The visit to the camp was a time to be remembered long by all the
inhabitants of the bunk-house, and even by Margaret herself. Margaret
wondered Friday evening, as she sat up late, working away braiding a
lovely gray bonnet out of folds of malines, and fashioning it into form
for Mom Wallis, why she was looking forward to the visit with so much
more real pleasure than she had done to the one the week before at the
Temples'. And so subtle is the heart of a maid that she never fathomed
the real reason.
The Temples', of course, was interesting and delightful as being
something utterly new in her experience. It was comparatively luxurious,
and there were pleasant, cultured people there, more from her own social
class in life. But it was going to be such fun to surprise Mom Wallis
with that bonnet and see her old face light up when she saw herself in
the little folding three-leaved mirror she was taking along with her and
meant to leave for Mom Wallis's log boudoir. She was quite excited over
selecting some little thing for each one of the men--books, pictures, a
piece of music, a bright cushion, and a pile of picture magazines. It
made a big bundle when she had them together, and she was dubious if she
ought to try to carry them all; but Bud, whom she consulted on the
subject, said, loftily, it "wasn't a flea-bite for the Kid; he could
carry anything on a horse."
Bud was just a little jealous to have his beloved teacher away from home
so much, and rejoiced greatly when Gardley, Friday afternoon, suggested
that he come along, too. He made quick time to his home, and secured a
hasty permission and wardrobe, appearing like a footman on his father's
old horse when they were half a mile down the trail.
Mom Wallis was out at the door to greet her guest when she arrived, for
Margaret had chosen to make her visit last from Friday afternoon after
school, until Monday morning. It was the generosity of her nature that
she gave to her utmost when she gave.
The one fear she had entertained about coming had been set at rest on
the way when Gardley told her that Pop Wallis was off on one of his long
trips, selling cattle, and would probably not return for a week.
Margaret, much as she trusted Gardley and the men, could not help
dreading to meet Pop Wallis again.
There was a new trimness about the old bunk-house. The clearing had been
cleaned up and made neat, the grass cut, some vines set out and trained
up limply about the door, and the windows shone with Mom Wallis's
washing.
Mom Wallis herself was wearing her best white apron, stiff with starch,
her lace collar, and her hair in her best imitation of the way Margaret
had fixed it, although it must be confessed she hadn't quite caught the
knack of arrangement yet. But the one great difference Margaret noticed
in the old woman was the illuminating smile on her face. Mom Wallis had
learned how to let the glory gleam through all the hard sordidness of
her life, and make earth brighter for those about her.
The curtains certainly made a great difference in the looks of the
bunk-house, together with a few other changes. The men had made some
chairs--three of them, one out of a barrel; and together they had
upholstered them roughly. The cots around the walls were blazing with
their red blankets folded smoothly and neatly over them, and on the
floor in front of the hearth, which had been scrubbed, Gardley had
spread a Navajo blanket he had bought of an Indian.
The fireplace was piled with logs ready for the lighting at night, and
from somewhere a lamp had been rigged up and polished till it shone in
the setting sun that slanted long rays in at the shining windows.
The men were washed and combed, and had been huddled at the back of the
bunk-house for an hour, watching the road, and now they came forward
awkwardly to greet their guest, their horny hands scrubbed to an
unbelievable whiteness. They did not say much, but they looked their
pleasure, and Margaret greeted every one as if he were an old friend,
the charming part about it all to the men being that she remembered
every one's name and used it.
Bud hovered in the background and watched with starry eyes. Bud was
having the time of his life. He preferred the teacher's visiting the
camp rather than the fort. The "Howdy, sonny!" which he had received
from the men, and the "Make yourself at home, Bill" from Gardley, had
given him great joy; and the whole thing seemed somehow to link him to
the teacher in a most distinguishing manner.
Supper was ready almost immediately, and Mom Wallis had done her best to
make it appetizing. There was a lamb stew with potatoes, and fresh corn
bread with coffee. The men ate with relish, and watched their guest of
honor as if she had been an angel come down to abide with them for a
season. There was a tablecloth on the old table, too--a _white_
tablecloth. It looked remarkably like an old sheet, to be sure, with a
seam through the middle where it had been worn and turned and sewed
together; but it was a tablecloth now, and a marvel to the men. And the
wonder about Margaret was that she could eat at such a table and make it
seem as though that tablecloth were the finest damask, and the two-tined
forks the heaviest of silver.
After the supper was cleared away and the lamp lighted, the gifts were
brought out. A book of Scotch poetry for Jasper Kemp, bound in tartan
covers of the Campbell clan; a small illustrated pamphlet of Niagara
Falls for Big Jim, because he had said he wanted to see the place and
never could manage it; a little pictured folder of Washington City for
Big Jim; a book of old ballad music for Fiddling Boss; a book of jokes
for Fade-away Forbes; a framed picture of a beautiful shepherd dog for
Stocky; a big, red, ruffled denim pillow for Croaker, because when she
was there before he was always complaining about the seats being hard;
a great blazing crimson pennant bearing the name HARVARD in big letters
for Fudge, because she had remembered he was from Boston; and for Mom
Wallis a framed text beautifully painted in water-colors, done in rustic
letters twined with stray forget-me-nots, the words, "Come unto Me, all
ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." Margaret
had made that during the week and framed it in a simple raffia braid of
brown and green.
It was marvelous how these men liked their presents; and while they were
examining them and laughing about them and putting their pictures and
Mom Wallis's text on the walls, and the pillow on a bunk, and the
pennant over the fireplace, Margaret shyly held out a tiny box to
Gardley.
"I thought perhaps you would let me give you this," she said. "It isn't
much; it isn't even new, and it has some marks in it; but I thought it
might help with your new undertaking."
Gardley took it with a lighting of his face and opened the box. In it
was a little, soft, leather-bound Testament, showing the marks of usage,
yet not worn. It was a tiny thing, very thin, easily fitting in a
vest-pocket, and not a burden to carry. He took the little book in his
hand, removed the silken rubber band that bound it, and turned the
leaves reverently in his fingers, noting that there were pencil-marks
here and there. His face was all emotion as he looked up at the giver.
"I thank you," he said, in a low tone, glancing about to see that no one
was noticing them. "I shall prize it greatly. It surely will help. I
will read it every day. Was that what you wanted? And I will carry it
with me always."
His voice was very earnest, and he looked at her as though she had given
him a fortune. With another glance about at the preoccupied room--even
Bud was busy studying Jasper Kemp's oldest gun--he snapped the band on
the book again and put it carefully in his inner breast-pocket. The book
would henceforth travel next his heart and be his guide. She thought he
meant her to understand that, as he put out his hand unobtrusively and
pressed her fingers gently with a quick, low "Thank you!"
Then Mom Wallis's bonnet was brought out and tied on her, and the poor
old woman blushed like a girl when she stood with meek hands folded at
her waist and looked primly about on the family for their approval at
Margaret's request. But that was nothing to the way she stared when
Margaret got out the threefold mirror and showed her herself in the new
headgear. She trotted away at last, the wonderful bonnet in one hand,
the box in the other, a look of awe on her face, and Margaret heard her
murmur as she put it away: "Glory! _Me!_ Glory!"
Then Margaret had to read one or two of the poems for Jasper Kemp, while
they all sat and listened to her Scotch and marveled at her. A woman
like that condescending to come to visit them!
She gave a lesson in note-reading to the Fiddling Boss, pointing one by
one with her white fingers to the notes until he was able to creep along
and pick out "Suwanee River" and "Old Folks at Home" to the intense
delight of the audience.
Margaret never knew just how it was that she came to be telling the men
a story, one she had read not long before in a magazine, a story with a
thrilling national interest and a keen personal touch that searched the
hearts of men; but they listened as they had never listened to anything
in their lives before.
And then there was singing, more singing, until it bade fair to be
morning before they slept, and the little teacher was weary indeed when
she lay down on the cot in Mom Wallis's room, after having knelt beside
the old woman and prayed.
The next day there was a wonderful ride with Gardley and Bud to the
cañon of the cave-dwellers, and a coming home to the apple dumplings she
had taught Mom Wallis to make before she went away. All day Gardley and
she, with Bud for delighted audience, had talked over the play she was
getting up at the school, Gardley suggesting about costumes and tree
boughs for scenery, and promising to help in any way she wanted. Then
after supper there were jokes and songs around the big fire, and some
popcorn one of the men had gone a long ride that day to get. They called
for another story, too, and it was forthcoming.
It was Sunday morning after breakfast, however, that Margaret suddenly
wondered how she was going to make the day helpful and different from
the other days.
She stood for a moment looking out of the clear little window
thoughtfully, with just the shadow of a sigh on her lips, and as she
turned back to the room she met Gardley's questioning glance.
"Are you homesick?" he asked, with a sorry smile. "This must all be
very different from what you are accustomed to."
"Oh no, it isn't that." She smiled, brightly. "I'm not a baby for home,
but I do get a bit homesick about church-time. Sunday is such a strange
day to me without a service."
"Why not have one, then?" he suggested, eagerly. "We can sing and--you
could--do the rest!"
Her eyes lighted at the suggestion, and she cast a quick glance at the
men. Would they stand for that sort of thing?
Gardley followed her glance and caught her meaning. "Let them answer for
themselves," he said quickly in a low tone, and then, raising his voice:
"Speak up, men. Do you want to have church? Miss Earle here is homesick
for a service, and I suggest that we have one, and she conduct it."
"Sure!" said Jasper Kemp, his face lighting. "I'll miss my guess if she
can't do better than the parson we had last Sunday. Get into your seats,
boys; we're goin' to church."
Margaret's face was a study of embarrassment and delight as she saw the
alacrity with which the men moved to get ready for "church." Her quick
brain turned over the possibility of what she could read or say to help
this strange congregation thus suddenly thrust upon her.
It was a testimony to her upbringing by a father whose great business of
life was to preach the gospel that she never thought once of hesitating
or declining the opportunity, but welcomed it as an opportunity, and
only deprecated her unreadiness for the work.
The men stirred about, donned their coats, furtively brushing their
hair, and Long Bill insisted that Mom Wallis put on her new bonnet;
which she obligingly did, and sat down carefully in the barrel-chair,
her hands neatly crossed in her lap, supremely happy. It really was
wonderful what a difference that bonnet made in Mom Wallis.
Gardley arranged a comfortable seat for Margaret at the table and put in
front of her one of the hymn-books she had brought. Then, after she was
seated, he took the chair beside her and brought out the little
Testament from his breast-pocket, gravely laying it on the hymn-book.
Margaret met his eyes with a look of quick appreciation. It was
wonderful the way these two were growing to understand each other. It
gave the girl a thrill of wonder and delight to have him do this simple
little thing for her, and the smile that passed between them was
beautiful to see. Long Bill turned away his head and looked out of the
window with an improvised sneeze to excuse the sudden mist that came
into his eyes.
Margaret chose "My Faith looks up to Thee" for the first hymn, because
Fiddling Boss could play it, and while he was tuning up his fiddle she
hastily wrote out two more copies of the words. And so the queer service
started with a quaver of the old fiddle and the clear, sweet voices of
Margaret and Gardley leading off, while the men growled on their way
behind, and Mom Wallis, in her new gray bonnet, with her hair all
fluffed softly gray under it, sat with eyes shining like a girl's.
So absorbed in the song were they all that they failed to hear the sound
of a horse coming into the clearing. But just as the last words of the
final verse died away the door of the bunk-house swung open, and there
in the doorway stood Pop Wallis!
The men sprang to their feet with one accord, ominous frowns on their
brows, and poor old Mom Wallis sat petrified where she was, the smile of
relaxation frozen on her face, a look of fear growing in her tired old
eyes.
Now Pop Wallis, through an unusual combination of circumstances, had
been for some hours without liquor and was comparatively sober. He stood
for a moment staring amazedly at the group around his fireside. Perhaps
because he had been so long without his usual stimulant his mind was
weakened and things appeared as a strange vision to him. At any rate, he
stood and stared, and as he looked from one to another of the men, at
the beautiful stranger, and across to the strangely unfamiliar face of
his wife in her new bonnet, his eyes took on a frightened look. He
slowly took his hand from the door-frame and passed it over his eyes,
then looked again, from one to another, and back to his glorified wife.
Margaret had half risen at her end of the table, and Gardley stood
beside her as if to reassure her; but Pop Wallis was not looking at any
of them any more. His eyes were on his wife. He passed his hand once
more over his eyes and took one step gropingly into the room, a hand
reached out in front of him, as if he were not sure but he might run
into something on the way, the other hand on his forehead, a dazed look
in his face.
"Why, Mom--that ain't really--_you_, now, _is_ it?" he said, in a
gentle, insinuating voice like one long unaccustomed making a hasty
prayer.
The tone made a swift change in the old woman. She gripped her bony
hands tight and a look of beatific joy came into her wrinkled face.
"Yes, it's really _me_, Pop!" she said, with a kind of triumphant ring
to her voice.
"But--but--you're right _here_, ain't you? You ain't _dead_,
an'--an'--gone to--gl-oo-ry, be you? You're right _here_?"
"Yes, I'm right _here_, Pop. I ain't dead! Pop--glory's _come to me_!"
"Glory?" repeated the man, dazedly. "Glory?" And he gazed around the
room and took in the new curtains, the pictures on the wall, the
cushions and chairs, and the bright, shining windows. "You don't mean
it's _heav'n_, do you, Mom? 'Cause I better go back--_I_ don't belong in
heav'n. Why, Mom, it can't be glory, 'cause it's the same old
bunk-house outside, anyhow."
"Yes, it's the same old bunk-house, and it ain't heaven, but it's
_goin_' to be. The glory's come all right. You sit down, Pop; we're
goin' to have church, and this is my new bonnet. _She_ brang it. This is
the new school-teacher, Miss Earle, and she's goin' to have church. She
done it _all_! You sit down and listen."
Pop Wallis took a few hesitating steps into the room and dropped into
the nearest chair. He looked at Margaret as if she might be an angel
holding open the portal to a kingdom in the sky. He looked and wondered
and admired, and then he looked back to his glorified old wife again in
wonder.
Jasper Kemp shut the door, and the company dropped back into their
places. Margaret, because of her deep embarrassment, and a kind of
inward trembling that had taken possession of her, announced another
hymn.
It was a solemn little service, quite unique, with a brief, simple
prayer and an expository reading of the story of the blind man from the
sixth chapter of John. The men sat attentively, their eyes upon her face
as she read; but Pop Wallis sat staring at his wife, an awed light upon
his scared old face, the wickedness and cunning all faded out, and only
fear and wonder written there.
In the early dawning of the pink-and-silver morning Margaret went back
to her work, Gardley riding by her side, and Bud riding at a discreet
distance behind, now and then going off at a tangent after a stray
cottontail. It was wonderful what good sense Bud seemed to have on
occasion.
The horse that Margaret rode, a sturdy little Western pony, with nerve
and grit and a gentle common sense for humans, was to remain with her in
Ashland, a gift from the men of the bunk-house. During the week that
followed Archie Forsythe came riding over with a beautiful shining
saddle-horse for her use during her stay in the West; but when he went
riding back to the ranch the shining saddle-horse was still in his
train, riderless, for Margaret told him that she already had a horse of
her own. Neither had Margaret accepted the invitation to the Temples'
for the next week-end. She had other plans for the Sabbath, and that
week there appeared on all the trees and posts about the town, and on
the trails, a little notice of a Bible class and vesper-service to be
held in the school-house on the following Sabbath afternoon; and so
Margaret, true daughter of her minister-father, took up her mission in
Ashland for the Sabbaths that were to follow; for the school-board had
agreed with alacrity to such use of the school-house.