The sun was an hour above the tree-tops when I rode up to the
livery-stable, and the town was lazily astir. Merchants were sprinkling
the brick pavements in front of their stores, and on the public square
was a bon-fire of trash swept from the court-house. I hastened to the
jail, and for the first time the jailer hesitated when I applied for
admission. My eagerness, apparent to every one, appeared to be
mistrusted by him, and he shook his head. I told him that he might go in
with me, that my mission was simply to deliver a message.
"The man has been sentenced," said he, "and I don't know what good a
message can do him. I am ordered to be very strict. Some time ago a man
was in this jail, sentenced to the penitentiary, but he didn't go--a
friend came in and left him some pizen. And are you sure you ain't got
no pizen about you."
"You may search me."
"But I don't know pizen when I see it. Man's got a right to kill
himself, I reckon, but he ain't got no right to rob me of my position as
jailer, and that's what it would do. Write down your message and I'll
take it to him."
"That would take too long. The judge has granted him a new trial and
surely he wouldn't want to kill himself now."
"Well, I reckon you're right, but still we have to be mighty particular.
I don't know, either but you might be taking him some whisky. Man's got
a right to drink whisky, it's true, but it don't speak well for the
morals and religious standin' of a jailer if he's got a lot of drunken
prisoners on hand; so, if you've got a bottle about you anywhere you'd
better let me take it."
"I've got no bottle."
"That so? Didn't know but you might have one. Prohibition has struck
this town putty hard, you know. Search yourself and see if you hain't
got a bottle."
"Don't you suppose I know whether I've got one or not? But if you want
one you shall have it."
"S-h-e-e! Don't talk so loud. There's nothin' that sharpens a man's ears
like prohibition. Say," he whispered, "a good bottle costs about a
dollar."
"Here's your dollar. It's my last cent, but you shall have it."
"Oh, it ain't my principle to rob a man," he said as he took the money.
"But I do need a little licker this mornin'. Why, I'm so dry I couldn't
whistle to a dog. No pizen, you understand," he added, with a wink, as
he opened the door.
The drawing of the bolts must have aroused Alf from sleep, for when I
stepped into the corridor he was sitting on the edge of his bed, rubbing
his eyes.
"Helloa, is that you, Bill? What are you doing here this time of day?
Why, I haven't had breakfast yet."
"I have come to tell you something, and I want you to be quiet while I
tell it."
"That's all right, old man. Go ahead. I can stand anything now."
I told him of the scene in the sitting-room, of the walk to the
General's house--told him all except that kiss at the gate. He uttered
not a word; he had taken hold of the bars and was standing with his head
resting upon his arms--had gradually found this position, and now I
could not see his face. Long I stood there, waiting, but he spoke not.
Suddenly he wheeled about, fell upon his bed and sobbed aloud. And so I
left him, and ere I reached the door I knew that his sobbing was a
prayer, that his heart had found peace and rest. Upon a pardon from the
governor he could have looked with cool indifference, for without that
girl's love he cared not to live; but now to know that through the dark
she had fled from her home, rebellious against her father's pride, wild
with love--it was a mercy granted by the Governor of governors.
I went to see Conkwright and told him of the threat that Stuart had
made, and the old man's eyes glistened. "We ought to have had that girl
on the stand in the first place," he said. "But it was a delicate matter
and, of course, we didn't know that she could bear so strongly upon the
case. It's all right--better as it is, and that boy will get off as sure
as you are sitting there. That threat was worse than his standing in
the road, waiting. Yes, sir, it's all right, and you may take up your
school again and go ahead with your work."
"I don't want to go ahead with it, Mr. Conkwright. I want to study law
with you. The school was only a makeshift, any way. You are getting old
and you need some one to do the drudgery of your office. I will come in
and work faithfully."
"Don't know but you are right, Billy."
"I wish, sir, that you wouldn't call me Billy."
"All right, Colonel."
"And I don't care to be called Colonel. You may call me Bill, if you
want to, but Billy----"
"A little too soft, eh? All right. I don't know but you are the very man
I want. You are faithful and you've got a good head. Call again in a day
or two. It has been a long time since I had a partner. Yes, come in
again, and I think we can arrange it."
"There is something else that I want to speak about, and to me it is of
more importance than----"
"Love!" the old man broke in, winking at me.
"I'll tell you, if you'll wait a moment. Then you may place your own
estimate upon it."
I told him of the broken engagement, of Chyd's indifference, of the old
couple's plan to leave the community, and I unfolded my sentimental
resolve to buy the old house. "And now I must ask a favor," I continued.
"Old man Perdue told me that he would pay me for the time--time I have
not taught, but as I am not going to fill out the term it wouldn't be
right to take the money."
"Ah, and it is law you want to study?"
"Why, of course. Didn't I make that plain?"
"Oh, yes. And you don't think it would be right to take the money? Go
ahead, though."
"I know it wouldn't be right. And what I want to ask of you is this: The
investment will require about two hundred dollars. Won't you lend me
that amount?"
He scratched his head, scratched his chin, bit off a chew of tobacco,
stretched himself and said: "Well, I have been lending money all my
life, and I don't see why I should stop now. Did you ever hear of
anybody paying back borrowed money except in a poker game? I never did.
Do people really pay back? I don't know what the custom is over in the
part of the country you came from, but the rules are very strict here,
and they are not violated very often--they rarely pay back. And they
never violate the rule with me."
"My dear sir, I will pay you----"
"Yes, I know. Oh, you've got the formula down pretty fine. Make a good
lawyer. I've got some money in that safe, that is, if nobody has robbed
me. Let me see if I've been robbed."
He opened the safe and took out a package of banknotes. "Don't believe
I've been robbed. Rather singular, too," he went on, counting the money.
"Two hundred, you said. Better take two-fifty--you need some clothes.
Pardon me for being so keen an observer. It really escaped my notice
until this moment. But what you want with the old house is more than I
can understand. No, Billy--Bill, I mean--no, I understand it and it is a
noble quality."
He rolled up the money, handed it to me and continued to talk. "After
all, sentiment is the only thing in life, but you'd better not tell this
about town--I'd never get another case. Yes, sir, and the poet is the
only man who really lives. Now go on and buy your acre of sentiment, and
when you have closed the bargain, lie down upon your possessions and go
to sleep. Tell the old man that he is a fool for going away, but tell
him also that I don't blame him for being a fool. Yes, sir, I love a
fool, for it's the wise man that puts me to trouble. Give my warmest
regards to that old woman. Let me tell you something: Many years ago I
was a poor young fellow working about the court-house. And the clothes
you've got on now are wedding garments compared with what mine were.
Well, one day I stopped at Jucklin's house to get out of the rain--he
hadn't been married long--and soon after I went into the sitting-room,
the wife began to whisper to the husband, and when she went out, which
she did a moment later, Jucklin turned to me and said: 'Go up stairs,
take off your britches and throw 'em down here, and I'll bring 'em back
to you after a while.' I was actually out at the knees, sir, and I did
as he told me, and when he brought my trousers back they were neatly
patched. Yes, sir, give my warmest regards to that old woman, for if
she isn't a Christian there never was one. Well, what are you hanging
around here for? Trying to thank me? Is that it? Well, just go on, my
boy, and we'll attend to that some other time."
"You know what I feel, Mr. Conkwright, and I will not attempt to thank
you, but I must say that I was never more surprised in a man. I was told
that you were hard and unsympathetic."
"Sorry you found me out, sir. Let a lawyer get the name of being kind
and they say that he is emotional, but has no logic. Blackstone had to
give up poetry. Well, good-day. I'm busy."
I ate breakfast at the tavern, nodding over the table; and I was so
sleepy that I could scarcely sit my horse as I rode toward home. The day
was hot and drowsy was the air, in the road and on the hill-side, where
a boy, weary and heavy with the leg-pains of adolescence, was dragging
himself after a plow. Once I dozed off to sleep and awoke under a tree,
the wise old horse knowing that he could take advantage of my sleepiness
to bat his eyes in the shade, and when I spoke to him he started off at
a trot as if surprised to find that he had turned aside from his duty. I
was nearly home and was riding along half asleep when the frightful
squealing of a pig drew my attention down a lane that opened into the
road. The animal was caught under a rail fence and his companions were
running up to him, one after another, and were raking him with their
sharp teeth. I got down and fought off the excited beasts, knocked one
of them down for his cruelty, and lifted the fence to liberate the
prisoner; and when he was free his companions, the ones that had been
ripping his hide, ran up to congratulate him upon his good fortune; and
in the whole performance I saw a heartless phase of human life, musing
as I rearranged the rails that had been lifted away, and when I
straightened up there stood Etheredge looking at me.
"These are my hogs," he said.
"I didn't know that," I replied, "but I might have known that they were
members of your family."
"Yes, you might have known a great many things that you have never been
wise enough to find out. But I don't want to lash words with you, Mr.
Hawes. I simply stopped to tell you that a man who would go out of his
way to lift a heavy fence to help a hog is not a bad fellow; and I want
to apologize for anything that I have said to anger you. I have nothing
against you and I don't blame you for sticking to a friend. One of these
days you'll find that I'm not half as bad a fellow as you have had cause
to think me. Let us call off our engagement. Is it a go?"
"Doctor, I have no desire to kill you, and I think that your death would
be the result of our keeping that engagement."
"Pretty confident sort of a man, I take it. And after all, bravery is
nothing but a sort of over-confidence. But I don't believe that you
would kill me; I believe that it would be the other way, and it is not
out of fear that I propose a setting aside of our indefinite agreement
to meet each other. But be that as it may, we will call it off unless
you insist, and if you do, why, as a gentleman I shall be compelled to
meet you. I am brave enough to confess that I can't help but admire you
morally and physically. In a small way, I was once a demonstrator of
anatomy, and from an outside estimate I must pronounce you as fine a
specimen of manhood as I ever saw. And if you'll come over to the house
we'll take a long drink on the strength of it."
"The spirit of your hospitality is not lost upon me, Doctor, but the
truth is, I never drink. But with a cheerful willingness I accept your
other proposition--to set aside our engagement. It was no more your
fault than mine."
"Yes, it was, Mr. Hawes--I wantonly nagged at you. But we will let it
drop. Under present conditions we can't be very good friends, but there
will come a time when you must acknowledge that malice may know what it
is to be honest, if not generous."
"Don't go now, Doctor; you have interested me. Tell me what you mean."
"I wish you good-day, Mr. Hawes," was his reply, as he strode off down
the lane. And he left me holding him in a strange sort of regard; he had
flattered me and had hinted at a future generosity. Could it be that he
intended to modify his evidence when again he should appear against
Alf? A demonstrator of anatomy--and he could soothe a nerve as well as
expose a muscle. I felt kindly toward him as I rode along, though
blaming myself for my weakness. But I have never known a very large man
who had not some vital weakness--of vanity, egotism, over-generosity,
foolish tenderness--something in ill-keeping with a well-poised
morality. With old Sir John we have more flesh, and, therefore, more of
frailty.
As I came within sight of the house I saw three men slowly walking about
in the yard, and, upon reaching the gate, I recognized them as Parker,
Jucklin and Perdue. I turned the horse into a lot and joined them.
"Well," said Jucklin, "it's all over and I have sold out to Parker."
"Not the house, too!" I cried in alarm.
The old man smiled and winked at Parker. "Well, not quite," he said.
"Guinea told me what you wanted, and sir, you can have it, though I tell
you right now that it ain't worth much."
"Will you take two hundred dollars?"
"Not from you, Bill. You may have the house and the path and the spring
and the strip of moss, for if you haven't earned that and more----"
"Hold on, Mr. Jucklin. I want the property made over to me in regular
form when I have paid you for it. I will accept of no concession; want
to pay as much as Mr. Parker would have paid, and I have borrowed money
enough to close the deal. You are going away and you will need every
cent you can possibly raise; and I demand that you take the two hundred
dollars that I have collected for you. It will be of no use to say that
you will not, for I am determined, and, although you have been very
kind, you will find me a hard man to fight. And remember that there is a
debt to be paid."
He held out his hand and looked over toward the General's house as I
gripped his rough palm.
"I have buried 'em over by the edge of the woods," he said; "buried 'em
with their gaffs on. I couldn't help it--they had to fight to a finish.
Yes, it shall be as you say. I will pay what I owe and still have money
enough to get away off somewhere. We'll draw up the papers in town and
have it over with at once."
"Mr. Hawes, I've got a hundred dollars that's yours," said old man
Perdue. "I have brought the money, and here it is."
"I can't take it, Mr. Perdue. I haven't earned it, and shall not earn
it. I am not going to teach your school."
"The deuce you say! Why, my grandson thinks there ain't nobody in the
world like you--says you can whip any livin' man. You must teach that
school."
"No, I am going to study law with Judge Conkwright."
"What, with him? Don't you do it. Why, there ain't a harder hearted man
on the face of the earth than he is. Smart as a whip, but he don't go to
church once in five years. Oh, you needn't smile, for it's a fact. Not
once in five years, and what can you expect from a man like that? Oh,
he'll grind you into the very ground. Ain't got a particle of feelin'."
"I expect him to teach me the law and I can get along with my present
stock of religion. But even if he were to offer me his religion, I would
accept it. I know him better than you can ever know him. But we have no
cause to discuss him. No, I can't take your money."
"But you have earned some of it. Twenty-five dollars, at least."
"Well, I will take that much."
"Take it all," said Parker.
"No, twenty-five," I replied.
"You are your own boss," Perdue observed; "you know best. Here's your
twenty-five, and I'll make it fifty if you'll send out word that the new
man, whoever he may be, mustn't go into the creek. You are the sort of a
reformer that this community has needed. Well, gentlemen, I've got to
get home. Issue your proclamation, sir, and send for the other
twenty-five."
Parker said that it was time for him to go, and, adding that he would
meet Jucklin in town, left us at the door.
Mrs. Jucklin was brighter than I had expected to find her, and when I
told her what Conkwright had said, that Alf would surely be acquitted,
the light of a new hope leaped into her eyes.
"I told Limuel that God would not permit such a wrong," she said.
"Didn't I, Limuel?"
"You said something about it, Susan; I have forgot exactly what it was.
It's all right if the judge says he knows it. Yes, sir, it's all right.
But we'll leave here all the same. Don't reckon we'll ever come back;
can't stand to be p'inted at. Fight a man in a minit if he p'ints at
me."
"Oh, Limuel, don't talk about fighting when we are in so much trouble."
"Fight a man in a minit if he p'ints at me. Knock down a sign-post if it
p'ints at me. Well, we want a little bite to eat. Been about six weeks
since I eat anything, it seems like."
All this time I was wondering where Guinea could be, and was startled by
every sound. The mother asked me how Alf looked and how he had acted
when I had pictured Millie's leaving home; and I told her mechanically,
wondering, listening; and I broke off suddenly, for I thought there was
a footstep at the door. No, it was a chicken in the passage. They asked
me many questions and I answered without hearing my own words. Mrs.
Jucklin went out to the dining-room and the old man began to talk about
his chickens. He had found them bloody and stiff, and had buried them in
a box lined with an old window curtain. And now there was a step at the
door. I looked up and Guinea stood there, looking back, listening to her
mother. And thus she stood a long time, I thought, and yet she must have
known that I was in the room. Mr. Jucklin spoke to her and she came in,
walking very slowly. Her face was pale, with a sadness that smote my
heart. She sat down and looked out of the window. Mrs. Jucklin called
the old man, and when he was gone I told Guinea that I had left Alf in a
convulsive joy; and, still looking out of the window, she said: "You are
the noblest man I ever met."
I sprang to my feet, but quickly she lifted her hand and motioned me
back, though she still looked away. "Sit down, please. Don't you
remember our agreement to be frank with each other?"
"Yes, I remember it, but frankness means the opposite of restraint."
"Yes, but frankness should always have judgment behind it."
"Guinea!" She looked at me. "Guinea, you say that after a while he will
kneel at your feet."
"Yes, after a while, Mr. Hawes."
"But let me--let me kneel at your feet now!"
Slowly she shook her head. "No, Mr. Hawes, you must never do that.
Sometime we may kneel together, but you must never kneel to me. Now we
are frank, aren't we? We may go to church together and hear some one
pray a beautiful prayer, a prayer that may seem the echo of our own
heart-throbs. Sweet is confidence, and I ask you to have confidence in
me. Let me have my way, and when the time is ripe, I will come to you
with my hands held out. Yes, when the time is ripe. And then there will
be no reproaches and nothing to forgive, but everything to worship and
to bless. Oh, I am a great talker when once I am started, Mr. Hawes, and
I think all the time. I thought this morning as I stood at the gate,
just as you left me standing; I heard you galloping down the road. And
do you know what I thought of? It was almost profane, but I thought of
the baptizing at the river of Jordan, when the spirit came down like a
dove; and I knew what must have been the thrilling touch of that spirit,
for the holiness of love had touched my hair. No, Mr. Hawes, not now.
There, sit down again and let me talk, for I am started now. Oh, and you
thought that I was dumb and feelingless? You mustn't weep; but as for
me, why, I am a woman and tears are a woman's inheritance. There, I have
said enough, and after this we must speak to each other as
friends--until the time when I shall come to you with my hands held out;
and then I am going to tell you of a woman who loved a man, not with a
halting, half-hearted love, but with a love as broad as God's smile when
the earth is in bloom. You didn't know that I was so persistent, did
you? Isn't it time for a woman to be persistent? No woman has ever kept
silence, they tell us, but women have been constrained to talk around
the subject, festooning it with their insinuating fancies. But women are
more outspoken now and are permitted to be truer to themselves. Yes, you
must have confidence in me; let me indulge my dream a while longer, and
then I will come to you, but until then let us be friends."
"But won't you let me tell you something now? Won't you let me tell you
that in the moonlight I bowed until my head touched the dust, worshiping
you as you stood----"
"No, not now; not until I come. And won't you respect my wishes, even if
they are foolish?"
"Now and forever, angel, your word shall be a divine law unto me."
"They are calling us," she said. "Come on."