Before the week passed, Miss Eliza found herself the recipient of many
honors. She had been a member of a club composed of women from Farwell
since Beth had entered school.
These people began to drive out and to call upon Eliza. There were
motors and sleighs in evidence every day.
Mrs. Laire came out and brought Carrie with her. She kissed Eliza
effusively.
"The idea of your never telling us a word of this. But as I said right
along. It is always those quiet people who are the geniuses. I knew from
the very first time that you attended our Club that you were head and
shoulders above us. We women are not intellectual, you know. I can get
the value of a dollar when it comes to managing a household, but I'd
never even dare to think of writing stories."
Eliza blushed and tried to disclaim that any honor was due her, but Mrs.
Laire would not listen. She liked to hear herself talk, which she did
after an airy, dainty sort of fashion, like a bird picking a cherry.
"When I mentioned coming, nothing would do but that Carrie would come
along. She thinks so highly of Beth. I'm sorry that she is not at home
now. I wish you would let Beth spend a few days with us. I'm sure she
and Carrie will be great friends."
"I have such a lovely new writing-desk that I wish her to see. How did
you ever think about writing, Miss Wells?" began Carrie. Then, without
waiting for her to answer, she continued, "Did Beth ever finish the
story she meant to write? She had a fine one last fall for the Literary.
I wonder if she ever wrote the story."
This was one of the things of which Miss Eliza had not heard. Beth had
planned a story about the beautiful woman who had visited school and who
had kissed her so rapturously. She had written it, too, and had it
hidden away. She could not have shown it to anyone.
Mrs. Laire chatted on and Carrie threw in questions. All Eliza could do
was to sit and listen.
This was not the only visitor. They came by the dozen, and each one
chided Eliza for never telling them, and for modestly keeping her
ability hidden so long. Eliza could not fully explain. She could not
tell them that she herself had never known that she had a wonderful
imagination and artistic spirit. Could she tell them that a wanderer, a
tramp, had bade her to be a "Columbus" to her own soul, and he had
proved her Queen Isabelle who made it possible? She could only listen in
silence and to thank them for their good opinion of her.
When Beth came home from school, she brought the news that the doctor's
sleigh had just driven away from the Oliver cabin. Furthermore, Sam
Houston's little Jim-boy had met her and told her that the tramp was
ill.
"Did he mean Mr. Hillis?" asked Eliza. She blushed when she said it and
let her glance wander toward the roses which had passed their beauty and
were now but dried leaves. She had not destroyed them. They were the
first flowers that had ever been given her.
"Well, I thought he was a tramp. You know, that very day that we saw him
months and months ago, you told me that he was a tramp."
"I did not know then. He's a gentleman, and we will always call him Mr.
Hillis and never think of him as a tramp."
"I'm very glad to. He never seemed a bit like such a horrid person. I'm
sorry he's sick. Couldn't we take him something to eat, or help him some
way, Adee? It must be awful to be sick and alone."
Adee had been thinking of just that thing. Now, the custom of the
country declared it to be highly improper for an unmarried woman to
visit a man in his home. All the old, trite conventions were live issues
with Adee. On the other hand, all the laws of Christian charity and
gratitude told her to visit the stranger who had been a friend to her
and who had brought inspiration and breadth to her life. She considered
for a moment and decided that there were things bigger and better than
convention.
"Yes, we'll take him something, Beth. Come and help me prepare it."
Beth needed no urging. In her heart were all the gifts of hospitality
and kindliness. She ran to the closet at Adee's request and brought out
the best currant jelly and a bottle of grape juice. There was cream and
all the dainties a good cook may have on hand to tempt a sick man. Then
they made their way to the sick man's house. On the way, they met Sam
Houston. It is strange that it always happens so. One's best intentions
are often misunderstood. Adee realized that when she made up her mind to
visit at the log house and do what she could to relieve the sufferings
of the sick. She was not at all surprised at Sam's knowing look and sage
wagging of the head.
"He's a pretty good-looking fellow, Liza. I thought he'd take your eye."
"Did you really think? I'm glad something has put your brain-cells into
play, Sam."
She was vexed with herself the moment she had spoken. Because Sam was
narrowminded and misinterpreting her action was no reason why she should
be sarcastic. She should have had strength and ability to rise above it.
"I'm sorry I spoke as I did, Beth. Nothing is gained by letting oneself
down to that."
They had come to the hut. Eliza paused at the door. Since she as a child
had come there to pick wild blackberries, she had not been so close. She
remembered it as a miserable old place. The atmosphere had changed. The
low, broad windows, close to the roof, swung outward. The logs formed a
wide sill. Here were boxes glorious with blooming flowers. Outside, the
logs had been covered with a stain or paint which gave them the
appearance of being artistically weathered. The tramp had heard her
footsteps and called to her to enter.
The interior was divided into two rooms. Eliza paused on the threshold.
The fireplace had a great oak log. The plank floor was hidden with
skins. The walls had been washed with something that made them a golden
brown. A great table of some dark wood stretched its length near the low
windows. There was an alcohol-kettle and chafing-dish of brass. Rough
pine shelves of the same restful hue as the walls were filled with
books. A violin and bow lay on the table. There were piles of music and
magazines everywhere. The master himself was seated in an easy-chair by
the fireplace. He arose when Eliza and Beth entered.
"I'm not surprised. I felt that you and Beth would be here the instant
you knew of the doctor's visit. I was tramping through the snow and had
an accident, and lay for a while in the snow. That's left me with a cold
and a touch of fever."
His cheeks were flushed. Eliza bade him go back to his chair.
"I will if you will give me a glass of grape juice at once. You see,
Miss Eliza, I know what you have there without my looking in the basket.
Better than grape juice even will be a cup of good coffee and a poached
egg. I'll sit here, Miss Eliza, and let you wait upon me. You don't know
how good it is to be waited upon. I've never had any of it in my life,
and I've always wanted it."
Eliza set about it at once. Beth sat down on a low, rough footstool at
the fireplace. The conversation drifted on until the man found himself
telling of the foreign cities he had visited. He knew where the Aztecs
had set up their civilization; he had watched the crocodiles show their
ugly jaws on the banks of the Ganges.
"It must have taken a great deal of money to visit all those places,"
Eliza paused in her serving.
"Not when one is a tramp. The country roads, thank heaven, are free, and
when one has a good pair of feet--." His eyes danced merrily as he
looked at Eliza, who found herself blushing and turned aside that he
might not observe it.
But his expression was neither one of amusement nor merriment, as his
eyes followed her movements. She worked so easily and deftly, wholly
unconscious that she was doing anything, just as her attitude had been
about her story writing.
"I have always longed to travel," she said at last. "I presume every one
has the same longing. I have seen no large cities and I am ashamed to
say that I have never seen a steamer. I should dearly love to start out
with some good friend and go where I wish and stay until I am ready to
leave."
The man looked down at the log which was just about to break in the
middle. "I can read your future and I see that your wish will be
fulfilled. I see in the coals all that will transpire." He spoke so
earnestly and kept his eyes on the fire as though he really read
something in the embers. Eliza paused in the act of pouring coffee and
let her glance follow his.
He paused. "Yes," exclaimed Eliza eagerly, for she wished him to
continue, "Yes."
"Before the year is out your desire will be realized. I am a true
prophet and I read aright. You will see great cities. You will view the
wonders of the world. You will be a guest in palaces. You will be
feasted and feted everywhere."
"It sounds beautiful. I only hope it will come true."
"And I will go with you, Adee!" cried Beth, clapping her hands. "Good,
good. We'll have a perfectly 'kertish' time."
The man shook his head. "As I read the signs, you will not be with Adee.
I cannot read your future; but you will not be with Adee--not all the
time."
"I should not like to go alone," said Adee, "I'm very much afraid that
would not be pleasant. Could you not read another story in the coals,
and let Beth be my companion?"
"I cannot change it. It is written there. To be frank, I would not do so
if I could. No fear that you will be lonely. You will not wish Beth with
you when you start on the journey, for your companion will be dearer to
you than even Beth is."
"Impossible. Beth is--" Eliza had turned and looked at the man as she
spoke. Words failed her. Something, she knew not what, kept her from
saying that Beth would always be the dearest one to her.
The subject was getting too personal to please her. She turned from the
two at the fireside and poured the coffee and brought it to the sick
man. She did not raise her eyes. She did not look at him. The silence
was constrained. Even Beth, who could not understand many things, felt
that.
"Why is every one suddenly glum," she cried at last. "Talking and
laughing one minute and then as quiet as mice. I'll tell you this,
though. Nothing will keep me away from Adee. If she goes abroad to see
strange sights, I'll go too."
"No, I think not." He shook his head dubiously.
"It's beyond my power to change what I have read. You could not go,
Beth. A little bit of a girl as you are. You would not be able to stand
it. It will be a sort of 'tramp' trip." He laughed and looked toward
Eliza, who was drawing on her great coat. "Come, Beth, it is time to
move homeward," she said.