HERMIT JOE
There was not quite so large a crowd at the Sunbridge station to welcome
the Texas travelers as there had been to see them off; but it was fully
large enough to give a merry cheer of greeting, as the train pulled into
the little station.
"They're all here, with their 'sisters and their cousins and their
aunts,'" laughed Tilly, stooping to look through the window as she
passed down the narrow aisle behind Genevieve.
"I should say they were," answered Genevieve a little wistfully. "We
haven't got any one, I'm afraid, though. Miss Jane's been 'down in
Maine,' as you call it, visiting, and she doesn't come till next week."
"Oh, yes, you have," chuckled Tilly, as she caught sight of an eager
face in the crowd. "There's Harold Day."
"Pooh! He didn't come to welcome me any more than he did the rest of
you," retorted Genevieve severely, as she neared the door.
And what a confusion and chatter it all was, when "their sisters and
their cousins and their aunts"--to say nothing of their fathers and
mothers and brothers--all talked and laughed at once, each trying to be
first to kiss and hug the _one_ returning traveler, before bestowing
almost as cordial a welcome on all the others. At last, however, in
little family groups, afoot or in carriages, the crowd began to leave
the station, and Genevieve found herself with Mrs. Kennedy in the family
carriage with the old coachman sitting sedately up in front. Mr. Hartley
had left the party in New York, after seeing them safely aboard their
Boston train.
"Well, it's all over," sighed Genevieve, happily, "and hasn't it been
just lovely--with nothing but poor Tilly's arm to regret!"
"Yes, it certainly has been a beautiful trip, my dear, and I know every
one has enjoyed it very much. And now comes--school."
Genevieve made a wry face; then, meeting Mrs. Kennedy's reproving eye,
she colored.
"There, forgive me, Aunt Julia, please. That wasn't nice of me, of
course, when you're so good as to let me come another year. But school
is so tiresome!"
"Tiresome! Oh, my dear!"
"Well, it is, Aunt Julia," sighed the girl.
"But I thought you liked it now, dear. You took hold of it so bravely at
the last." Mrs. Kennedy's eyes were wistful.
"Oh, of course I wanted to pass and go on with the rest of the girls,
Aunt Julia. I couldn't help wanting that. But as for really _liking_
it--I couldn't like it, you know; just study, study, study all day in
hot, poky rooms, when it's so much nicer out of doors!"
Mrs. Kennedy shook her head. Her eyes were troubled.
"I'm afraid, my dear, that this trip _hasn't_ helped any. I was fearful
that it wouldn't be easy for you to settle down after such a prolonged
playday."
"Oh, but I shall settle, Aunt Julia, I shall settle," promised Genevieve
with a merry smile. "I know I've got to settle--but I can't say yet I
shall like it," she finished, as the carriage turned in at the broad
driveway, and Nancy and Bridget were seen to be waiting in respectful
excitement to welcome them.
There would be five days to "get used to it"--as Genevieve expressed
it--before school began; but long before noon of the first of those five
days, Genevieve had planned in her mind enough delightful things to
occupy twice that number of days. Immediately after dinner, too, came
something quite unexpected in the shape of a call from Cordelia.
Cordelia looked worried.
"Genevieve, I've come to ask a favor, please. I'm sure I don't know as
you'll want to do it, but--but I want you to go with me to see Hermit
Joe."
"To see--_Hermit Joe_!"
"O dear, I knew you'd exclaim out," sighed Cordelia; "but it's just got
to be done. I suppose I ought not to have told you, anyway, but I
couldn't bear to go up to that dismal place alone," she finished,
tearfully.
"Why, of course not, dear; and I'm sure you did just right to tell me,"
soothed Genevieve, in quick response to the tears in Cordelia's eyes.
"Now wait while I get my hat and ask Aunt Julia. She'll let me go, I
know;--she'd let me go to--to London, with _you_."
"Just please say it's an errand--an important one," begged Cordelia,
nervously, as Genevieve darted into the house.
In two minutes the girl had returned, hat in hand.
"Now tell me all about it," she commanded, "and don't look so
frightened. Hermit Joe isn't cross. He's only solemn and queer. He won't
hurt us."
"Oh, no, he won't hurt us," sighed the other. "He'll only look more
solemn and queer."
"Why?"
"Because of what I've got to tell him. I--I suppose I ought to have
written it, but I just couldn't. Besides, I hadn't found out anything,
and so I didn't want to write until I was sure I couldn't find anything.
Now it's done, and I haven't found out anything. So I've got to tell
him."
"Tell him what, Cordelia?" demanded Genevieve, a little impatiently.
"How do you suppose I can make anything out of that kind of talk?"
"O dear! you can't, of course," sighed Cordelia; "and, of course, if
I've told you so much I must tell the rest. It's Hermit Joe's son. I
can't find him."
"His son! I didn't know he had a son."
"He has. His name is John. He ran away to Texas twenty years ago."
"And you've been hunting for _him_, too--besides that Lester Goodwin who
turned out to be Reddy?"
Cordelia nodded. She did not speak.
Genevieve laughed unexpectedly.
"Of all the funny things I ever heard of! Pray, how many more lost
people have you been looking for in the little state of Texas?"
Cordelia moved her shoulders uneasily.
"I--I'd rather not tell that, please, Genevieve," she stammered, with a
painful blush.
Genevieve stared dumbly. She had not supposed for a moment that Cordelia
had been looking for any more lost people. She had asked the question
merely as an absurdity. To have it taken now in this literal fashion,
and evidently with good reason--Genevieve could scarcely believe the
evidence of her senses. Another laugh was almost on her lips, but the
real distress in Cordelia's face stopped it in time.
"You poor dear little thing," she cried sympathetically. "What a shame
to bother you so! I wonder you had any fun at all on the trip."
"Oh, but I did, Genevieve! You don't know how beautiful it all was to
me--only of course I felt sorry to be such a failure in what folks
wanted me to do. You see, Reddy was the only one I found, and I'm very
much worried for fear he won't be satisfactory."
Genevieve did laugh this time.
"Well, if he isn't, I don't see how that can be your fault," she
retorted. "Come, now let's forget all this, and just talk Texas
instead."
"Aunt Mary says I do do that--all the time," rejoined Cordelia, with a
wistful smile. "Aunt Sophronia is there, too, and _she_ says I do.
Still, she likes to hear it, I verily believe, else she wouldn't ask me
so many questions," concluded Cordelia, lifting her chin a little.
"I'd like to take Miss Jane there sometime," observed Genevieve, with a
gravity that was a little unnatural.
"Oh, mercy!" exclaimed Cordelia--then she stopped short with a hot
blush. "I--I beg your pardon, I'm sure, Genevieve," she went on
stammeringly. "I ought not to have spoken that way, of course. I was
only thinking of Miss Jane and--and the cowboys that day they welcomed
us."
"Yes, I know," rejoined Genevieve, her lips puckered into a curious
little smile.
"I don't believe I'm doing any more talking, anyway, than Tilly is,"
remarked Cordelia, after a moment's silence. "Of course, Tilly, with her
poor arm, would make a lot of questions, anyway; but she _is_ talking a
great deal."
"I suppose she is," chuckled Genevieve, "and we all know what _she'll_
say."
"But she says such absurd things, Genevieve. Why, Charlie Brown--you
know he calls us the 'Happy _Tex_agons' now--well, he told me that
Tilly'd been bragging so terribly about Texas, and all the fine things
there were there, that he asked her this morning real soberly--you know
how Charlie Brown _can_ ask questions, sometimes--"
"I know," nodded Genevieve.
"Well, he asked her, solemn as a judge, 'Do these wondrous tamales of
yours grow on trees down there?'
"'Oh, yes,' Tilly assured him serenely. And when Charlie, of course,
declared that couldn't be, she just shrugged her shoulders and answered:
'Well, of course, Charlie, I'll own I didn't _see_ tamales growing on
trees, but Texas is a very large state, and while I didn't, of course,
see anywhere near all of it, yet I saw so much, and it was all so
different from each other, that I'm sure I shouldn't want to say that I
_knew_ they didn't have tamale trees somewhere in Texas!' And then she
marched off in that stately way of hers, and Charlie declared he began
to feel as if tamale trees did grow in Texas, and that he ought to go
around telling folks so."
"What a girl she is!" laughed Genevieve. "But, Cordelia, she isn't all
nonsense. We found that out that dreadful night of the accident."
"Indeed we did," agreed Cordelia, loyally; then, with a profound sigh
she added: "O dear! for a minute I'd actually forgotten--Hermit Joe."
Hermit Joe lived far up the hillside in a little hut surrounded by thick
woods. A tiny path led to his door, but it was seldom trodden by the
foot of anybody but of Hermit Joe himself--Hermit Joe did not encourage
visitors, and visitors certainly were not attracted by Hermit Joe's
stern reticence on all matters concerning himself and every one else.
To-day, as the girls entered the path at the edge of the woods, the sun
went behind a passing cloud, and the gloom was even more noticeable than
usual.
"Mercy! I'm glad Hermit Joe _isn't_ dangerous and _doesn't_ bite,"
whispered Genevieve, peering into the woods on either side. "Aunt Julia
says he is really a very estimable man--Cordelia, if I was a man I just
wouldn't be an 'estimable' one."
"Genevieve!" gasped the shocked Cordelia.
Genevieve laughed.
"Oh, I'd _be_ it, of course, my dear, only I wouldn't want to be
_called_ it. It's the word--it always makes me think of side whiskers
and stupidity."
"Oh, Genevieve!" cried Cordelia, again.
"Well, as I was saying, Aunt Julia told me that Hermit Joe was really a
very nice man. She used to know him well before a great sorrow drove him
into the woods to live all by himself."
Cordelia nodded sadly.
"That was his son that ran away. Aunt Mary told me that long ago. She
told us children never to tease him, or worry him, but that we needn't
be afraid of him, either. He wouldn't hurt us. I heard once that he was
always stern and sober, and that that was why his son ran away. But that
it 'most killed him--the father--when he did go. And now I couldn't find
him! Isn't it terrible, Genevieve?" Cordelia's eyes were full of tears.
"Yes," sighed Genevieve. "But you aren't to blame, dear."
It was very beautiful in the hushed green light of the woods, with now
and then a bird-call, or the swift scampering of a squirrel's feet to
break the silence. But the girls were not noticing birds or squirrels
to-day, and they became more and more silent as they neared the end of
their journey. The little cabin was almost in sight when Genevieve
caught Cordelia's arm convulsively.
"Cordelia, sh-h-h! Isn't that some one--talking?" she whispered.
Cordelia held her right foot suspended in the air for a brief half
minute.
"Yes. That's Hermit Joe's voice. He _is_ talking to some one."
"Then there must be somebody there with him."
"Yes. Genevieve, I--I _guess_ I won't tell him to-day," faltered
Cordelia. "Let's go back. I'll come again to-morrow."
"Nonsense! Go back, and have you worrying about this thing another
twenty-four hours? No, indeed! Come, Cordelia, we must tell him now. I
think we ought to do it, really."
"All right," sighed the other despairingly. "Come, then." The next
minute she gave a sharp cry. "Why, Mr. _Edwards_!" she breathed.
They had come to the turn which brought the cabin into plain sight; and
on the stone step with Hermit Joe sat the man Cordelia had last seen
driving away from the Six Star Ranch in Texas.
Both men rose abruptly. The younger stepped forward. There was a
whimsical smile on his lips, but his eyes were wonderfully tender.
"Yes, 'Mr. Edwards,' Miss Cordelia--but Mr. 'Jonathan Edwards
_Sanborn_.' You see, you didn't know all my name, perhaps."
To every one's surprise and consternation Cordelia sat down exactly
where she was, and began to cry softly.
"Why, Cordelia!"
Genevieve was at her friend's side at once. Hermit Joe looked plainly
distressed. Mr. Jonathan Edwards Sanborn hurried forward in frightened
dismay.
"Oh, but Miss Cordelia, don't, please don't--I beg of you! Don't you
understand? I am John Sanborn, Hermit Joe's son; and 'twas all through
you that I came home again."
Cordelia only sobbed the harder.
Genevieve dropped on her knees at the girl's side, and put her arms
about her.
"Cordelia, Cordelia, dear--don't you see?--it's all come out right. You
did find him, after all! Why are you crying so?"
"T-that's why," stuttered Cordelia, smiling through tear-wet eyes. "It's
because I d-did find him, and I'm so glad, and everything!"
"But, if you're glad, why cry?" began Hermit Joe's son, in puzzled
wonder, but Genevieve patted Cordelia's back, and smiled cheerily.
"That's all right, Cordelia," she declared. "I know just how you feel.
_Now_ you know what was the matter with me when you girls gave me the
Texas yell at the station. Just cry all you like!"
As if permission, only, were all she wanted, Cordelia wiped her eyes and
smiled shyly into Mr. Jonathan Edwards Sanborn's face.
"It is really you, isn't it?" she murmured.
"It certainly is, Miss Cordelia."
"And you wouldn't have come if it hadn't been for what I said?"
"No. You set me to thinking, and when I got to thinking I couldn't stop.
And, of course, when I couldn't stop thinking I had to come; that's
all."
"I'm so glad," sighed Cordelia; then, interestedly: "How long have you
been here?"
"Only since day before yesterday. No one in the village knows I'm here,
I suspect. We've been talking over our plans--father and I. I want him
to come West with me."
Cordelia got up from the ground.
"I'm so glad," she said again, simply. "Genevieve, I think we ought to
be going."
As she turned toward the path, Hermit Joe advanced so that he
intercepted her.
"Miss Cordelia, I would like to tell how--but I can't. Still--I wish you
could know how happy you've made me."
Hermit Joe spoke with evident difficulty. His lips, so long unused to
speaking, stumbled over the words; but his eyes glowed as with hidden
fires, and his whole face was alight with joy.