him go. Three to one is no fair. Let him go!" They did not
hear her, or care which side she was on, or take the trouble to drive
her away. Judith drew back and stood and looked at them, breathless and
glowing and undefeated, for one long minute.
"Boy," she called then, softly, as if he could hear when the others
could not, "wait! It's all right, boy. It's all right."
Then she charged up the steps at Rena. Judy, the most demure and
faithful of allies, confronted Rena, amazingly but unmistakably changed
to a foe; Judy, with her immaculate and enviable frock smirched and
torn, and her sleek hair wildly tossed, her cheeks darkly flushed, and
her eyes strange and shining; a Judy to be reckoned with and admired and
feared--a new Judy.
"What's the matter? Are you crazy? What do you want?"
"Make them let him go. They've got to let him go."
"He's a paddy--Neil Donovan--a paddy."
"They've got to let him go.... Give that to me."
"What for? Judy, don't hurt me. Judy!"
Judith wasted no more words. She caught Rena's wrist, twisted it, and
snatched the lantern out of her hand. She held it high above her head,
and shook it recklessly.
"Don't, Judy! Don't!" The flame sputtered crazily. Judy still shook the
lantern, dancing out of reach, and laughing. "Nat--everybody--stop Judy.
She's making the lantern explode. Oh, Ed!"
Natalie heard, and then the others. They looked up at her, all of them.
Rena and Natalie screamed. Willard started toward her. "Put it down,
kid," he was calling.
"I'll put it down.... Now boy."
There he was, with Ed's arm gripping his shoulders. He did not give any
sign that he knew she was trying to help him, or that he wanted help. He
was not afraid of the lantern, like the others. His black eyes were
laughing at all of them--laughing at Judith, too. He was looking
straight at Judith.
"Now, boy," she called, "now run!" and she gripped the lantern tight,
swung it high, and dashed it to the ground.
It fell at the foot of the steps with a crash of breaking glass. The
light sputtered out. The air was full of the smell of spilled kerosene.
In the faint radiance that was not moonlight, but a glimmering
reflection of it, more confusing than darkness, dim figures struggled
and shrill voices were lifted.
"Get him. Hold him."
"Get the lantern."
"Get Judy."
"Hold him, Ed."
"That's me."
"Get him, Rena."
Judith laughed, and out of the dark he had come from, the dark of
May-night, lit by a wishing moon, that grants your secret wish for
better or for worse, irrevocably, a far-away laugh answered Judith's.
The boy was gone.