“Did you go to Silas Farnum’s?” was Molly’s first question, and her
father confessed having done precisely as Amos had predicted; but
while giving a truthful account of his experience, he told the story
in a half-jesting manner, attributing his compulsory visit to some
hypnotic influence, and to a temporary irresponsibility of his own.
His daughter, however, was not deceived. Her belief in a supernatural
agency renewed its strength.
As for her father, he had never been more at sea in the solution of a
problem. In his own mind the only explanation was by the dominance of
another mind over his own, by a force presumably mesmeric. The fact
that Amos himself was also a victim rendered that theory difficult to
accept, unless both were dupes of some third person. If at the time of
his visit to Silas Farnum he had been ill, or weak, or in a nervous
condition, or had it occurred at night when the imagination might get
the better of one’s judgment, there would have been the possibility of
an explanation on physical grounds. But that he, James Cabot, of good
health and strength, should, in the sunlight of a summer noon, be the
powerless victim of such an influence, was a theory so mortifying and
preposterous as to upset his usual processes of reason.
It was not until the next afternoon that an opportunity was given for
a word with Amos. Out on the grass, beneath a huge elm at the easterly
corner of the house, Mr. Cabot, in a bamboo chair, was reclining with
his paper, when he noticed his young friend cantering briskly along
the road on a chestnut horse. Amos saw him, turned his animal toward
the low stone wall that separated the Cabots’ field from the highway,
cleared it with an easy jump and came cantering over the grass.
“Is that old Betty? I didn’t know she was a jumper.”
“Oh, yes. She has a record.” Dismounting, he faced her about and, with
a tap on the flank, told her to go home. She returned, however, and
showed a desire to rub noses with him. “Well, have your way, old lady,”
and leaving her to a feast of clover he threw himself on the ground at
Mr. Cabot’s feet.
“You are a kind man to your animals, Amos, although you may be somewhat
offensive as a prophet.”
“So you went, after all?”
“Went where?”
“To see Silas Farnum.”
“Did I say that?”
Amos looked up with a smile that could have a dozen meanings. His wily
companion, from a sense of professional caution, wished to feel his way
before committing himself.
“You think I went, after all?”
“Yes, sir, I know you did, from my own experience.”
“Which is that the events inevitably occur as foreseen?”
“Always.”
“Well, I will make a clean breast of it and tell you just what
happened.”
“I know it already, Mr. Cabot, as well as if you had told me.”
“Do you know of my resolve not to do it? Of my ineffectual resistance
and the sensations I experienced?”
“I think so. I have been through it all myself.”
For a minute or two neither spoke. Amos, resting upon an elbow, his
cheek against the palm of one hand, was, with the other, deceiving a
very small caterpillar into useless marches from one end of a blade of
grass to the other. Mr. Cabot, in a more serious tone, continued: “Can
you tell me, Amos, on your honor, that as far as you know there was no
attempt on your part, or on the part of any other person, to influence
me upon that occasion?”
Amos tossed aside the blade of grass and sat up. “I give you my word,
sir, that so far as I know there is nothing in it of that nature. I am
just as helpless as you when it comes to any attempt at resistance.”
“Then how do you account for it?”
Amos had plucked a longer blade of grass, and was winding it about his
fingers. “My explanation may seem childish to you, but I have no better
one to offer. It is simply that certain events are destined to occur at
appointed times, and that my knowing it in advance is not allowed to
interfere with the natural order of things.”
“The evidence may seem to point that way, judging from my own
experience, but can you believe that the whole human race are carrying
out such a cut-and-dried scheme? According to that theory we are
merely mechanical dummies, irresponsible and helpless, like cogs in a
wheel.”
“No, sir, we are at liberty to do just as we please. It was your own
idea going to Silas Farnum’s. That you happened to be told of it in
advance created an artificial condition, otherwise you would have gone
there in peace and happiness. In other words, it was ordained that you
should desire to do that thing, and you were to do as you desired.”
The lawyer remained silent a moment, his face giving no indication
either of belief or denial.
“Have you never been able to prevent or even modify the fulfilment of
an act after having seen it in advance?”
“No, sir; never.”
“Then these scenes as presented to you are invariably correct, without
the slightest change?”
“Yes.”
Mr. Cabot looked down at his friend with a feeling that was not without
a touch of awe. Of the young man’s honesty he had not the slightest
doubt, and his own recent experience seemed but one more proof of
the correctness of his facts. He looked with a curious interest upon
this mysterious yet simple Oriental squatting idly on the grass, his
straw hat tilted back on his head, the dark face bent forward, as with
careful fingers he gathered a bunch of clover.
“If this faculty never fails you your knowledge of future events is
simply without limit. You can tell about the weather, the crops, the
stock market, the result of wars, marriages, births, and deaths, and
who the next president is to be.”
“Yes, sir,” he answered quietly, without looking up.
Mr. Cabot straightened up in his chair and rubbed his chin. His
credulity had reached its limit, yet, if he could judge by the
evidence already presented, the young man was adhering strictly to the
truth. There followed a silence during which Betty, who in nibbling
about had approached within a few feet of them, held out her head, and
took the clover from Amos. Mr. Cabot brought a pencil and piece of
paper from his pockets. “I would like to try one more experiment, with
your permission. Will you write on that paper what I am to do at--well,
say ten o’clock to-night?”
Amos took the paper and closed his eyes, but in a moment looked up and
said, “You are in the dark and I can see nothing.”
“Then you have no knowledge of what goes on in the dark?”
“No, sir; only of things that I can see. If there is any light at all
I can see as if I were there in person, but no better. To-night at ten
o’clock you are in your own chamber, and it is absolutely black.”
“Then change the hour to six o’clock.”
As Mr. Cabot, a moment later, turned a sidelong glance toward his
friend, sitting with closed eyes before him, he thought the little mark
upon his forehead had never been so distinct. He regarded it with a
mild surprise as it seemed almost aglow; but the sky was becoming rosy
in the west, and there might be a reflection from the setting sun. Amos
wrote something on a slip of paper, folded it up and returned it to Mr.
Cabot, who carefully tucked it away in a pocket saying, “I shall not
read it until six-thirty. I will tell you to-morrow if you are correct.”
“Oh, that is correct, sir! You need have no anxiety on that point.”
As he spoke there passed slowly along the road a cart containing
two men, and behind the cart, securely fastened, walked a heavy,
vicious-looking bull.
“That is an ugly brute,” he said.
“So I was just thinking. Does he belong in the town?”
“Yes; it is Barnard’s bull. Yesterday he got loose and so mutilated
a horse that it had to be shot; and within an hour he tried his best
to kill old Barnard himself, which was a good undertaking and showed
public spirit. He is sure to have a victim sooner or later, and it
certainly ought to be old Barnard if anybody.”
“Who is Barnard?”
“He is the oyster-eyed, malignant old liar and skinflint who lives in
that red house about a mile below here.”
“You seem to like him.”
“I hate him.”
“What has he done to you?”
“Nothing; but he bullies his wife, starves his cattle, and cheats
his neighbors. Even as a small boy I knew enough to dislike him, and
whenever he went by the house I used to stone him.”
“What a pleasant little neighbor you must have been!”
Amos tried to smile, but his anger was evidently too serious a matter
to be treated with disrespect. Mr. Cabot, after regarding for a moment
the wrathful eyes that still followed the bull, continued:
“You are more than half barbarian, my war-like farmer. Must you do
physical damage to everyone you dislike?”
“No, sir; but as a rule I should like to. As for loving your
enemies--count me out. I love my friends. The man who pretends to love
his enemies is either a hypocrite or a poor hater.”
The older man smiled at the earnestness with which this sentence was
uttered. “I am afraid, Mr. Amos Judd, you are not a Christian. Take my
advice and join a bible-class before the devil gets his other hand upon
you.”
After a few words on other matters, Amos called his mare, and departed.
As the hour of six drew near, Mr. Cabot made a point of realizing that
he was a free agent and could do whatever he wished, and he resolved
that no guess, based on a probability, should prove correct. To assure
himself that there was no compulsion or outside influence of any
nature, he started first for the barn to execute a fantastic resolve,
then as an additional proof that he was absolutely his own master,
suddenly changed his mind, turned about, and went upstairs.
Going along a back passage with no definite intention, he paused at a
half-open door, looked in, and entered. The blinds were closed, but
between the slats came bars of light from the western sun, illumining
the little room, an unused chamber, now serving as a storehouse for
such trunks and sundry relics as had failed to reach the attic. Mr.
Cabot noticed a rocking-horse in one corner and his eyes sparkled
with a new idea. After closing the door he dragged the steed from its
resting-place, planted it in the middle of the floor, and looked at his
watch. It lacked four minutes of six. As he prepared to mount he saw
the legs of a rag-baby projecting over a shelf, and pulling her down,
could not restrain a smile as he held her in his arms. A large, round,
flat, and very pale but dirty face was emphasized by fiery cheeks,
whose color, from a want of harmony with the coarse material of her
visage, had only lingered in erratic blotches. With this lady in his
arms he mounted the horse, and, while gently rocking with both feet
on the ground, he again took out his watch and found he was just on
the minute of six o’clock. But he kept his seat for a moment longer,
judging the situation too good to be trifled with, and too unusual for
any ordinary guess. Carelessly he rocked a little faster, when a front
foot of his overladen steed slipped from its rocker and Mr. Cabot
nearly lost his balance. The damage, however, he easily repaired; the
rag-baby was replaced upon her shelf, and when he left the little room
and returned to his own chamber there was an expression upon his face
that seemed indicative of an amiable triumph. Some minutes later, with
a similar expression, he took from his pocket the slip of paper on
which Amos had written, read it once with some haste, then a second
time and more carefully.
_The Hon. James Cabot, one of the most respected residents of
Daleford, attempted at six o’clock to elope with an obscure maiden of
the village. But his horse, an animal with one glass eye and no tail,
broke down before they had fairly started and went lame in his off
front foot._
[Illustration: Gently rocking with both feet on the ground]
For several minutes he stood looking down at the paper between his
fingers, occasionally drawing a hand across his forehead. Then he
refolded the paper and placing it in his pocket, took his hat and went
out into the orchard, to think, and to be alone.
On questioning Amos he found no more light was to be expected from that
quarter, as the young man had already expounded his only theory, which
was that these visions were but optional warnings of the inevitable:
that all was fore-ordained: that there could be no variations in the
course of Fate. His mind was not philosophical; his processes of reason
were simple and direct, and he listened with profound interest to Mr.
Cabot’s deeper and more scientific attempts at reaching a consistent
explanation. Little progress, however, was made in this direction,
and the lawyer admitted that the evidence, so far, contradicted in no
detail his friend’s belief. He also found that Amos, although deeply
concerned in the subject when once opened, rarely introduced it himself
or referred to it in any way; and that he never employed his power
except in the rarest emergencies.
Moreover, the lawyer understood how such a faculty, although of value
in certain cases, would, in the great majority, be worse than useless,
while it could not fail of an overpowering influence on the being
who employed it. He respected the strength of purpose that enabled
the young man to keep it in the background, and he felt that he had
discovered at least one reason for the restless pleasures of his youth.
Now, happily, he was securing a calmer and a healthier diversion
from a life in the open air. As his neighbor became the object of a
deeper study it was evident the conflicting qualities that seemed to
give such varying colors to his character were the result of these
extraordinary conditions. His occasional recklessness and indifference
were now easily explained. His disregard for religious observances was
in perfect harmony with an insight into the workings of a stupendous
fate, immeasurably above the burning of candles and the laws of
ecclesiastical etiquette. His love of exercise, of sunshine, of every
form of pleasure and excitement, were but the means of escape from the
pursuing dread of an awful knowledge. And the lavish generosity that
often startled his friends and bewildered Daleford was a trivial matter
to one who, if he cared to peruse in advance the bulletins of the stock
exchange, could double his fortune in a day.
Off and on through July and a part of August an unwonted animation
prevailed at the Cabots’, extending at times along the maples to the
other house. Certain visitors of Molly’s were the cause of this gayety,
and in their entertainment she found Amos a helpful friend. His horses,
his fields, his groves, his fruits, his flowers, and himself, were
all at her disposal, absolutely and at any time. A few friends of his
own coming at the same period proved a welcome reinforcement, and
the leaves of the old maples rustled with a new surprise at the life
and laughter, the movement, the color, and the music that enlivened
their restful shades. And also at night, during the warm evenings when
farmers were abed, the air was awake with melodies which floated off in
the summer air, dying away among the voices of the frogs and turtles
along the borders of the meadow.
One warm afternoon in August, when there were visitors at neither
house, Amos and Molly climbed over a wall into a pasture, for a
shorter cut toward home. The pasture was extensive, and their course
lay diagonally across a long hill, beyond whose brow they could
see nothing. A crimson sunshade and white dress were in dazzling
contrast to the dull greens of the pasture, whose prevailing colors
were from rocks and withered grass. Patches of wild bushes where the
huckleberries were in overwhelming majority necessitated either wide
detours or careful navigating among thorns and briars. Her companion
seemed indifferent to the painful fact that knickerbockers are no
protection against these enemies. But pricks in the leg at the present
moment were too trivial for notice. He was speaking with unusual
earnestness, keeping close at her side, and now and then looking
anxiously into her face. It may have been the heat and the exercise
that drove the color to her cheeks, and there were also signs of
annoyance as if she desired to escape him; but the ground was uneven,
and the stones and bushes rendered haste impossible. She also appeared
tired, and when they stopped at intervals always turned away her face,
until finally, when half across the field, she sank upon a rock. “I
really must rest. I am dreadfully warm.”
He stood beside her, facing in the same direction, both looking over
the peaceful valley from which an occasional cow-bell was the only
sound.
“It is really a little unfair that my old record should come between
us. I was only twenty then, with no end of money and no parents or
guardian to look after me. Mr. Judd would let me do whatever I wished,
and of course I sailed ahead and did everything. Instead of having an
allowance like other fellows I just asked for what I wanted, and always
got it. And that is death to a boy.”
He pulled a twig from a bush and began to bite the end of it. If at
that instant he had glanced down at the face beside him, he might
have detected an expression that was not unjustly severe. There was a
distinct ray of sympathy in the eyes that were fixed thoughtfully upon
the valley.
“And then all the girls met me more than half-way, as if they, too, had
conspired against me.”
This was said in a half-resentful, half-plaintive tone, and so
delightfully free from any boastfulness that Molly, to conceal
something very near a smile, bent her head and picked nettles from her
skirt.
“Of course I liked a good time, there is no denying that, and I struck
the wrong gang at college. I suppose I was weak--everlastingly and
disgustingly weak; but really you might make allowances, and anyway--”
He stopped abruptly and turned about. Looking up she saw an expression
in his eyes, as they gazed at something behind her, that caused her
to spring to her feet and also turn about. As she did so the color
left her face and her knees gave way beneath her. Instinctively she
clutched his arm. Within twenty yards of them stood Barnard’s bull, and
in his broad black head and cruel horns, in the distended nostrils and
bloodshot eye, she read the fury of an unreasoning brute; and with it
her own death and mutilation. Helpless they stood in the open pasture
with no tree or refuge near. Amos cast a swift glance to the right,
to the left, and behind them. The bull lowered his head just a very
little, and as he stepped slowly forward she could hear his breath in
impatient puffs. Her brain began to swim and she closed her eyes, but a
sharp word and a rough shake brought her back with a start.
“Do just as I tell you. Turn and walk slowly off to the wall at the
right. Then climb over. Don’t run till I say so. Give me your parasol.”
He twisted her about and gave her a push.
“Don’t look around.”
Gasping, faint, and so weak from terror that she could hardly direct
her steps, she did as she was told. In her dazed mind there was no
conception of time or distance, but, a moment after, hearing a snort
from the bull and the quick pounding of his feet, she stopped and
turned. She expected to see Amos on the creature’s horns, but Amos
was running in the other direction, so far safe, although scarcely his
own length ahead. In an instant she saw to her horror that, although a
nimble runner, he was losing distance with every spring of the bull.
But with a presence of mind that did much toward renewing her own
courage, he kept looking over his shoulder, and when further running
was hopeless, he jumped swiftly to one side, the side up the hill, and
the ponderous brute plunged on for several feet before he could come to
a stop. Amos looked at once in her direction, and when he saw her he
shook his hand and cried, in an angry voice:
“Run! Run! Your life depends on it!”
There was no time to say more, for the bull had wheeled and was again
coming toward him. Molly turned and ran as she never ran before, and
never before did so many thoughts flash through her mind. Above all
came the torturing regret that she could be of no possible service to
the man who, at that moment perhaps, was giving up his life for hers.
Leaping rocks, stumbling over hillocks, tearing through bushes, she
finally reached the wall, scrambled up and over as best she could,
then, with a throbbing heart and pallid face, looked back into the
field.
They were farther up the hill, and Amos had evidently just jumped
aside, for again the bull and he were facing each other. The animal was
advancing slowly toward him, head down, with an angry lashing of the
tail and occasional snorts that drove the blood from the spectator’s
heart. As Amos retreated slowly, his face to the animal, she saw him
look swiftly in her direction, then back at the bull. Faster and faster
the animal came toward him, and when finally he bounded forward on
a run Amos turned and ran for his life. He was now making for this
side of the pasture, but she saw with the keenest anguish that all
his elasticity had departed, that he was losing ground much faster
than at first. That he should show signs of exhaustion caused her no
surprise, for the ground was rough, low briars and bushes concealing
rocks of treacherous shapes and varying sizes, and the race was harder
for the man than for the bull. The distance between them was being
lessened with a rapidity that might end the struggle without a second’s
warning, and the horns were now within a yard of his heels. Again he
jumped to one side, but this time it brought a cry of agony from beyond
the wall. His foot slipped, and instead of landing a yard or more
from the creature’s path, he measured his length upon the ground. The
bull lowered his head and plunged savagely upon him. The horns grazed
the prostrate body, and the heavy brute, by his own impetus, dashed
a dozen yards beyond. Amos raised first his head and shoulders, then
climbed to his feet, slowly, like one bewildered or in pain. He stood
cautiously upon his legs as if uncertain of their allegiance, but he
still clutched the crimson sunshade. The bull, with fiery nostrils
and bloodshot eyes, once more came on, and Amos started for the wall.
It was evident to the one spectator that his strength was gone. With
every jump of the thing behind him he was losing ground, and the
awful end was near, and coming swiftly. She sank against the wall and
clutched it, for the sky and pasture were beginning to revolve before
her straining eyes. But Amos, instead of coming straight for the wall,
bore down the hill. With the hot breath close upon his heels, he opened
the crimson sunshade, jumped aside, and thrust it upon the pursuing
horns: then without looking back he made a bee-line for the wall. It
was skilfully done, and for one precious moment the seeming victor was
delayed by goring the infuriating color; but only for a moment. He saw
his enemy escaping and bounded in pursuit. This time, however, he
missed him by a dozen feet and saw him vault the barrier into safety.
The wall he accepted as a conclusion, but he stood close against it,
looking over in sullen anger, frothing, hot-eyed, and out of breath.
Then he witnessed a scene, to him of little interest, but which
signified much to another person. He saw the girl, anxious, pale,
with disordered hair, eagerly approach the exhausted runner; then,
nervously pressing a hand to her cheek, she bent forward and asked a
question. The young man, who was leaning against a tree and seemed
to have trouble with his breathing, suddenly, with a joyful face,
stretched forth his hands, and with even more eagerness than her own,
asked in his turn a question, whereupon the color rushed to her face.
Looking down, then up at him, then down again, she smiled and muttered
something, and he, without waiting for further words, seized her in
his arms, and with one hand holding her chin, kissed her mouth and
cheeks, not once but many times. But she pushed away from him, flushed
and possibly angry. However, it could not have been a deep-seated or
lasting anger, for she created no disturbance when he took one of
her hands in both of his and made a little speech. It appeared an
interesting discourse, although she looked down and off, and all about,
at everything except at him, smiling and changing color all the while.
He seemed foolishly happy, and when a moment later he wished to assist
in rearranging her hair, he was not depressed because the offer was
declined with contempt.
Then the young man took a few steps toward the wall, and stood facing
the huge head whose bloodshot eyes were still upon him. As he lifted
his hand there was a hitch in the motion, and a spasm of pain drew down
a corner of his mouth, but the girl behind him could not see this.
He raised his cap and saluted his adversary.
[Illustration: “I thank you, Bull, for chasing me into Molly Cabot’s heart”]
“I thank you, Bull, for chasing me into Molly Cabot’s heart.”
Then he turned, and hand in hand, the two people disappeared among the
pines.