October turned into November and angry hints of oncoming winter almost
daily shrilled across the lake, scattering the heaps of yellow leaves on
Myrtle Boulevard or playing the dickens with signs and hats on State
Street. The nights were raw and cold; the night-shift at the factory ate
their midnight lunches in the boiler room, a place which in July had
seemed one of the lowest circles of the Inferno. Business was at a most
critical stage, and Knowlton drove away at it day and night. We were, as
he expressed it, just at the turn of the tide; it was a toss-up whether
we should be swept on to the rocks or out into the sea of reasonable
prosperity. I saw comparatively little of him, for he had not yet
released me from night duty. I was getting quite accustomed to this
nocturnal existence; I had actually grown to like it, because it left my
afternoons free to go riding with Helen. I went to bed about half past
seven in the morning, got up around three, and three-thirty would find
Helen and me trotting sedately up Myrtle Boulevard--a sight to which the
latter had become so hardened that not a verandah fluttered as we passed
by. Indeed, the cool weather had driven even the most hardened
gossip-scouts within. Helen's girl friends had tacitly accepted the
situation, and at dinners or card parties Helen and I were always paired
off together by tactful hostesses. None of the first riding party went
with us now. Miss Hershey was chaperoning at White Sulphur, although
there were rumours she would return for Christmas. "Mother" was
querulous and fretful, particularly when we rode on stormy days;
otherwise she had practically ceased active opposition. Her attitude now
was resigned, if hurt, patience, varied with occasional Cassandra-like
utterances of dire foreboding.
Saturdays were now thrice blessed, for the factory shut down from six
o'clock Saturday evening until midnight Sunday, leaving the whole of
Saturday free for me, if I kept Sunday for sleeping. We therefore
reserved Saturdays for our longer expeditions into the rolling hill
country behind us. (In the geography of Deep Harbor "the front" was the
lake.) Soon hard frosts would come to make the roads impassable; we
strove to do all the exploring possible before that should happen. I had
found another horse which a modest weekly payment reserved for my
exclusive use. He was a small Western pony, young and hard as nails. On
frosty days he often tried to climb into the upper air, but he was to be
preferred to the misanthropic Satan, who had fallen to the sad fate of
hauling a grocer's wagon. Nevertheless Helen and I retained a warm spot
in our hearts for old Satan and often carried him apples and sugar. In a
large measure we owed him our friendship. It was an undeserved
misfortune that it had come too late in life for Satan to keep up with.
Helen named the new pony Starbright, because of the white star in the
centre of his dark chestnut forehead. We both agreed that the name
revealed no great powers of originality.
On the second Saturday in November we planned one of our longest quests.
We both regretfully admitted it would probably be the last until spring;
either snow or frozen ground was due at any time. The day was gusty and
overcast; "Mother" tried every whine in her repertoire to dissuade us
from going. Helen's obstinacy refused to yield, and off we went, taking
our luncheons with us. On a hillside, by the edge of the wood, several
miles away, we dismounted and built a camp fire against a large boulder.
Helen endeavoured to instruct me in the art of camp cooking, a skill
which she maintained she had learned one summer in the woods. It
consisted principally of trying to balance a flimsy piece of bacon on a
forked stick. The instant the heat reached the meat it would curl up and
fall into the redhot coals. It then became my duty to burn my fingers in
an attempt at rescue before the bacon turned to a cinder. In this way we
spoiled a fair amount by the time we had each eaten two or three
scorched slices. I commented on the fact that camp cooking seemed
uneconomical, to say nothing of its lack of finesse. Helen laughingly
guessed she was "out of practice," so we toasted marshmallows instead, a
form of cooking in which we were more proficient. The warmth of the fire
was pleasant, and we lingered on, careless of our original purpose to
penetrate far into the hills. It was Helen's turn to tell me of herself,
which she did, half shyly, half whimsically.
The eighteen years of her life had been passed in Deep Harbor, except
for two winters at a large New England boarding-school, or during brief
visits to school friends in New York. At school she had had the good
fortune to come under the influence of a rare kind of teacher--one with
the power of revealing the world. Helen spoke of her with dreamy
affection, as of one who had opened a gate and shown the beauty of an
unsuspected garden lying beyond. Having shown it, she had left Helen to
wander in it at will. Thus it came about that this young girl, native of
a provincial town, had found the path leading to citizenship of the
world. The maturity of her judgment was astonishing; it implied an
experience of life which I knew was impossible. I often found myself
deferring to her opinion or leaning upon her advice, for her calm, level
decisions brushed aside my cobwebs of sentiment and substituted truth
for the meshes of whim or impulse. Day by day I had grown more dependent
upon her until I expressed no opinion, even concerning business, without
first submitting it for her approval. With all this she was a fun-loving
child, full of mischief and humour, or occasionally tempest-swept by
sudden child-like anger, when the storm clouds in her eyes would
frighten me. After anger would follow such a melting tenderness as made
me long to kneel at her feet and beg forgiveness for having caused her
displeasure.
Curiously enough we neither of us analyzed what was happening to us. It
seemed natural that we preferred to be together--even to be alone--and
we were content with the word "friendship" as a complete explanation.
Neither of us questioned it or looked beyond our next Saturday together.
We must have been very young and inexperienced. Once in a while Knowlton
had asked me, with his Harlequin's grin, how I was getting on; old
Hemphill at the factory had stumbled his way through a clumsy joke aimed
at me: neither followed the subject very far. Helen was not a topic I
would allow discussed; there was something so far beyond the
comprehension of the world in our attitude toward each other. Helen's
own friends, I discovered, had passed from teasing to regard us as a
_fait accompli_, and thereafter held their peace. Here again we looked
upon their behaviour as simply caused by their lack of understanding.
Poor old world, how we pitied it!
Today we were playing one of our new games--I don't know which of us
thought of it first. The game was founded upon the _Morte d'Arthur_, and
we were in search of the questing beast. Helen stretched comfortably
before the camp fire and read aloud to me from her Mallory, which I
carried in my coat pocket, the description of this mediaeval animal. As
she finished we listened for the noise to come from the woodland on the
edge of the hillside pasture in which we were. It sounds ridiculous to
tell of it now, but it was as real to us as the play of children is to
them. Beyond the edge of the wood there lay strange adventures--we had
no doubt of it. Deep Harbor faded from us like a conjurer's vision, and
the fields, hills and woods became the enchanted reality. We peopled it
with all the crew of fairy folk and ourselves assumed roles appropriate
to our fellowship. How could ordinary Deep Harborites understand such a
game or dream that this was one of the secrets of our friendship--they
who thought only of such mundane things as love and marriage? Would they
not laugh at the Lady Grey Eyes on her cream-coloured palfrey, escorted
by her trusty knight, Edward of Over-Seas? To be sure the Lady Helen's
horse was light chestnut, not cream, but in her magic capacity the mare
assumed a new tint.
As we scanned the woodland, wondering what castle it hid or whether a
hermit dwelt in its shade, we were aware of a tawny yellow animal
approaching us. By his manner it should have been a dog, but the
peculiarity of its build and complexion left some doubt. On the other
hand, he was not the questing beast, for his coming was silent. Helen
clung to me with delight; the creature was unusual enough, seen through
our imagination, to look like the bearer of adventure. Carefully he
circled us with an upstanding waving yellow signal of friendly purpose.
I whistled. It awoke a sympathetic response, for he bounded up to us and
laid his head in the Lady Grey Eyes' lap in token of obeisance. Dog
there was no denying he was, but one whose ancestors had mingled with
strange company. Chief among his forebears had been a bull dog; the
others had been of that cadium-hued race to be found sleeping in the
dust of village streets. From ear to ear of his square bulldog head
there spread an expansive smile, whence depended a most liquid tongue.
He kissed my hand, thus completing his homage.
"Ted, I want him. He's mine!" the Lady Grey Eyes declared.
"On my honour as a knight, you shall have him, if no farmer catches us
in the theft, or if he does, we'll try what filthy lucre will
accomplish," I replied, somewhat diverging from the purity of Mallory's
style. I made fast the prize with a piece of string. There seemed no
need, for he accepted gratefully whatever command we laid upon him.
"What name shall our new companion bear?" I asked. Helen regarded her
treasure trove critically. In spite of the misalliance of one of his
ancestors, our friend was unquestionably mainly plebeian except for the
sternness of his tenacious profile. The latter gave him an air unlike
any other dog. His amiability, however, was unquenchable.
"He ought to be called 'Bill' if it wasn't for his face," mused Helen.
"What do you say to 'Sir Leonidas de la Patte Jaune'?"
"It strikes me as a bit beyond his linguistic ability; however, just as
you say."
"He is lion-coloured--hence 'Leonidas.'" she explained--I had same
doubts concerning this etymology--"and yellow paws are undoubtedly
characteristic of the majority of his family." I nodded, for her latter
argument was flawless.
"What shall we call him for short?" The practical world would assert
itself at times.
"Leonidas, of course," said Helen with dignity. "The rest of his name is
part of our secret."
I sprang to my feet. "The questing beast!" I exclaimed. "Let's test Sir
Leonidas on an adventure. Let him track the questing beast through the
forest!"
Helen gave a little cry of joy, her eyes shining.
"Come, Sir Leonoidas de la Patte Jaune!" she called. "We are about to
lay a high adventure upon thee!" Leonidas tilted his head, listening to
her, and wagged his tail at varying speeds. "Over there in yonder woods
is a marvellous questing beast which we have taken an oath to bring to
Arthur's Court ere a year and a day have passed. Thou shalt aid us in
the quest. It is only fair to warn thee that this task is fraught with
dire peril, but thy cheerful soul shall carry thee safely through all.
Sir Edward of Over-Seas and I, the Lady Grey Eyes, shall be ever at thy
side." She untied the string.
"Go get him! Sic 'em!" I said. Which of us he understood the better, I
do not know. At any rate he was off at a bound toward the woods, and
Helen followed with speed afoot.
Back and forth we ranged through dense underbrush, Leonidas making noise
enough, as he crashed over dry twigs, to frighten away a menagerie of
wild animals. Helen shouted with laughter at his clumsy eagerness to
serve us. We worked our way into a clearing, and here Leonidas'
excitement redoubled. This time he was clearly on the track of
something. Helen was just a trifle nervous at the change from
make-believe.
"What may one expect in these woods?" I asked.
"Nothing but woodchucks and rabbits, unless--" and she gave a scream that
startled me. "Call him quick, Ted, quick!" she implored. What unknown
danger were we walking into? I wondered, but I called Leonidas, and none
too soon. There emerged from a thicket a small black and white animal.
"Run--run for your life, Ted!" The tone of her voice brought instant
obedience. We fled in miserable panic back to our pasture, followed,
luckily, by Leonidas. As we reached the remains of our camp fire, Helen
sank exhausted with laughter, great tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Ted, it was a skunk," she gasped, much as Mrs. Siddons must have spoken
a famous line of Lady Macbeth's. Leonidas lay panting, his nose between
his paws. I wiped the sweat of exertion and relief from my forehead.
"That's the worst of adventures," I said, after a pause. "The stories
never mention the unpleasant odour one is apt to encounter by the way."
"Ted, that's the narrowest escape we ever had. What would mother have
said?" and she rocked again with laughter.
"My immediate concern would not have been 'mother,' if anything had
happened," I commented reflectively. "Leonidas," and I turned to him, "I
hope you have learned the lesson of never overplaying your hand. We sent
you on one adventure, and you got us into one not on the orthodox list."
Leonidas cocked one eye at me and feebly wagged his tail.
"Ted, those bushes have made my hair a sight," Helen said, and without
more ado, tumbled it all down on her shoulders. Something caught my
throat; I had never seen her with her hair down, and the added beauty it
gave her almost hurt. I sat silent and motionless, staring at her while
she combed it out as if she were doing the most ordinary thing in the
world.
"Don't put it up--just yet," and I made a slight gesture to stop her, as
she began to twist it into a mass.
"Why not, Ted? It's untidy enough as it is," and her grey eyes opened
wide at me. I couldn't explain.
"Please leave it."
"Silly boy, if you want me to," she laughed, and tossed it back with a
shake of her head.
"May I touch it?" I begged, stretching forth my hand. Instinctively she
drew away slightly.
"I don't know, Ted," and we looked at each other a long minute.
"Please," I coaxed. She hesitated and then she began to do it up.
"I don't think you'd better," she said so low I could scarcely hear her.
"It isn't like us, Ted." That answer was so final that I did not dream
of questioning it.
"I'm sorry I asked--forgive me, Helen dear," and I got up to gather
sticks with which to revive our fire. Leonidas remained on guard by
Helen's side. While I was away I led the horses over to a pond at the
foot of the hill and watered them. Upon my return Helen was looking her
imperturbable neat self. We read the Mallory together before the fire
until the sinking November sun warned us to go. The problem arose: would
Leonidas follow our horses? He could not be led on a leash, and without
Leonidas Helen refused to return. Experiment was necessary; to our joy
Leonidas remained indifferent whether we rode or walked afoot. He was
content to follow either way. With some trepidation we picked our way by
the first farm-house we passed, expecting either to be challenged to
surrender the dog or else to see Leonidas dash home; neither of these
things happened. It was impossible to canvass the countryside, house by
house, looking for his owner--at least, I thus stifled Helen's
conscience on this point, for, faced with the necessity of carrying him
off, she suddenly felt we ought to pay for him. Leonidas simply came.
The air grew chillier and chillier; Helen started off on a brisk canter
to warm us up. Along a soft dirt road we went at a good clip, Leonidas
trailing desperately in the rear. We were on the crest of a hill
overlooking distant Deep Harbor and the lake. The soft coal smoke lay
black over the town, blending with the lighter greys of the water and
sky. All outlines were blurred and softened in the half light, and Deep
Harbor might have been a city of dreams. Ahead of me, Helen must have
been thinking something the same, for she pointed toward it with a
sweeping gesture of her arm.
As she did so her horse caught a loose stone, stumbled, and fell. I had
one glimpse of her lying motionless in the road, after her horse
scrambled up and dashed on, riderless; the next I knew, I was at her
side, my own horse abandoned, holding her tightly in my arms.
I was dazed with the suddenness of it all; for a moment I could not
think and did nothing but hug her close, her head against my shoulder,
as I bent over her face and whispered, "Helen, dear! Helen!" over and
over again.
At last she opened her eyes of her own accord, for I had taken no
rational steps to aid her, and smiled at me. I held her still more
closely, delirious with joy; her eyes grew serious as she looked back at
me, until they melted into the tenderest grey any man has ever seen.
Then we both understood; there was no need of further words; her hand
sought mine and rested there with quiet confidence.
"It's my knee, Ted. I've wrenched it," she whispered. "I must have
fainted--that wasn't like me, Teddy dear, was it?" Again she smiled such
a happy little smile that actually a tear from my eyes fell upon her
cheek.
I laid her gently down, roused to some vague trace of commonsense. "I'll
get some water," I said, looking helplessly around at an arid country
road.
"It's much more important, Ted, to catch the horses." There was truth in
this. Mine was quietly cropping grass a few yards away; Helen's was
doing the same about a hundred yards further on. Leonidas joined us,
evidently in deep concern. It was a simple matter to catch my horse, for
he had been trained to come at command. Helen refused again to let me
help her until I had made a try for her animal. I mounted and rode
cautiously up to the mare; she gave a toss of her head and was off for a
few yards further. We repeated this several times with the same results.
Next I dismounted and advanced with elaborate flattery. Useless; the
beast would not allow herself to be caught. I was in despair, imagining
Helen to be suffering pain which somehow my presence might alleviate,
while this confounded horse was taking me straight away. Apparently,
however, the horse tired of the game after a few more minutes, or else
her feminine nature desired to assert itself in a new way; as I was
about to give it up as a bad job she unexpectedly permitted me to walk
right up to her and seize the bridle. Needless to say, the three of us
were not long in returning to Helen.
She was sitting up with one foot straight out in front of her, Leonidas
proudly beside her. "I can stand on it, Ted," she called out, "but
riding is out of the question." It was rapidly growing dark, and we were
several miles from home. The roads we chose for riding were the
unfrequented by-ways; it seemed unlikely, therefore, that there was much
hope of anything passing. Also it was cold. These things we ruefully
enumerated to each other.
"Do you feel much pain?" I asked when we had exhausted the list of other
disadvantages in the situation. We both avoided reference to what we
knew had happened when she first opened her eyes in my arms.
"It hurts only if I bend it. I don't dare take my riding boot off for
fear I couldn't get it on again. It's only a twist--nothing broken, or I
couldn't stand. Isn't it ridiculous, Ted?" and she laughed.
"I don't want to leave you here alone--in the dark--while I get help,
dearest--and yet I don't see what else to do."
"Indeed, you won't leave me alone, Ted, if I stay here all night. We'll
just wait. Perhaps I'll be able to walk after a little rest."
"There ought to be a farm near by--I could telephone from there--"
"You'll sit right here with me, dear," she said with finality. "This
whole country is full of tramps--they're all making for the big cities
at this time of the year."
I knew this to be true; they were to be seen everywhere. Deep Harbor's
freight yards were a kind of clearing house for tramps stealing rides
east and west. They camped, by night, for miles about the town. The mere
thought of them made me sit promptly by Helen's side. We sat for a long
time in silence.
"It is true, Ted, isn't it?" she said.
"Yes."
"And to think we never guessed it!"
"Not until I saw you lying in the road," I said with a slight catch in
my voice, as the picture flashed through my mind again. Her warm,
womanly hand crept into mine, and once more there was silence. We were
both too overwhelmed with this new miracle to talk about it. I could not
see her face, for the night was too dark. I don't think it occurred to
either of us that we had not as yet exchanged a lovers' kiss or even
mentioned the word "love." We both wanted a little time to think about
and feel our happiness. Leonidas curled up at our feet and slept. She
reached down and stroked his head gently.
"You won't laugh at me for wanting to keep Sir Leonidas do la Patte
Jaune now, will you, Ted dear?"
"No," I answered, smiling in spite of myself to think what strange forms
the bearers of romance could take. Then came a different mood. The world
was glowing, building beautiful fantastic shapes and sounds in my mind,
in which there swirled black smoke from factory chimneys, grey eyes and
flowing hair, the clatter of horses' hoofs, Helen's laugh, the ugly
square face of a yellow dog--a tumbling, changing medley of sound and
colour, half ecstatic, half terrible, for through it all darted again
and again the vision of Helen lying still and motionless upon the
road--an insistent bass accompaniment striving to drown the shriller,
sweeter notes of joy. I could not speak. I tried to say something to
Helen, to tell her something of what I felt, but I could only press her
hand and hold it tight. "Here is the true beginning of life," my
thoughts cried to me. "Remember that with the beginning of life also
begins the end," rumbled that terrifying bass. Why--why should fear come
to me on this day of all days? Was it some ancient racial superstition
of primitive man's that when the gods smiled then they plotted
evil?--was it such a childish inherited instinct as this that had seized
me? But dread would not shake off. "The Greeks believed great happiness
to be dangerous; the mediaeval monks scourged it from their bodies; the
Puritans cursed it," thundered that bass, crying down the "I love her"
singing in my ears.
"If you will let me lean upon your shoulder, I think I can walk now,"
came Helen's gentle voice, bringing me with a start from the whirlpool
of my thoughts. I stood up. "What were you thinking, Teddy?" she asked
shyly as I stooped to help her to her feet.
"You know the Tannhaeuser overture?" I whispered.
"Yes."
"Listen to it and you'll guess a little how my head sounds."
I put one arm around her and led the horses as best I could with my left
hand. We made slow and painful progress down the road. Helen was as
plucky as I knew she would be; although each step was agony, not a
whimper came from her lips. About half a mile from where we started the
light of a farm appeared; we staggered through the little swinging gate,
arousing a pack of dogs which made more noise than the Seven Champions
of Christendom. With difficulty we restrained Leonidas from going to a
noble death in single combat against the lot. It took as heavy knocking
as upon the gates of Macbeth's castle to arouse the farmer within, who
finally opened the door a distrustful crack and stood surveying us by
the light of a glass oil lamp held above his head. He was clad in rubber
boots, trousers, and a night shirt; the expression upon his face did not
indicate any anxiety to ask us to partake of bread and salt with him.
"Have you a telephone?" I asked. "This lady was thrown from her horse
and hurt. I want to get help."
He reflectively turned all this over in his mind, evidently considering
the request and its accompanying statement from all conceivable angles.
Leonidas tactlessly growled at him and incurred severe reproof from
Helen.
"Please let me in," she pleaded. "I want very much to sit down." I was
meditating choking consent out of the impassive sour-faced old man. A
high-pitched nasal voice called out from the head of the stairs:
"Henery, don't you dast to give no tramps anything to eat."
"I'll pay you for your trouble," I said, producing a few bills.
"I reckon I don't have to be paid for no trouble," the old codger
snarled. I saw that I had made another error of tact. "What you doing
out gallivantin' around this time of night?" he added.
"We are not out from choice," I reminded him. "This lady has had an
accident and is seriously hurt. All we ask is to be allowed to stay here
until we get help from town."
"Mary!" he turned and shouted, "c'mon down here a minute." All this time
he carefully guarded the door so that entrance was not possible. I had
the intelligence at last to seat Helen on the porch steps while "Mary"
made suitable toilet above stairs. The old woman came down in a red
flannel mother Hubbard, from which stray ruffles of her nightgown
protruded.
"What's all this foolishness about, Henry?" she inquired sharply.
"Young fellow and his girl--says she's hurt," Henry replied.
"Are they married?"
"Dunno. I don't take much stock in the story myself."
"If you'll allow me to explain--" I ventured, thinking it about time I
took a hand in the dialogue.
"Tell them my name, Ted. Every one around here knows father," Helen
suggested. Why had I not thought of this before?
"Miss Claybourne has had a fall from her horse and is hurt," I began.
"Martin Claybourne's girl?" the old woman interrupted.
"Yes."
"Lives on Myrtle Boulevard?"
"Yes."
"Henery, you old dumbhead, open that door and get a light in the
parlour. Land sakes, men is fools. Bring the child right in here. Dear,
dear, Martin Claybourne's little girl hurt and you standing there
shutting the door in her face--how you expect to answer to your Maker on
the great day, the Lord only knows. Where are you hurt, darling?" This
to Helen as I almost carried her in and laid her on the best horsehair
sofa.
"I've only wrenched my knee, thank you," Helen smiled.
"I'll get you a hot poultice just as soon as I get a fire in the stove.
We'll fix you all up while the men folks are telephoning. I do believe
I've got a bottle of arnica up in the store closet," and she shooed
"Henery" and me out of the room. I had the luck to get Mr. Claybourne on
the telephone almost immediately, and partly explained to him the
situation, as far as the accident was concerned, while "Henery"
contributed directions where to reach us: "Tell him it's Five Mile Farm
on South Ridge--Henery Tyler's place." This done, "Henery" assisted me
to put the horses in the barn and to make Leonidas fast to a post. I was
now anxious to return to Helen, but "Henery" put obstacles in the way:
"Better leave the womenfolk alone--pertickly as you ain't married, till
Mary gets that poultice fixed." I brushed his objections aside and went
into the parlour. Mrs. Tyler let out a piercing shriek, for poor Helen's
bare and badly swollen knee was exposed to view. Helen laughed: "It's
all right, Mrs. Tyler--Ted and I--well, I want him to help."
"Land sakes!" exclaimed Mrs. Tyler, "I remember you in short
dresses--seems like it was only yesterday, walkin' down Myrtle Boulevard
with your dad--and do you mean to say you and him--?"
"Yes," Helen said with a dear look at me, covering her knee shyly. I
rushed to her side, seizing the arnica bottle to disguise my confusion.
"My, my, how time flies!" Mrs. Tyler continued, moralizing the spectacle
from beneath her curl papers. "Why, you ain't no more'n a child. How
long you been keepin' company?"
"Not very long," Helen replied, her hand in mine. "You won't let that
poultice burn, will you, Mrs. Tyler?"
"Land sakes, no! Clean forgot all about it. To think that numbskull
Henery tried to shut the door in your face, and the minister preachin'
about the good Samaritan only last Sunday--" and she mercifully departed
in search of the poultice. We could hear her in the kitchen giving
"Henery" an additional "piece of her mind," as she would have called it.
"Why didn't you tell me at first that you knew these people,
sweetheart?" I asked. "It would have saved you some of the pain of
standing." I tried to be reproachful.
Helen giggled happily. "I wanted to see if you could manage it, Ted. It
was too delicious to watch you lose your temper on my account because
you went at 'Henery' Tyler the wrong way. I'll never again send you as
ambassador to one of our farmers. You even offered him money!" and she
laughed. I, felt there was a defence to my actions, but could think of
none.
"Now, Ted, do you think we ought to leave my knee alone until we see a
doctor, or shall we try the arnica and Mrs. Tyler's poultice?"
"I don't know," I said. "I hate to experiment with a knee without expert
advice, but I don't believe arnica will do any harm, and the poultice
will be warming."
Helen promptly displayed her knee again, and I gingerly applied the
arnica. Mrs. Tyler returned with a steaming poultice.
"Now, dearie, you must have it on just as hot as you can stand it," she
said, making a great bustle of preparation.
"Feel it, Ted, and see if I can stand it. I don't want to be blistered,"
Helen whispered. I seized the poultice as Mrs. Tyler held it in mid-air
ready to apply it violently. I gave an involuntary "Ouch!" it was so
hot. Mrs. Tyler refused to yield without a struggle.
"It's what I always do for Henery's rheumatics--catches him in the back
when he's splittin' wood for the kitchen stove. Once I give him a good
hot poultice he never complains of his back again that season." Poor
man, with such a dire penalty instantly exacted, who would commit a
second offence? Under further protests I got the poultice sufficiently
cool, and I bound it in place with quite a workmanlike-looking bandage.
When all had been put to rights as well as it could be, "Henery" was
admitted. He bore a tray of biscuits, a pitcher of milk, and pie. Both
Helen and I recalled with a laugh that we hadn't thought of food since
our campfire of the early afternoon.
"We can't eat in the parlour," said the tactful Helen, aware of how
great an enormity this must seem to a farmer's wife.
"Now, dearie, don't you fret yourself. You ain't agoin' to stir, not if
I can help it. I guess the parlour can put up with it for once, if a
certain long-faced fool will wipe his feet before he comes trapesin'
in." The latter part of this remark was directed at "Henery" who
promptly retreated and was heard vigorously scraping in the passage.
"I don't suppose you have any spirits--whisky, for instance? I think a
drink would do Miss Claybourne good after the shock she's had." I
noticed Helen's eyes dance as I said this, and she leaned forward
eagerly to hear the reply.
"Spirits!" gasped Mrs. Tyler. "You mean rum?"
"Well," I said, "rum will do, if it's all you have." Helen made a
mysterious and unaccountable noise--something like a choke.
"Praise the Lord, there ain't no liquor ever passed my lips--let 'lone
my threshold!" she ejaculated. "Henery" stuck his head in at the door:
"I've got a little somethin' I keep for my backache up in the hayloft,"
he ventured timorously. "If Miss Helen needs a little for medicinal
purposes, same as I do occasionally, she's welcome," and he disappeared
rather hastily. "There goes an example of true courage," I thought, "for
it's ten to one he's sacrificing the future as well as the present." The
look on Mrs. Tyler's face was awe-inspiring; her lips closed in a firm,
tight line and no sound came from them. Under all the circumstances,
however, I didn't envy "Henery." Helen and I did not dare exchange
glances; she hurriedly nibbled a biscuit, and I studied a cabinet full
of polished sea-shells. Mrs. Tyler suddenly left the room like a shot
from a gun. I turned and went to Helen. She put her arms around my neck
and kissed me.
"You dear, dear Ted," she laughed. "I'm going to have such fun watching
you put your foot in it all your life!"
"But--but--," I sputtered.
"Yes, darling, I know. You did it for me and with the best intentions.
That will always be your reason, you delicious thing."
"You know--that was our first kiss," I said with an abrupt change of
subject.
"Oh, Ted, and I had to kiss you first after all!"
"I seem to flub everything," I remarked, unaccountably nettled. Helen
laughed: "If I didn't love you so, Ted, I'd shake you. There now! I've
said 'I love you' first, too."
"Henery" entered with a familiar looking bottle, closely followed by
Mrs. Tyler.
"There ain't more'n a thimbleful left," he apologized holding it to the
light. "My back's been kind of bad during the damp spell."
"Henery Tyler, it ain't rained a mite for six weeks," Mrs. Tyler
snapped. I took the bottle from "Henery" and smelt the contents; it was
a cheap whisky.
"Will you take a little, Helen?" I asked. "Just to pull you together."
"I don't think I need it, Ted, unless you tell me to take it." I started
to hand it back to "Henery," but Mrs. Tyler was too quick for me. She
snatched the bottle: "I'll just lock this away in the medicine closet,
and when Henery's back troubles him again, he can have it along with one
of my hot poultices."
"Henery" looked truly woeful; it was an awful price to ask a man to pay
for a drink. As Helen finished the biscuit and milk we heard a carriage
outside, and Mr. Claybourne came rushing in. He was greatly relieved at
seeing Helen about to eat a large slice of apple pie instead of lying
crippled, as he evidently expected.
"Well, Ted, what have you been doing to my little girl?" he asked,
kissing Helen and shaking hands with me all in one move.
"It wasn't _all_ Ted's fault," Helen smiled, her eyes shining. But Mr.
Claybourne was too relieved and excited to notice anything.
"I'll arrange the cushions in the carriage, and you and I will carry her
out, Ted," he shouted and dashed out again. Helen beckoned me to her.
"Don't say anything tonight, dear," she whispered. "I'm too tired to
face mother. Come to Sunday dinner tomorrow," and she hugged my hand
against her shoulder. "Let it be another of our secrets until then." I
bent over her and kissed her hair. The Tylers were discreetly busy.
"Ted, dear?"
"Yes?"
"I'm so glad I hurt my knee!"
Mr. Claybourne appeared at the door.
"The carriage is ready, Ted. You'll have to take the horses in by
yourself. Help me to carry the patient. I couldn't get Dr. Sinclair, but
he'll be waiting for us at the house when we get back." We gathered
Helen up between us and carried her out.
"You'll look after Leonidas too, won't you, Ted?" she said. "My knee
will be enough for mother for one day."
The carriage drove away with Mr. Claybourne still shouting his thanks at
the Tylers, with an "If I can do anything for you, Henry, look in at my
office Monday." As "Henery" and I made our way to the barn to get
Leonidas and the horses I said: "Mr. Tyler, if you will also stop at my
office on Monday, you'll find a package of excellent medicine for
rheumatism."