Archibald’s walk had taken him Witch Hill way. Golden rod and wild
asters were making merry along the roadside; and, in the wood’s heart,
gleams of crimson and gold were glinting through the green. Summer was
gone; but magic lingered; and the old enchantment worked in the man’s
brain and heart. He had never followed that climbing road without the
Smiling Lady at his side and his heart was sick for her, for the eyes
with the sea waves in them, for the sun-kissed hair, and the smiling
lips, and the singing voice, and all the warm gladness of her. He had
known it would be like that; and yet he had come. There were days when
wisdom did not wear the look of a virtue; and this afternoon, when
Pegeen was busy with housework and even Wiggles had wandered away on
important business of his own, the man who had been trying to be
contented gave up trying and set out to keep tryst with memory, beside a
hilltop well, where on a summer day a witch had sat, smiling and weaving
spells.
He was in no hurry. There were mile-stones to count along the way. Here
she had leaned to look into the brook; there she had stooped to mock a
bird’s call. All the little green leaves whispered of her and the red
and gold leaves flamed more warmly, remembering her. Archibald wondered
whether he was sorry he had come—or glad. Glad, he thought; but it was
a sorry gladness.
As he neared the top of the hill, he paused, half inclined to go back,
without facing the empty seat under the old oak tree; but running away
was a habit he had put aside. With a queer smile that was not gay, he
quickened his steps, pushed aside the branches that had grown across the
path, and came out into the open. There was the well. There was the
great tree. And there, on the mossy bank, in the shadow, sat the witch,
smiling and weaving spells!
She sprang to her feet, at sight of him. The smiles fled; but the spells
worked on. The two looked into each other’s eyes, questioning, avowing.
Without telling, other than the glad surrender in her face, the man knew
that the world was changed for them, that the walls were down. All
wonder, and great desire, he opened his arms; and, there in the
enchanted wood, where “anything might happen,” they met “the Wonderful
Thing.”
Pegeen was alone in her garden, when Archibald and the Smiling Lady went
to her. As she saw them coming, the soberness that had hung about her
since Richard Meredith had left her a half hour earlier melted away, and
she ran to meet them with a joyful little cry. It was hard that the two
she loved best must have their happiness at the cost of some one else;
but, after all, it was glorious that they _were_ happy.
“We’ve been talking about you, Peg,” Archibald said, when they three and
Wiggles were comfortably seated on the doorstep—which was quite wide
enough for four, if nobody minded crowding—and nobody did—“How would
you like to go to boarding school this fall?”
Peg’s face clouded.
“It wouldn’t be far away, dear,” the Smiling Lady interposed hastily,
“and we’ll be living in town after Thanksgiving; so you could spend all
your Sundays and holidays with us; and then we’d all be up here together
next summer.”
“It’s awfully sweet of you,” Peg was polite but unconvinced. “I’m ever
so much obliged; but I guess I’ll stay right here and see to Mrs.
Benderby.”
“Oh, I’ll fix Mrs. Benderby up all right,” Archibald promised. “She can
board with the Neals. They want a boarder and I’ll give her an allowance
that will make her comfortable. Then she won’t have to work except when
she feels just like it.”
Pegeen abandoned Mrs. Benderby to a life of idle luxury, but still
thought she would stay in the Valley.
“You won’t need me.” Her voice was wistful as she made the admission.
“Miss Moran will see to you—and I’m not jealous, not really, you know,
only I’m sort of lonesomey. There’s sure to be somebody here in the
Valley that’ll need me and I feel as if I’ve just got to have somebody
to see to.”
“We’ll always need you, Peg—always.” Archibald’s arm went round her and
drew her close. “Even Miss Moran can’t see to me so that I won’t need
you. And there are plenty of people here in the Valley who’d be the
better for having you with them; but there’s something you haven’t
realized yet, dear. The whole world needs seeing to; and there aren’t
many people like you who have a genius for doing it. You mustn’t be
wasted on two or three neighbors, here in the Valley, when outside,
beyond the hills, there are thousands and thousands needing what you
could give them. Don’t you see, Peg? You’ve got to reach those poor
unhappy thousands and help them. Other women are doing it—doing it
wonderfully. Out in Chicago there’s a woman who must have been a girl
with a heart like yours; and now she’s seeing to a whole city and to men
and women and children out beyond that city, all over the world. She’s
only one of the many; and there’s nothing they are doing that you can’t
do, if you’ll work your way to it.
“That’s what Nora and I want to help you to; and school’s the first step
toward it. What do you say, Pegeen?”
The child’s face was rapt, illumined. The great blue eyes were seeing
visions.
“Oh, my stars!” she murmured longingly. “If I could—if I only could!
Wouldn’t it be wonderful?—better than Jizo. Of course I’ll go to
school, I’d love to.”
A flash of recollection swept across the future-searching eyes.
“But I’ve got to have time enough in between to see to Mr. Meredith,”
she stipulated. “He needs me.”