Tod Greeley, the postmaster, was sitting on his cracker box
contemplatively eying the rusty stove enthroned upon its sawdust
platform, in the middle of the store. Every man in The Hollow had his
own particular chair or box when the circle, known as the County Club,
formed for recreation or business. No one presumed to occupy another's
place: Tod Greeley's pedestal was a cracker box and its sides were well
battered from the blows his heels gave it when emotions ran high or his
sentiments differed from his neighbour's. Greeley was not a Hollow man;
he had been selected by Providence, as he himself would have said, to
perform a service for his country: namely, that of postmaster,
storekeeper, and arbiter of things in general. He was a tall, lean man
of forty, good looking, indolent, and with some force of character which
was mainly evinced by his power of keeping his temper when he was facing
a critical situation. While not of The Hollow, he was still _with_ The
Hollow on principle.
When Marcia Lowe paused before the store and emitted her call, which
flavoured of friendliness and the North, Greeley was vacantly looking
into space, hugging his bony knees, and listening to an indignant fly
buzzing on the dirty glass of the back window, protesting against any
exit being barred to its egress.
It was three o'clock of a late July day and, while the sun was hot, the
breeze gave promise of a cool night.
"Ooh! ooh!"
Just at first Greeley thought the fly had adopted a more militant tone.
"Oooh--ooh!"
Greeley pulled himself together, mentally and physically, and stalked to
the porch; there he encountered the very frank, smiling face of a rather
attractive youngish woman who greeted him cordially with a high-pitched
but sweet:
"Good afternoon."
"Good evening, ma'am," Tod returned.
"I just came up from The Forge; your roads are really scandalous, but the
scenery is beautiful. I want to see if there is any place near here
where I can get board? I've come to stay for a while, anyway; probably
for years, at least."
The young person seemed so eager to share her confidence that Greeley was
on his guard at once. He did not approve of the stills back among the
hills, but he did not feel called upon to assist any government spy in
her work, no matter how attractive and subtle the spy was.
It was two years now since a certain consumptive-looking young man had
caused the upheaval of a private enterprise back of The Hollow and made
so much unpleasantness, but Norman Teale had served his term in prison
and had got on his feet once more, and Greeley had a momentary touch of
sympathy for the Speak-Easy magnates as he glanced up at this new style
of spy.
"Nobody stays on in The Hollow lest he has to," he said cautiously, "and
as for boarding-places, there never was such a thing here, I reckon. I
certainly don't expect they would take any one in at the Walden place,
not if they-all was starving. Miss Ann Walden is quality from way back.
The Morleys couldn't entertain, and what's true of the Morleys is true of
all the others."
"Couldn't you folks take me?"
At this Greeley collapsed on the one chair of the porch, and actually
gasped.
"I ain't got what you might call folks," he managed to say, "unless you
call a brace of dogs, folks."
"Oh! I beg your pardon." Miss Lowe flushed and gave a nervous laugh.
"You see I just must manage to find a home here, and--and I've heard so
much of Southern chivalry and hospitality I rather hoped some one would
take me in until I could look around. The place at The Forge, where I've
been for two nights is--impossible, and the darkies have their hands
stretched out for tips until I feel like a palmist, and a bankrupt one at
that!"
A merry laugh rang out and in spite of himself and his grave doubts
Greeley relaxed.
"If you don't mind doing for yourself," he ventured, "there's a cabin
over to Trouble Neck that you might get."
"Do for myself?" Miss Lowe cried energetically. "I'd just favour that
plan, I can tell you! I could get all the furniture I need at The Forge,
I am sure. The name of the place isn't exactly cheering, but then I've
waded through trouble and got on top all my life long. Who owns the
cabin over at Trouble Neck?"
Property rights in and around The Hollow were rarely discussed; it was a
delicate question, but what was not actually held down by another
generally was conceded to a certain Smith Crothers and to his credit Tod
Greeley now put the Trouble Neck cabin.
"Oh! He's the man who owns the factory a few miles from The Forge? I
drove past it yesterday at noon time. I thought it was an orphan asylum
at first. I never saw such babies put to work before. It's monstrous
and the law ought to shut down on your Smith Crothers!"
At this Greeley had a distinct sensation of pain in the region known as
the pit of his stomach. That Smith Crothers should fall under any law
had never been dreamed of by mortal man or woman in Greeley's presence
before. The right of free whiskey was one thing; the right of a man to
utilize the children of the district was another!
"He ain't my Smith Crothers!" Greeley inanely returned, feeling in a
dazed way that he did not want to put in any claim for Crothers with
those apparently innocent eyes upon him.
"Well, I'll try to buy the Trouble Neck place from Smith Crothers at
once. You see I've been very sick; they said I'd lost my health, but I
know I've only misplaced it."
Again the cheerful laugh set Greeley's nerves tingling.
"They-all say that when they-all come up here."
Greeley felt in honour bound to give the young woman a hint as to his
reading of her and her mission.
"It's a good spot, then, for weak lungs?"
"None better," Tod nodded sagely, "but they don't last long."
"What? The weak lungs? That's splendid! And now would you mind giving
my horse a drink? Isn't it funny what nice horses they manage to evolve
in the South on food that would end a cart-horse's existence up North?
But such vehicles! Do look at this buggy! And no springs to mention.
My! but my back will ache to-morrow."
By this time Greeley had procured a pail of water and was courteously
holding it to the nose of the very grateful horse.
"I wonder," Miss Lowe casually remarked, as she let the reins fall in lap
and looked about, "if you happen to have known a Theodore Starr who once
lived here?"
"I've heard of him," Tod returned; "I ain't a Hollow man. I only came
here on business six years ago, but the memory of Starr sort of clings
like it was a good thing to keep alive."
"How beautifully you put it!"
Greeley was thinking how well the government had stocked this dangerous
spy with facts, and so he did not observe the tears in her eyes.
"There was a little church he built himself--is it still standing? You
may not have heard, but he had a very simple little religion quite his
own. He thought the people up here were more in need of help than
foreign folks, but no regular sect would--would handle him. So he came
up a road he used to call The Appointed Way and just settled down and
learned to love all--the people and the work!"
Greeley was so utterly amazed that the hands which held the pail shook
with excitement.
"That road what you came up is called The Way--short for Appointed Way.
Yon is the little church."
Marcia Lowe raised up and through the thicket behind her she saw the
deserted structure, which still bore the outlines of a church.
"Why, it's all boarded up!" she exclaimed. "Who owns it now?"
The exacting nature of the stranger's questions was unsettling to
Greeley. She seemed determined to tag and classify all the real estate
in the county.
"No one ain't damaged the building," he said drawlingly; "some of the
folks think it is han'ted. I reckon Smith Crothers owns it."
"That man owns too much!" Marcia Lowe gave again her penetrating laugh.
"And I should think the place would be haunted. Just think of boarding
Uncle Theodore up! He who loved sunshine and air and sweetness so much!"
At this Greeley dropped the pail to the ground, and the indignant horse
reared angrily. This was carrying things too far, and the man's eyes
flashed.
"Uncle?" he gasped sternly.
"Yes, Uncle Theodore Starr. He was my mother's brother. I have no one
to keep me away now--and I loved him so when I was a little child. They
say I am much like him--but then you never saw him. Lately I've been
real homesick for him. He seemed to be calling me from the hills. I'm
going to get your Smith Crothers to let me open up the little church. I
want the sunshine to get in and--and Uncle Theodore to--get out! I'm
going to find where they buried him, and make that a beautiful place too.
You see I've a good deal to do up here! Besides," and now the cheerful
face beamed radiantly on the gaping postmaster, "I'm like Uncle Starr in
more ways than one. He learned to mend men's souls and I have learned to
mend their bodies--it's much the same, you know--when you love it.
I'm--well, I'm an M. D., a medical doctor--Doctor Marcia Lowe!"
At this Greeley dropped on the bottom step of the porch, wiped the
perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand, and emitted one
word.
"Gawd!" He was not a profane man, but the audacity of this stranger who
was about to settle down among them for purposes best known to herself,
and them who sent her, quite overcame him. Marcia Lowe gave a hearty
laugh and gathered the reins.
"I suppose you never heard of such a thing up here?" she asked amusedly,
"but they are getting commoner down where I hail from. It's all very
foolish--the restrictions about a woman, you know. She can nurse a body
up to the doors of death, but it's taken a good while to bring people
around to seeing that she can mend a body as well, just as well as a man.
You will let me stay among you anyway, I am sure. I do not want to
physic you. It is so much more interesting to live close and help along.
Good-bye, Mr. Greeley--you see your name is over the door! I am, do not
forget"--the woman's eyes twinkled mischievously--"Doctor Marcia Lowe of
Torrance, Mass. Good-bye! You have been very kind and helpful. I feel
that you and I will be good friends. Get-up, pony!"
She flapped the reins in the most unprofessional manner, and the horse
turned to The Appointed Way with briskness that bespoke his impatience
and a desire for more familiar scenes.
With curious eyes Greeley watched the ramshackle buggy bounce up and down
over the rutty road; he saw the small, slight figure bob about
uncomfortably on the uneven seat, and when the conveyance was lost behind
the trees he went inside with a sure sense that something was going to
happen in The Hollow.
Once again within his own domain he sought his cracker box as if it were
his sanctuary. The fly was still protesting against the dirty window,
and the stillness, except for the buzzing, was unbroken.
Presently, from out the nowhere apparently, old Andrew Townley came in
and shuffled across the floor to the armchair by the stove. Then Mason
Hope appeared, hands in pockets and lank hair falling on his shoulders.
Norman Teale came next, with Tansey Moore in tow.
"Howdy, Tod?" was the universal greeting as the County Club took its
place. The chair of Smith Crothers, and two or three overturned potato
baskets--seats of the junior members of the club--were empty. It was
beneath the dignity of any man present to question what had just
occurred, but every son of them had witnessed it and in due time would
touch upon the subject.
The stove, summer and winter, focussed their wandering eyes and acted as
a stimulus to their dormant faculties. From long practice and
inheritance every man could aim and hit the sawdust under the stove when
he expectorated. Even old Andrew Townley had never been known to fail.
"There be some right good horses down to The Forge," Tansey Moore
ventured after a while.
"It's a blamed risky thing, though," said Mason Hope, "to let a--lady
drive 'em. I've allus noticed that a woman is more sot on gittin' where
she wants to git--than to considering _how_ to git there. It's mighty
risky to trust horseflesh to a female. They seem to reckon all horses is
machines."
"I've seen men as didn't know a hoss from a steam engine," Norman Teale
broke in, glancing sharply at Moore. "Times is when a hoss has to be
sacrificed to man--but I reckon The Forge folks was taking some risks
when they-all hired out a team to a stranger."
"That stranger," said Greeley, hitting the nail on the head with a
violence that brought his audience to an upright position, "ain't nothing
short of, to my mind, than"--he glanced at Teale--"well, she ain't, and
that's my opinion! She comes loaded with facts up to her teeth. Knows
all the names, and says she's going to settle down over to Trouble Neck
and--live along with us-all quite a spell. Weak lungs and all, but she's
a right new brand."
"Hell!" ejaculated Teale, springing to his feet. "If the government has
got so low that it has to trifle with ladies--it's in a bad way. I
reckon I better git a-moving. Any mail, Tod? I take it right friendly
that you give me this hint. A lady may be hard to handle in some ways,
but we-all can at least know where she is--that's something."
After the departure of Teale the club fell into moody gloom. It was
always upsetting to have outside interference with their affairs. Even
if Teale wasn't arrested the whiskey would be limited for a time, and
that was a drawback to manly rights.
Andrew Townley fell into an audible doze; he was the oldest inhabitant
and a respected citizen. He was given to periods of senile dementia
preceded or followed by flashes of almost superhuman intelligence. There
were times when, arousing suddenly from sleep, he would bring some
startling memory with him that would electrify his hearers. He was an
institution and a relic--every one revered him and looked to his simple
comfort. Suddenly now, as the dense silence enveloped the club, old
Andrew awoke and remarked vividly:
"I was a-dreaming of Theodore Starr!"
"Now what in thunder!" cried Tod Greeley, who had purposely refrained
from mentioning some part of his late visitor's conversation,--"what made
you think of--Theodore Starr?"
"I reckon," whined the trembling old voice, "that it was 'long o' Liza
Hope. I was a-passing by and I heard her calling on God-a'mighty to
stand by her in her hour. Theodore Starr was mighty pitiful of women in
their hours."
Mason Hope felt called upon, at this, to explain and apologize. He did
so with the patient air of one detached and disdainful.
"Liza do make a powerful scene when she is called to pass through her
trial. This is her ninth, and I done urged her to act sensible, but when
I saw how it was going with her, I just left her to reason it out along
her own lines. Sally Taber is sitting 'long of her ready to help when
the time comes. I done all I could." Tansey Moore nodded significantly.
He had an unreasonable wife of his own, and he had no sympathy with women
in their "hours."
"Theodore Starr, he done say," Townley was becoming lachrymose, "that
women got mighty nigh to God when they reached up to Him in their trial
and offered life for a life. He done say if God didn't forgive a woman
every earthly thing for such suffering, he was no good God. He done say
that to me onct."
"That be plain blasphemy," Tansey Moore remarked. "I reckon he was a
right poor parson. The religion he doctored with was all soothin' syrup
and mighty diluted at that, where women was concerned. I never trusted
that Yankee."
"The women, children, and old folks counted some on him in his day."
Greeley was getting interested in this heretofore myth. Moore nodded his
head suspiciously.
"They sho' did, and a mess they made of it. Did you ever hear 'bout his
mix-up with the Walden girls?"
Greeley never had and, as the last Walden "girl" was a woman of sixty and
over, he looked puzzled.
"Miss Ann, her as _is_ now, was considerable older than Theodore Starr,
but she shined up to him and let him lead her about considerable--some
said him and her was--engaged to marry. Then there was the Walden girl
as _isn't_ now, her they called Queenie. She was a right pert little
thing what growed into a woman like a Jonas gourd, sudden and startling!
That was the summer that young Lansing Hertford came back to the old home
place of his forebears to look about--there was a general mess of things
up to Stoneledge those days, and all I know is that Starr he went up into
the hills to nurse a fever plague and there he died. Lansing Hertford
went off like a shot--but them Hertfords allus lit out like they was
chased--never could stand loneliness and lack of luxury. Queenie, she
done died the winter following that summer; died of lung trouble off to
some hospital way off somewhere, and Miss Ann she settled down--an old
woman from that time on! You can't get her to speak Starr's name. You
never could. Us-all tried. When things got too hard for Miss Ann she
done adopt little Miss Cyn--that chile has considerable brightened up
Miss Ann, but Lord! she never was the same after that summer, and I hold,
and allus shall, that Starr wasn't what we-all thought him at first. A
man don't go dying off in the hills for folks what hadn't any call upon
him, lest he has a reason for doing so."
Moore loved to talk. Some one always has to be the orator of a club, and
Tansey, self-elected, filled this position in the circle around the old
stove. Greeley was bored. Past history did not concern him and Moore's
opinions he ignored. He had not been listening closely, for his thoughts
would, in spite of him, follow the ramshackle buggy down The Way.
"She had a right pleasant look and manner," he pondered. "I reckon
she'll get some fun out of her job, no matter what that job is."