Perhaps it was the spring air; perhaps it was the turn in the tide of
Cynthia Walden's life, but whatever it was it roused her and gripped
her from early morning. At six o'clock on that May day she awoke in
her shabby room of Stoneledge and looked out of the vine-covered
window, heard a bird sing a wild, delicious little song, and then sat
up with the strange thrill of happiness flooding her heart and soul.
It was a warm morning, more like late June than late May, and both the
bird and the girl felt the joy in the promise of summer.
At nineteen Cynthia, like the spring morn, bore the mark of her coming
fulfillment of beauty. She was very lovely, tall, slim, slightly
bending, like a reed that had bowed to the wind instead of resisting.
The child look, full of question and waiting, was still in her clear
blue-gray eyes; the well-formed mouth had not forgotten its pretty,
slow smile, and the pale, exquisite whiteness of the smooth skin was
touched with a delicate tan and colour that did credit totally Taber's
care and culinary art.
"I feel," whispered the girl, tossing the braids of her smooth
gold-brown hair back from her face; "I declare I feel as if something
was going to happen long o' me!"
Not for a moment did Cynthia imagine anything ill. Out of a barren,
isolated life she had evolved and held to the strict philosophy she had
once confided to Marcia Lowe in the little church. If trouble overtook
her, she shielded herself as well as possible, smiled pleadingly and
stepped aside. At such courtesy Trouble had obligingly gone on leaving
the girl of nineteen as trusting and hopeful as a child. The old house
had crumbled and tottered. Ann Walden had sunk into positive
imbecility--but Cynthia had kept her faith and love. Sally Taber still
ruled the Great House under the disguise of grateful dependent. She
slept in the loft over the kitchen, made life a possible thing for a
helpless woman and a young girl, and asked nothing for herself in
return.
"If that woman doesn't have a crown studded two deep with jewels some
day," Marcia Lowe confided to Tod Greeley, "I'll miss my guess."
And Tod, for various reasons, did what he could to show his
appreciation of the old woman's nobility.
"Yo' sho' do give proper weight to us-all." Sally often told him.
"Things do las' mor'n one could expect, fo' de money."
"I ain't goin' to run the risk of any pesky government investigation,"
Greeley replied. "Better be on the safe side, I reckon."
And now Cynthia again remarked to the pretty May morning:
"I feel as if something was going to happen 'long o' me."
Then she got up and made her simple toilet. The shining braids were
wound coronet-style about the shapely head, and some moments were
devoted to the choice of a gown. There were three hanging on nails
behind the door leading to the hall; a checked gingham, brown, ugly and
serviceable; a faded pink chambray, and a new, dull blue linen. This
last was a gift from Marcia Lowe. It was the longest, most modern
garment Cynthia possessed, and the colour filled her awakening artistic
sense with delight.
"This one!" she murmured, and smiled at her own senseless extravagance.
"I reckon it's right silly," she said; "but it's mighty good fun to
wear your Sunday frock on a Thursday!"
Then arrayed and glowing with pride Cynthia contemplated herself in her
tiny mirror.
"If something happens 'long o' me," she nodded in friendly fashion into
the glass, "it will find me ready."
After breakfast she meant to go to Trouble Neck and help Marcia Lowe
with her "school." The little doctor's school was the newest and most
exciting innovation in The Hollow. The student list was elastic and
all embracing. Every department of life was taught, as and how it were
possible. The timid, blighted little folks were lured to the cabin by
all means at Miss Lowe's command and fed such crumbs as their poor wits
could comprehend.
"Let's flip out the grains, Cynthia, dear," the little doctor urged;
"perhaps some chick can swallow them. We must make hay while the sun
shines. Crothers' new factory is looming up and when that whistle
blows, good-bye to the Trouble Neck Academy!"
It had taken nearly seven years for Smith Crothers to collect his
insurance, recover his health, and begin his business career again. He
had left The Forge for two years, and since his return had gone slowly
about his work of rebuilding and entering the arena. Whatever he
thought or remembered of the night when his factory was burned, no one,
but himself, knew. From a grim shadow of his former self he regained
his health and looks; he nodded to Cynthia when he met her on The Way
and the girl tossed her head at him indifferently. Only Marcia Lowe
was anxious.
"Cynthia," she said, "promise me that you will not wander in the woods
alone!"
"Not without a pistol," the girl replied. "I'm a mighty good shot,
dear Cup-of-Cold-Water Lady!"
But Marcia Lowe shook her head.
When Cynthia went downstairs that May morning, Sally Taber had the
plain breakfast on the dining-room table, and her face looked drawn and
worried.
"Miss Cyn," she said, when she had set the corn bread and milk before
the girl, "las' night ole Miss war right troublesome."
"You have been up a good deal, Sally?"
"I sho' have. Ole Miss took to wandering and nothing would suit her
but de libry. I done made a fire there and let her play. She done dig
at the hearthstone an' laughed and babbled 'til long 'bout three
o'clock, then I carried her upstairs and laid her in her bed same as if
she was a lil' tired out babby."
"Dear Sally!" Cynthia's eyes shone. "I'll stay home to-day and let
you sleep."
"I reckon you will do nothin' like that! Ole Miss will be good for
mos' the mornin' an' I'se goin' to patch up the libry. If ole Miss
takes a fancy to that-er-room, she goin' to have what she wants! If
she wants to pick 'long o' the hearthstone, she is goin' to do that;
I'll loosen it up."
"I will watch her to-night, then!" Cynthia said, "and I'll be back
right early this evening, Sally."
Just as Cynthia reached The Way, she met Martin Morley.
"Good morning, lil' Miss Cyn," he greeted; "seems like you be part of
this yere pretty day."
"Good morning, Mr. Morley. You look right smart and dandified."
Morley was neatly and decently attired and his calm, clear eyes were
steady and full of purpose. The "charm" had held good with him, and
ever since the well-fought battle in the little doctor's lean-to
chamber, he had gradually worked his way back to self-respect and
content. Mary and Molly had drifted from his life so effectually that
he had accepted the inevitable and never mentioned their names.
"Where you going, Mr. Morley?"
"I am going down to The Forge," Martin answered. "They-all say the
young manager for that company what's going to build a factory up
higher has come, and I'm going to try and get a job."
"Do you believe there _is_ going to be a factory, Mr. Morley? Do you
believe Smith Crothers would let any one have a factory so near his?"
"They-all do say, Miss Cynthia, that that-er company what sends this
young man, is powerful rich and upperty. They-all do say that-er
company ain't so much as consulted with Smith Crothers."
"It must be a mighty brave company!" The slow smile touched the sweet
lips.
"Mr. Morley, I wonder if you will ever hear from Sandy?"
"Sho'! Miss Cynthia, you-all make me right creepy. I woke up this-er
morning from a dream 'bout Sandy. It was a right techersome dream, but
dreams be techersome. I dreamed that Sandy was daid, and yet I woke up
right cheerful. I've reasoned it out this-er-way. Sandy _is_ daid to
me, lil' Miss Cynthia, but alive out in a bigger, wider life and sho' a
right minded father should be mighty glad of that. I'm willing to give
Sandy to a better life."
The old face twitched. "It's 'bout all I can do for my son."
"Oh! Mr. Morley, you're right noble but I don't believe Sandy's like
that. He's just waiting 'till he has a mighty fine something to bring
back to us-all, and then we'll see him coming up The Way as brave and
smiling as can be."
Martin shook his head slowly.
"I don' doubt it, lil' Miss Cynthia. It's seven long years now! I've
taken a right smart heap of comfort mending up the cabin and painting
it and planting vines and flowers about. It has been the happiness
I've allowed myself--getting ready for Sandy that ain't never coming!
Good morning, just wish me luck 'bout the job. The getting ready means
something even if you don't ever get what you're making ready for."
And with this Martin Morley went down The Way toward The Forge to seek
his luck with the stranger who had arrived a few days before to begin
operations on a certain piece of land which had been bought by a
man--no one could recall his name--seven years ago!
Cynthia stood under the trees by the road after Martin left and fell
into a reverie. It was early. By walking a little faster she could
reach Trouble Neck in time for the possible pupils, and the lure of the
morning held her. Looking up to catch more distinctly the note of a
bird, she noticed how white and splendid the dogwood flowers were on
the tree under which she stood.
"They certainly do look like stars!" she whispered. The day seemed
pulsing with thoughts of Sandy Morley! Not for years had he been so in
her mind. To be sure the hole in the tree near Stoneledge was quite
filled with letters written to an imaginary somebody called, for
convenience, Sandy--the "Biggest of Them All." But Cynthia's ideal
bore little likeness to the actual Sandy, and her letters had become
but the outpourings of a heart that must create its own Paradise or
perish. Sandy Morley had faded into an indistinct blur, but the
romance he had awakened bore the girl far and away from the common life
of The Hollow.
"I thought," the uplifted face glowed rosily; "I thought I heard--a new
note! Some strange bird!" Then, with a toss of the head which threw
the broad brimmed hat back on the shoulders, "I must be getting right
daffy! That's the bird Sandy Morley used to copy mighty cleverly. I
could do it myself once--I wonder!" The pretty lips curved
deliciously, and an effort was made to reproduce the sound. Sweetly,
faintly it trilled and ended in a light laugh.
From the underbrush lower down beside The Way, a young man looked at
the upraised face under the dogwood tree; listened to the answer to his
call and felt his heart throb with such force that his lips drew close
with the pain of joy. For a few moments he gazed and struggled for
self-control but great waves of happiness and delight overpowered him.
He dared not move, but he sent a swift prayer to heaven--a prayer for
guidance in a new life amid the old home-scenes for which his faithful
heart had yearned while he had wandered far.
Cynthia's quick ears caught the rustle of the bushes across The Way and
instantly her face changed and her hand gripped something in a little
bag at her side. The stranger thought it wisest to step out. This he
did with a laugh of understanding.
"Oh!" exclaimed Cynthia Walden, "I certainly do beg your pardon.
I--thought--I thought you were Smith Crothers."
The sudden fear wrung this candid confession from the girl. "I reckon
you don't know Smith Crothers."
"I--I've heard of him recently."
"I expect," Cynthia was full of interest now. "I expect you are the
man from the North."
"You are quite right."
"Now I'm right sorry you didn't get here fifteen minutes ago."
The stranger's face flushed under its tan and the broad felt hat, in
the right hand, shook perceptibly.
"Mr. Martin Morley has gone down The Way to see you. He reckons you
will give him a job."
At this the man leaned heavily against a pine tree and stared at the
girl. Had he heard aright? For months he had believed Martin Morley
was dead--long dead!
"Yes, Mr. Morley was just here talking about the new factory up in the
mountain."
To hear Cynthia say mountain was to love the high places better all the
days of your life. So lingeringly and tenderly did the soft voice deal
with the vowels and consonants that they suggested all the beauty and
strength of the hills. The man opposite closed his eyes from sheer
delight while the word sank into his consciousness and filled the empty
places of his heart.
"He'll miss you, I reckon, but could you save a job for him?"
"I can and--will." The man opened his eyes and courageously walked
across The Way and stood still, hat in hand, before the girl. He was
tall and broad and good to look upon and youth went out to youth
cordially and frankly.
"I reckon"--the homely word took the place of the Yankee "guess"
naturally, "I reckon you are--Miss Cynthia Walden?"
"Yes." Cynthia's eyes shone. "Who--told you?"
"I heard about you." This was very lame, but it answered.
"And you--sir?"
"Oh, I am--the man from the North."
"You sound like you had Southern blood."
"My father and mother were Southerners."
"From round this-er-way?"
Again the man closed his eyes; the sweet voice and dear familiar
expressions were almost more than he could bear.
"Not very far away."
A very little seemed enough to pacify the girl's curiosity.
"I reckon the North's mighty big," she ventured presently.
"It's--it's--tremendous."
"Do you know anything about--Massachusetts?"
"I came from there."
"Oh! And is that--so mighty big?"
"Not so big as the whole North. Though some still think it is."
"Did you ever hear----" Cynthia paused and clasped her hands together;
"of a--a boy named Sandy Morley? He went from here to there--long ago?"
It was a wild question, but the day was so haunted by Sandy that the
words came of their own volition.
"I've met him; yes, I know him slightly."
The colour rose and faded in Cynthia's face and her breath came quick
and hard.
"Oh! tell me about him. He came from this--Hollow! He went away years
and years ago. Tell me--what has he become?"
Yearning, curiosity and honest interest marked the words, but the face
of the girl was a child's face, not a woman's. "He must be a right big
boy now!"
The man standing in The Way could not repress a smile. He saw that
Cynthia Walden had in fancy enshrined the boy Sandy, but would she
welcome the man Sandy had become? Fearfully, dreading the test that
must be made, he drew nearer, and with lowered eyes bowed, and said:
"I am Sandy Morley!"
Cynthia gave a frightened glance at the tall, dark stranger in the
road. She noticed, as if for the first time, his high laced boots, his
corduroy trousers fastened in them, his flannel shirt and felt hat.
All was fine and different, oh! so different from the ragged ugliness
of the hills. That a stranger should be so clad did not interest her,
but that her childhood's friend and slave should wear this livery of
position shattered the beautiful portrait of the "Biggest of Them All"
by one cruel blow.
"No! You cannot be Sandy--not Sandy Morley." Cynthia stepped back
with outstretched hands as if to ward off an attack. The light faded
from Sandy Morley's face and his eyes grew dark and pleading.
"I've been right homesick all the years," he faltered. "I've tried to
make myself worthy to come back. Always I have dreamed of you standing
as you stand now under the dogwoods, to welcome me, but now that I have
come up The Way I find myself a--stranger!"
Cynthia was clutching the bough of a tree for support; her eyes were
strained and pathetic.
"I--I do not know what I have expected," she whispered, her eyes
clinging to his; "but it is this-er-way. I have made a different
Sandy, and I've kept him so long in my dreams and fancies, that to see
him a _man_, hurts. Oh! it hurts here!"
The clasped hands touched the panting bosom. Then Sandy came close to
her and laid his firm, thin hand upon hers. The touch, the contact,
brought sharply to the girl the memory of their parting when, beside
The Way, she had asked him to marry her some day and Sandy had kissed
her!
"Little Cynthia, try to make a place in Lost Hollow for the man Sandy,
who has come home a lonely stranger."
He seemed old and detached, but his nearness and the memory of their
last interview composed Cynthia. She drew back and the withdrawal hurt
Sandy more than she could know.
"I--I must go!" she panted and turned, as in the old parting, and ran
without one backward look.
Sandy stood and gazed after her with yearning eyes. Outwardly she was
all his faithful heart could have asked. Her face, as he had seen it a
few moments ago under the dogwoods, seemed placed there by some kind
and good Providence to welcome him to his own after all the waiting
years; the child, Cynthia, he had lost while he tarried afar. Manlike
he was ready to accept the woman. But Cynthia was not a woman, and her
immature nature was shocked and betrayed by him who had come claiming
what she had ready, only for the boy of her childish faith and love.
Sad at heart, Sandy, after a few moments of readjustment, went
mournfully up the trail leading to the old home-cabin. One bright
gleam, alone, cheered him. There had been some mistake. Martin Morley
was evidently alive and to him Sandy must look for welcome and the
renewing of old ties.
The change in the cabin was startling. Empty, but neat and pleasant,
the living-room stood open to the fair spring day. Flowers were
standing in the windows in dented tin cans; the hearth was swept free
of ashes and there was a small garden in the rear of the house, nicely
laid out and planted. It seemed so like his own old garden that Sandy
gazed upon it with strange emotions. He relived sharply the starved
years of preparation, the cruelty and neglect. He went inside finally
and sat down upon the settle by the hearth and, with bowed head, gave
himself up to memory.
An hour passed and then a step outside roused him, but he did not turn.
"Sir, I reckon you be the boss of the new factory. I was a-going down
to The Forge to seek you out and ask for work, but Tansey Moore, down
to the store, 'lowed that 'twas you who had passed up this-er-way. If
you be the boss could you----"
But he got no further. Sandy could not run the risk of another clash
of words.
"Father!" he said, standing up and stretching his arms out pitifully to
Martin. "Father!"
Morley recoiled for an instant and his eyes, old and dim, struggled to
see clearly the figure and face before him. But it was not the mortal
eyes of the man that saw and knew. It was the _father_ that reached
out with unerring instinct to its own! Martin had never had his dreams
of what his boy was to become; he was there to accept whatever God in
His mercy sent to him.
"Sandy! lil' Sandy! My boy!"
And then the tottering old frame was gathered in the strong young arms.
"Dad, dear old Dad. I've got a right good job for you!"
That was all. For a few minutes the clock on the high shelf ticked so
loudly that it seemed to fill the room with noise. Neither man spoke,
but they clung desperately. Presently a shadow fell across the floor
and Sandy turned his head. Old Bob had found his way up from The Forge
and panting and wheezing began to sniff around the room. Almost blind,
yet guided by that sense we cannot understand, he had sought his own
and found them. With a soft cry he crouched close to the two standing
by the hearth and whined piteously. Martin aroused and stood upright.
"It's--it's Bob!" he cried. "Oh, Bob! Oh, Bob!" Then falteringly:
"It's all right, Bob, she won't trouble you now--she's gone for good
and all!"
That was the only reference to Mary, and Sandy did not tell Martin of
little Molly's fate for many a day.