BLIND BENNER'S JEALOUSY.
Languid Indian Summer loitered among the great mountains. Her veil,
caught on the peaks, draped gracefully in the ravines and hid the
valleys beneath a gray sheen. Every evening the sun set in red wrath at
this persistent half concealment of her beauty, and the big hand he
reached out above the horizon, the broad fingers stretching to the
zenith, freed the winds that they might tear off the gauze. But they
yielded to her charm and became her lovers, fanning her cheek so gently
that her gossamer veil was scarcely rustled. One morning she was gone,
vanished with the night, and the winds dashed in furious pursuit of her.
Ah, the jilt! She will come again next year, and the silly winds will
forget her fickleness, paying court to her, while she dreamily crosses
the mountains.
On a Sunday afternoon in this sweet after-thought summer-time, two weeks
after Lizzi's wedding, Blind Benner and Hunch were half-sitting,
half-lying on a pile of leaves on the top of Bald Mountain. Hunch was
greatly distressed at not being able to quiet his friend's discontent,
which was very evident as he turned his sightless eyes to the sky at one
moment, and at the next rolled over and buried his face in the leaves.
"'Tain't no use in carryin' on thet way. Lizzi ain't here, an' thet's
all there is 'bout it."
"There ain't no comfert in her bein' away," Blind Benner groaned.
"It's the first time she's missed comin'; an' yer know, Benner, she's
mortil fond uv yer, an' she hed good reason fer stayin' er she'd ben
here."
"Thet's more comfertin' talk, Hunch."
If the blind man could have seen the smile that broke out on his
friend's face at this remark, he would have been amply repaid for it.
There was moisture, too, in the dwarf's eyes. He was grateful to the
friend who had said he comforted him. For a long time Blind Benner lay
face downwards in the leaves, and Hunch sat beside him in silence, his
untutored intelligence having caught the great secret of
sympathy--unobtrusiveness.
Until this time Lizzi had always been their companion on these Sunday
jaunts, but on this day she could not be found, and the two friends had
gone off in a desperate sort of way, resisting the old habit, yet unable
to break it.
Hunch openly declared that he loved no one but Blind Benner. The dwarf
was unseemly, disagreeable. He felt that he was pitied by those who saw
his deformity, and he loathed their compassion. In this list he did not
include Lizzi, who said a kind thing about his back, and Bill Kellar,
who was always making fun of it.
Lizzi once said:
"Hunch, don't mind about your back. You're so good to Blind Benner, that
I know you're an angel, and the hump on your back is only your wings
folded up."
He ever afterwards remembered her fondly, but he had no love for anyone
except Blind Benner, who did not know how hideous among men the dwarf
was.
Blind Benner's affection for Lizzi was the love of a mature man for the
woman who alone has been able to work upon his heart the spell that
enthralls it forever, yet it had no hope, and his only longing was to be
near her, to hear her voice, sometimes to have her hand in his. A new
element, one of pain, had entered into his life, and he groaned, for he
was jealous and helpless. He had some way divined Lizzi's love for Gill,
and the knowledge had revealed to him the nature of his own affection
for the woman whom he never dared tell that he, the blind man, loved her
with the love that would make her his wife. He lay fighting the new
pain, and Haunch sat near him, ready with help such as he could give if
it was asked for.
At last Blind Benner said:
"Hunch, do yer mind the time Lizzi told me what she looked like?"
"Mind ev'ry bit she said."
"Tell me it all over."
"She sed she wuz taller'n yer, Benner; and yer know'd thet. She told yer
she hed a good figger; and there ain't no better in the mountins."
"Jist tell what _she_ sed, Hunch."
"All right. She sed she wuz strong, an' could carry yer easy as a baby,
an' could chop wood like a man; her daddy learned her how ter handle the
axe, an' Levi learned her spellin' an' grammer."
"She talks mighty pretty, don't she, Hunch?" Blind Benner interrupted.
"Ain't no better talker, nowheres. An' her hands wuz perfect, she sed,
on'y they wuz red from soapsuds, an' _they_ didn't wear off in a week.
Her hands wuz whitest Sundays."
"Oh! I mind how she laid one on my head when she sed thet," Benner again
interrupted, "an' I sed it wuz yeller in feelin'; an' she wanted ter
know why, an' I sed 'cause it felt warm an' soft like the sunlight, an'
they say thet's yeller."
"Yes, an' I sed the furnace fire was red; but yer got techy an' sed thet
wuz hot. Do yer mind thet, Benner--hot and scorchin', not soft an' warm?
An' then when yer thought yer bed spoke too sharp ter me, yer made up
fer it by sayin' colors wuz hard fer yer ter make out, jist as if a
little thing like thet'd make me mad at yer, Benner."
"I ain't got no business speakin' sharp ter yer, Hunch, what's so kind
ter me allers," and Blind Benner laid his head on his friend's knee.
"Thet wuzn't all she sed."
"Nuh! she sed her feet wuz big."
"An' yer sed thet didn't make no diff'rence, fer her skirts hid 'em,"
and Blind Benner laughed. "But tell me what she sed 'bout her face."
"She sed it wuzn't very purty, an' wuz big an' round, an' almost filled
up the lookin'-glass; thet Levi sed it wuz allers full moon at their
house, fer her face wuz allers shinin' with good-natur'."
"An' I mind I sed it must be allers, fer her voice wuz allers glad an'
sweet, sweeter'n a fiddle when Bill Kellar plays it."
"An' yer mind she sed her eyes wuz black, Benner, an' yer asked if they
wuz purty, an' I sed 'mighty'; an' yer sed the 'dark is black, an' it
wuzn't so bad ter live in the dark after all'?"
"Yes, I mind it, Hunch; but her eyes don't shine inter this dark;" and
the blind man struck his chest, while a scowl passed over his face.
Hunch did not reply, and there was a moment of silence, broken by
Benner, who said fiercely:
"Ef I hed the use uv my eyes, Gill wouldn't git her; I'd cut him out."
"Ef it would help yer, Benner, I'd cut his eyes out, an' take the
chances uv gittin' away," Hunch said in a low, determined tone.
Blind Benner smiled and replied:
"No, thet wouldn't do no good. It would on'y put the light out uv
Lizzi's heart an' make her blinder'n me. No, there ain't no hope fer me.
Gill's goin' ter git her because I can't ask fer her. But he'll never
love her no more'n I do."
"Benner," said Hunch, cheerfully, "mebbe yer kin hev yer eyes fixed.
I've got some money, saved it, an' I'll give it ter yer, ev'ry cent: an'
when yer well, yer kin pay me back."
"Yer mighty kind, Hunch," Blind Benner said, putting his arm around the
dwarf's neck, "but there ain't no cure fer me. I've jist got to go 'long
gropin' an' wishin' I'd hed eyes like Gill's."
"There ain't no tellin'. Do yer know, Benner, I wuz layin' in bed
th'other night, an' I thought the wall wuz lookin' at me, with a great
big eye. I ain't easy skeered, yer know, an' I set up ter git a better
look, an' what do you think it wuz? The lookin'-glass hangin' there; an'
thinks I, mebbe ef Benner hed lookin'-glasses in his eyes, he could see
too. Let's try to get them put in, Benner. Twon't cost much." The dwarf
spoke very earnestly, and a moisture filled his friend's eyes.
"'Tain't no use, Hunch; there wuz a doctor in the city where Bill Kellar
come from, thet sed I wuz stone-blind; an' couldn't never see. My daddy
took me ter him long 'fore I knowed yer. Anyhow, Hunch, how yer goin'
ter git lookin'-glasses inter a feller's head."
"Well, I think yer kin, an' I'm goin' ter ask Bill Kellar. What he don't
know's hard ter find out."
"Come, Hunch, let's go ter the Block, mebbe Lizzi'll be there. 'Tain't
nice up here without her, an' I ain't comin' no more, 'less she's
along."
"Ain't yer tired, Benner?"
"Yes, I am, Hunch. Tireder then I've ever ben in my life."
"Git on my back an' I'll carry yer."
"I ain't tired in my legs, Hunch. I kin walk."
Taking Blind Benner's hand, Hunch led him down into the deepening shadow
of the valley.