Mr. Sanders seized the reins in his own hands. "We've fit an' we've
fout, an' we've got knocked out," he went on, "an' now, here we are
ready for to take a fresh start. The Lord send that it's the right
start." He would have driven on, but at that moment, a shabby looking
vehicle drew up alongside the waggon. Gabriel and Cephas knew at once
that the outfit belonged to Mr. Goodlett. His mismatched team consisted
of a very large horse and a very small mule, both of them veterans of
the war. They had been left by the Federals in a broken-down condition,
and Mr. Goodlett found them grazing about, trying to pick up a living.
He appropriated them, fed them well, and was now utilising them not only
for farm purposes, but for conveying stray travellers to and from
Malvern, earning in this way many a dollar that would have gone
elsewhere.
Mr. Goodlett drew rein when he saw Mr. Sanders and Francis Bethune, and
gave them as cordial a greeting as he could, for he was a very
undemonstrative and reticent man. At that time both Gabriel and Cephas
thought he was both sour and surly, but, in the course of events, their
opinions in regard to that and a great many other matters underwent a
considerable change.
CHAPTER FOUR
_Mr. Goodlett's Passengers_
The vehicle that Mr. Goodlett was driving was an old hack that had been
used for long years to ply between Shady Dale and Malvern. On this
occasion, Mr. Goodlett had for his passengers a lady and a young woman
apparently about Nan's age. There was such a contrast between the two
that Gabriel became absorbed in contemplating them; so much so that he
failed to hear the greetings that passed between Mr. Goodlett and Mr.
Sanders, who were old-time friends. The elder of the two women was
emaciated to a degree, and her face was pale to the point of
ghastliness; but in spite of her apparent weakness, there was an ease
and a refinement in her manner, a repose and a self-possession that
reminded Gabriel of his grandmother, when she was receiving the fine
ladies from a distance who sometimes called on her. The younger of the
two women, on the other hand, was the picture of health. The buoyancy of
youth possessed her. She had an eager, impatient way of handling her fan
and handkerchief, and there was a twinkle in her eye that spoke of
humour; but her glance never fell directly on the men in the waggon; all
her attention was for the invalid.
Mr. Goodlett, his greeting over, was for pushing on, but the voice of
the invalid detained him. "Can you tell me," she said, turning to Mr.
Sanders, "whether the Gaither Place is occupied? Oh, but I forgot; you
are just returning from that horrible, horrible war." She had lifted
herself from a reclining position, but fell back hopelessly.
"Why, Ab thar ought to be able to tell you that," responded Mr. Sanders,
his voice full of sympathy.
"Well, I jest ain't," declared Mr. Goodlett, with some show of
impatience. "I tell you, William, I been so worried an' flurried, an' so
disqualified an' mortified, an' so het up wi' fust one thing an' then
another, that I ain't skacely had time for to scratch myself on the
eatchin' places, much less gittin' up all times er night for to see ef
the Gaither Place is got folks or ha'nts in it. When you've been through
what I have, William, you won't come a-axin' me ef the Gaither house is
whar it mought be, or whar it oughter be, or ef it's popylated or
dispopylated."
The young lady stroked the invalid's hand and smiled. Something in the
frowning face and fractious tone of the old man evidently appealed to
her sense of humour. "Don't you think it is absurd," said the pale lady,
again appealing to Mr. Sanders, "that a person should live in so small a
town, and not know whether one of the largest houses in the place is
occupied--a house that belongs to a family that used to be one of the
most prominent of the county? Why, of course it is absurd. There is
something uncanny about it. I haven't had such a shock in many a day."
"But, mother," protested the young lady, "why worry about it? A great
many strange things have happened to us, and this is the least important
of all."
"Why, dearest, this is the strangest of all strange things. The driver
here says he lives at Dorringtons', and the Gaither house is not so very
far from Dorringtons'."
"Everybody knows," said Gabriel, "that Miss Polly Gaither lives in the
Gaither house." He spoke before he was aware, and began to blush.
Whereupon the young lady gave him a very bright smile.
"Humph!" grunted Mr. Goodlett, giving the lad a severe look. He started
to climb into his seat, but turned to Gabriel. "Is she got a wen?" he
asked, with something like a scowl.
"Yes, she has a wen," replied the lad, blushing again, but this time for
Mr. Goodlett.
"Well, then, ef she's got a wen, ef Polly Gaithers is got a wen, she's
livin' in that house, bekaze, no longer'n last Sat'day, she come roun'
for to borry some meal; an' whatsomever she use to have, an' whatsomever
she mought have herearter, she's got a wen now, an' I'll tell you so on
a stack of Bibles as high as the court-house."
The young lady laughed, but immediately controlled herself with a
half-petulant "Oh dear!" Laughter became her well, for it smoothed away
a little frown of perplexity that had established itself between her
eyebrows.
"Oh, we'll take the young man's word for it," said the invalid, "and we
are very much obliged to him. What is your name?" When Gabriel had told
her, she repeated the name over again. "I used to know your grandmother
very well," she said. "Tell her Margaret Bridalbin has returned home,
and would be delighted to see her."
"Then, ma'am, you must be Margaret Gaither," remarked Mr. Sanders.
"Yes, I was Margaret Gaither," replied the invalid. "I used to know you
very well, Mr. Sanders, and if I had changed as little as you have, I
could still boast of my beauty."
"Yet nobody hears me braggin' of mine, Margaret," said Mr. Sanders with
a smile that found its reflection in the daughter's face; "but I hope
from my heart that home an' old friends will be a good physic for you,
an' git you to braggin' ag'in. Anyhow, ef you don't brag on yourself,
you can take up a good part of the time braggin' on your daughter."
"Oh, thank you, sir, for the clever joke. My mother has told me long ago
how full of fun you are," said the young lady, blushing sufficiently to
show that she did not regard the compliment as altogether a joke. "You
may drive on now," she remarked to Mr. Goodlett. Whereupon that
surly-looking veteran slapped his mismatched team with the loose ends of
the reins, and the shabby old hack moved off toward Shady Dale. Mr.
Sanders waited for the vehicle to get some distance ahead, and then he
too urged his team forward.
"The word is Home," he said; "I reckon Margaret has had her sheer of
trouble, an' a few slices more. She made her own bed, as the sayin' is,
an' now she's layin' on it. Well, well, well! when time an' occasions
take arter you, it ain't no use to run; you mought jest as well set
right flat on the ground an' see what they've got ag'in you."
The remark was not original, nor very deep, but it recurred to Gabriel
when trouble plucked at his own sleeve, or when he saw disaster run
through a family like a contagion.
In no long time the waggon reached the outskirts of the town, where the
highway became a part of the wide street that ran through the centre of
Shady Dale, flowing around the old court-house in the semblance of a
wide river embracing a small island. Gabriel and Cephas were on the
point of leaving the waggon here, but Mr. Sanders was of another mind.
"Ride on to Dorrin'tons' wi' us," he said. "I want to swap a joke or two
wi' Mrs. Ab."
"She's sure to get the best of it," Gabriel warned him.
"Likely enough, but that won't spile the fun," responded Mr. Sanders.
Mrs. Absalom, as she was called, was the wife of Mr. Goodlett, and was
marked off from the great majority of her sex by her keen appreciation
of humour. Her own contributions were spoiled for some, for the reason
that she gave them the tone of quarrelsomeness; whereas, it is to be
doubted whether she ever gave way to real anger more than once or twice
in her life. She was Dr. Randolph Dorrington's housekeeper, and was a
real mother to Nan, who was motherless before she had drawn a dozen
breaths of the poisonous air of this world.
By the time the waggon reached Dorrington's, Gabriel, acting on the
instructions of Mr. Sanders, had crawled under the cover of the waggon,
and was holding out a pair of old shoes, so that a passer-by would
imagine that some one was lying prone in the waggon with his feet
sticking out.
When the waggon reached the Dorrington Place, Mr. Sanders drew rein, and
hailed the house, having signed to Cephas to make himself invisible.
Evidently Mrs. Absalom was in the rear, or in the kitchen, which was a
favourite resort of hers, for the "hello" had to be repeated a number of
times before she made her appearance. She came wiping her face on her
ample apron, and brushing the hair from her eyes. She was always a busy
housekeeper.
"We're huntin', ma'am, for a place called Cloptons'," said Mr. Sanders
in a falsetto voice, his hat pulled down over his eyes; "an' we'd thank
you might'ly ef you'd put us on the right road. About four mile back, we
picked up a' old snoozer who calls himself William H. Sanders, an' he
keeps on talkin' about the Clopton Place."
"Why, the Clopton Place is right down the road a piece. What in the
world is the matter wi' old Billy?" she inquired with real solicitude.
"Was he wounded in the war, or is he jest up to some of his old-time
devilment?"
"Well, ma'am, from the looks of the jimmyjon we found by his side, he
must 'a' shot hisself in the neck. He complains of cold feet, an' he's
got 'em stuck out from under the kiver."
"Don't you worry about that," said Mrs. Absalom; "the climate will never
strike in on old Billy's feet till he gits better acquainted wi' soap
an' water."
"An' he talks in his sleep about a Mrs. Absalom," Mr. Sanders went on,
"an' he cries, an' says she used to be his sweetheart, but he had to
jilt her bekaze she can't cook a decent biscuit."
"The old villain!" exclaimed Mrs. Absalom, with well simulated
indignation; "he can't tell the truth even when he's drunk. If he ever
sobers up in this world, I'll give him a long piece of my mind. Jest
drive on the way you've started, an' ef you can keep in the middle of
the road wi' that drunken old slink in the waggin, you'll come to
Cloptons' in a mighty few minutes."
At this juncture Mr. Sanders was obliged to laugh, whereupon, Mrs.
Absalom, looking narrowly at the travellers, had no difficulty in
recognising them. "Well, my life!" she exclaimed, raising her hands
above her head in a gesture of amazement. "Why, that's old Billy, an'
him sober; and Franky Bethune, an' him not a primpin'! Well, well! I'd
'a' never believed it ef I hadn't 'a' seed it. I vow I'm beginnin' to
believe that war's a real good thing; it's like a revival meetin' for
some folks. I'm sorry Ab didn't take his gun an' jine in--maybe he'd 'a'
shed his stinginess. But I declare to gracious, I'm glad to see you all;
the sight of you is good for the sore eyes. An' Frank tryin' to raise a
beard! Well, honey, I'll send you a bottle of bergamot grease to rub on
it."
Mrs. Absalom came out to the waggon and shook hands with the returned
warriors very heartily, and, sharp as her tongue was, there were tears
in her eyes as she greeted them; for in that region, nearly all had
feelings of kinship for their neighbours and friends, and in that day
and time, people were not ashamed of their emotions.
"Margaret Gaither has come back," remarked Mr. Sanders. "Ab fetched her
in his hack."
"Well, the poor creetur'!" exclaimed Mrs. Absalom; "they say she's had
trouble piled on her house-high."
"She won't have much more in this world ef looks is any sign," Mr.
Sanders replied. "She ain't nothin' but a livin' skeleton, but she's got
a mighty lively gal."
The waggon moved on and left Mrs. Absalom leaning on the gate, a
position that she kept for some little time. Farther down the road,
Gabriel, whose example was followed by Cephas, bade Mr. Sanders
good-bye, nodded lightly to Francis Bethune, and jumped from the waggon.
"Wait a moment, Tolliver," said Bethune. "I want you to come to see
me--and bring Cephas with you. I am going to make you like me if I can.
The home folks have been writing great things about you. Oh, you _must_
come," he insisted, seeing that Gabriel was hesitating. "I want to show
you what a good fellow I can be when I try right hard."
"Yes, you boys must come," said Mr. Sanders; "an' ef Frank is off
courtin' that new gal--I ketched him cuttin' his eye at her--you can
hunt me up, an' I'll tell you some old-time tales that'll make your hair
stan' on end."
CHAPTER FIVE
_The Story of Margaret Gaither_
Gabriel and Cephas started toward their homes, which lay in the same
direction. Instead of going around by road or street, they cut across
the fields and woods. Before they had gone very far, they heard a
rustling, swishing sound in the pine-thicket through which they were
passing, but gave it little attention, both being used to the noises
common to the forest. In their minds it was either a rabbit or a grey
fox scuttling away; or a poree scratching in the bushes, or a
ground-squirrel running in the underbrush.
But a moment later, Nan Dorrington, followed by Tasma Tid, burst from
the pine-thicket, crying, "Oh, you walk so fast, you two!" She was
panting and laughing, and as she stood before the lads, one little hand
at her throat, and the other vainly trying to control her flying hair, a
delicious rosiness illuminating her face, Gabriel knew that he had just
been doing her a gross injustice. As he walked along the path, followed
by his faithful Cephas, he had been mentally comparing her to a young
woman he had just seen in Mr. Goodlett's hack; and had been saying to
himself that the new-comer was, if possible, more beautiful than Nan.
But now here was Nan herself in person, and Gabriel's comparisons
appeared to be shabby indeed. With Nan before his eyes, he could see
what a foolish thing it was to compare her with any one in this world
except herself. There was a flavour of wildness in her beauty that gave
it infinite charm and variety. It was a wildness that is wedded to grace
and vivacity, such as we see embodied in the form and gestures of the
wood-dove, or the partridge, or the flying squirrel, when it is un-awed
by the presence of man. The flash of her dark brown eyes, her tawny hair
blowing free, and her lithe figure, with the dark green pines for a
background, completed the most charming picture it is possible for the
mind to conceive. All that Gabriel was conscious of, beyond a dim
surprise that Nan should be here--the old Nan that he used to know--was
a sort of dawning thrill of ecstasy as he contemplated her. He stood
staring at her with his mouth open.
"Why do you look at me like that, Gabriel?" she cried; "I am no ghost.
And why do you walk so fast? I have been running after you as hard as I
can. And, wasn't that Francis Bethune in the waggon with Mr. Sanders?"
"Did you run hard just to ask me that? Mrs. Absalom could have saved you
all this trouble." The mention of Bethune's name had brought Gabriel to
earth, and to commonplace thoughts again. "Yes, that was Master Bethune,
and he has grown to be a very handsome young man."
"Oh, he was always good-looking," said Nan lightly. "Where are you and
Cephas going?"
"Straight home," replied Gabriel.
"Well, I'm going there, too. I heard Nonny" (this was Mrs. Absalom) "say
that Margaret Gaither has come home again, and then I remembered that
your grandmother promised to tell me a story about her some day. I'm
going to tease her to-day until she tells it."
"And didn't Mrs. Absalom tell you that Bethune was in the waggon with
Mr. Sanders?" Gabriel inquired, in some astonishment.
"Oh, Gabriel! you are so--" Nan paused as if hunting for the right term
or word. Evidently she didn't find it, for she turned to Gabriel with a
winning smile, and asked what Mr. Sanders had had to say. "I'm so glad
he's come I don't know what to do. I wouldn't live in a town that didn't
have its Mr. Sanders," she declared.
"Well, about the first thing he said was to remind Bethune of the time
when you whacked him over the head with a cudgel."
"And what did Master Francis say to that?" inquired Nan, with a laugh.
"Why, what could he say? He simply turned red. Now, if it had been me,
I----"
The path was so narrow, that Nan, the two lads, and Tasma Tid were
walking in Indian file. Nan stopped so suddenly and unexpectedly that
Gabriel fell against her. As he did so, she turned and seized him by the
arm, and emphasised her words by shaking him gently as each was uttered.
"Now--Gabriel--don't--say--disagreeable--things!"
What she meant he had not the least idea, and it was not the first nor
the last time that his wit lacked the nimbleness to follow and catch her
meaning.
"Disagreeable!" he exclaimed. "Why, I was simply going to say that if I
had been in Bethune's shoes to-day, I should have declared that you did
the proper thing."
Nan dropped a low curtsey, saying, "Oh, thank you, sir--what was the
gentleman's name, Cephas--the gentleman who was such a cavalier?"
"Was he a Frenchman?" asked Cephas.
"Oh, Cephas! you should be ashamed. You have as little learning as I."
With that she turned and went along the path at such a rapid pace that
it was as much as the lads could do to keep up with her, without
breaking into an undignified trot.
Nan went home with Gabriel; was there before him indeed, for he paused a
moment to say something to Cephas. She ran along the walk, took the
steps two at a time, and as she ran skipping along the hallway, she
cried out: "Grandmother Lumsden! where are you? Oh, what do you think?
Margaret Gaither has come home!" When Gabriel entered the room, Nan had
fetched a footstool, and was already sitting at Mrs. Lumsden's feet,
holding one of the old lady's frail, but beautiful white hands.
Here was another picture, the beauty of which dawned on Gabriel
later--youth and innocence sitting at the feet of sweet and wholesome
old age. The lad was always proud of his grandmother, but never more so
than at that moment when her beauty and refinement were brought into
high relief by her attitude toward Nan Dorrington. Gabriel was very
happy to be near those two. Not for a weary time had Nan been so
friendly and familiar as she was now, and he felt a kind of exaltation.
"Margaret Gaither! Margaret Gaither!" Gabriel's grandmother repeated the
name as if trying to summon up some memory of the past. "Poor girl! Did
you see her, Gabriel? And how did she look?" With a boy's bluntness, he
described her physical condition, exaggerating, perhaps, its worst
features, for these had made a deep impression on him. "Oh, I'm so sorry
for her! and she has a daughter!" said Mrs. Lumsden softly. "I will call
on them as soon as possible. And then if poor Margaret is unable to
return the visit, the daughter will come. And you must be here, Nan;
Gabriel will fetch you. And you, Gabriel--for once you must be polite
and agreeable. Candace shall brush up your best suit, and if it is to be
mended, I will mend it."
Nan and Gabriel laughed at this. Both knew that this famous best suit
would not reach to the lad's ankles, and that the sleeves of the coat
would end a little way below the elbow.
"I can't imagine what you are laughing at," said Mrs. Lumsden, with a
faint smile. "I am sure the suit is a very respectable one, especially
when you have none better."
"No, Grandmother Lumsden; Gabriel will have to take his tea in the
kitchen with Aunt Candace."
However, the affair never came off. The dear old lady, in whom the
social instinct was so strong, had no opportunity to send the invitation
until long afterward. Nan was compelled to beg very hard for the story
of Margaret Gaither. It was never the habit of Gabriel's grandmother to
indulge in idle gossip; she could always find some excuse for the faults
of those who were unfortunate; but Nan had the art of persuasion at her
tongue's end. Whether it was this fact or the fact that Mrs. Lumsden
believed that the story carried a moral that Nan would do well to
digest, it would be impossible to say. At any rate, the youngsters soon
had their desire. The story will hardly bear retelling; it can be
compressed into a dozen lines, and be made as uninteresting as a
newspaper paragraph; but, as told by Gabriel's grandmother, it had the
charm which sympathy and pity never fail to impart to a narrative. When
it came to an end, Nan was almost in tears, though she could never tell
why.
"It happened, Nan, before you and Gabriel were born," said Mrs. Lumsden.
"Margaret Gaither was one of the most beautiful girls I have ever seen,
and at that time Pulaski Tomlin was one of the handsomest young men in
all this region. Naturally these two were drawn together. They were in
love with each other from the first, and, finally, a day was set for the
wedding. They were to have been married in November, but one night in
October, the Tomlin Place was found to be on fire. The flames had made
considerable headway before they were discovered, and, to me, it was a
most horrible sight. Yet, horrible as it was, there was a fascination
about it. The sweeping roar of the flames attracted me and held me
spellbound, but I hope I shall never be under such a spell again.
"Well, it was impossible to save the house, and no one attempted such a
preposterous feat. It was all that the neighbours could do to prevent
the spread of the flames to the nearby houses. Some of the furniture was
saved, but the house was left to burn. All of a sudden, Fanny
Tomlin----"
"You mean Aunt Fanny?" interrupted Nan.
"Yes, my dear. All of a sudden Fanny Tomlin remembered that her mother's
portrait had been left hanging on the wall. Without a word to any one
she ran into the house. How she ever passed through the door safely, I
never could understand, for every instant, it seemed to me, great
tongues and sheets of flame were darting across it and lapping and
licking inward, as if trying to force an entrance. You may be sure that
we who were looking on, helpless, held our breaths when Fanny Tomlin
disappeared through the doorway. Pulaski Tomlin was not a witness to
this performance, but he was quickly informed of it; and then he ran
this way and that, like one distraught. Twice he called her name, and
his voice must have been heard above the roar of the flames, for
presently she appeared at an upper window, and cried out, 'What is it,
brother?' 'Come down! Come out!' he shouted. 'I'm afraid I can't,' she
answered; and then she waved her hand and disappeared, after trying
vainly to close the blinds.
"But no sooner had Pulaski Tomlin caught a glimpse of his sister, and
heard her voice, than he lowered his head like an angry bull, and rushed
through the flames that now had possession of the door. I, for one,
never expected to see him again; and I stood there frightened,
horrified, fascinated, utterly helpless. Oh, when you go through a trial
like that, my dear," said Mrs. Lumsden, stroking Nan's hair gently, "you
will realise how small and weak and contemptible human beings are when
they are engaged in a contest with the elements. There we stood,
helpless and horror-stricken, with two of our friends in the burning
house, which was now almost completely covered with the roaring flames.
What thoughts I had I could never tell you, but I wondered afterward
that I had not become suddenly grey.
"We waited an age, it seemed to me. Major Tomlin Perdue, of Halcyondale,
who happened to be here at the time, was walking about wringing his
hands and crying like a child. Up to that moment, I had thought him to
be a hard and cruel man, but we can never judge others, not even our
closest acquaintances, until we see them put to the test. Suddenly, I
heard Major Perdue cry, 'Ah!' and saw him leap forward as a wild animal
leaps.