CHAPTER XV
BETTY TAKES COVER
In the office they found Parson Tom at work with pencil and note-book.The latter he closed as they came in.
"For goodness' sake shut that door behind you," he laughed. "I've beentrying to think of the things I need for my journey to-night, but thatuproar makes it well-nigh impossible."
The words brought Betty back to matters of the moment. Everything hadbeen forgotten in the interest of her tour of the mills at Dave's side.Now she realized that time was short, and she too must make herpreparations.
Dave closed the door.
"We'd best get down to the barn and fix things there," he said. "Thenyou can get right back home and arrange matters with Mary. Betty couldgo on and prepare her."
The girl nodded her approval.
"Yes," she said, "and I can get my own things together."
Both men looked at her.
She answered their challenge at once, but now there was a great changein her manner. She no longer laughed at them. She no longer carriedthings with a high hand. She intended going up to the camps, but italmost seemed as though she desired their justification to support herdecision. Somehow that tour of the mills at Dave's side had lessenedher belief in herself.
"Yes," she said, "I know neither of you wants me to go. Perhaps, fromyour masculine point of view, you are both right. But--but I want togo. I do indeed. This is no mere whim. Uncle, speak up and admit thenecessity for nursing. Who on earth is up there to do it? No one."
Then she turned to Dave, and her earnest eyes were full of almosthumble entreaty.
"You won't refuse me, Dave?" she said. "I feel I must go. I feel thatsome one, some strange voice, is calling to me to go. That my presencethere is needed. I am only a woman, and in these big schemes of yoursit is ridiculous to think that I should play a part. Yetsomehow--somehow---- Oh, Dave, won't you let me help, if only in thissmall way? It will be something for me to look back upon when you havesucceeded; something for me to cherish, this thought that I have helpedyou even in so small a way. You won't refuse me. It is so little toyou, and it means so--so much to me."
Her uncle was watching the grave face of the lumberman; and when shefinished he waited, smiling, for the effect of her appeal.
It was some moments before Dave answered. Betty's eyes were shiningwith eager hope, and at last her impatience got the better of her.
"You said 'yes' once to-night," she urged softly.
Her uncle's smile broadened. He was glad the onus of this thing was onthe broad shoulders of his friend.
"Betty," said Dave at last, looking squarely into her eyes, "will youpromise me to keep to the sick camps, and not go about amongst the'jacks' who aren't sick without your uncle?"
There was something in the man's eyes which made the girl drop herssuddenly. She colored slightly, perhaps with vexation. She somehow feltawkward. And she had never felt awkward with Dave in her life before.However, she answered him gladly.
"I promise--promise willingly."
"Then I'll not go back on my promise. Go and get ready, little girl,"he said gently.
She waited for no more. Her eyes thanked him, and for once, though henever saw it, nor, if he had, would he have understood it, there was ashyness in them such as had never been there before.
As the door closed behind her he turned with a sigh to his old friend.
"Well, Tom," he said, with a dry, half regretful smile, "it strikes methere are a pair of fools in this room."
The parson chuckled delightedly.
"But one is bigger than the other. You wait until Mary sees you. Myword!"
Betty hurried out of the mill. She knew the time was all too short;besides, she did not want to give the men time to change their minds.And then there was still her aunt to appease.
Outside in the yards the thirsty red sand had entirely lapped up theday's rain. It was almost as dry as though the summer rains were mereshowers. The night was brilliantly fine, and though as yet there was nomoon, the heavens were diamond-studded, and the milky way spread itsghostly path sheer across the sky. Half running in her eagerness, thegirl dodged amongst the stacks of lumber, making her way direct to apoint in the fence nearest to her home. To go round to the gates wouldmean a long, circuitous route that would waste at least ten minutes.
As she sped, the din of the mill rapidly receded, and the shadowsthrown by the flare lights of the yards behind her lengthened and diedout, merged in the darkness of the night beyond their radiance. At thefence she paused and looked about for the easiest place to climb. Itwas high, and the lateral rails were wide apart. It was all the samewhichever way she looked, so, taking her courage in both hands, andlifting her skirts knee high, she essayed the task. It was no easymatter, but she managed it, coming down on the other side much moreheavily than she cared about. Still, in her excited state, she didn'tpause to trouble about a trifle like that.
She was strangely happy without fully understanding the reason. Thistrip to the hills would be a break in the monotony of her dailyroutine. But somehow it was not that that elated her. She loved herwork, and at no time wanted to shirk it. No, it was not that. Yet itwas something to do with her going. Something to do with the hillcamps; something to do with helping--Dave--ah! Yes, it was that. Sheknew it now, and the knowledge thrilled her with a feeling she hadnever before experienced.
Her course took her through a dense clump of pine woods. She was faraway from the direct trail, but she knew every inch of the way.
Somehow she felt glad of the cool darkness of those woods. Their depthof shadow swallowed her up and hid her from all the rest of the world,and, for the moment, it was good to be alone. She liked the feelingthat no one was near her--not even Dave. She wanted to think it allout. She wanted to understand herself. This delight that had come toher, this joy. Dave had promised to let her help him in his great work.It was too good to be true. How she would work. Yes, she would strainevery nerve to nurse the men back to health, so that there should be nocheck in the work.
Suddenly she paused in her thought. Her heart seemed to stand still,then its thumping almost stifled her. She had realized her true motive.Yes, she knew it now. It was not the poor sick men she was thinking of.She was not thinking of her uncle, who would be slaving for sheer loveof his fellow men. No, it was of Dave she was thinking. Dave--her Dave.
Now she knew. She loved him. She felt it here, here, and she pressedboth hands over her heart, which was beating tumultuously and thrillingwith an emotion such as she had never known before. Never, even in thedays when she had believed herself in love with Jim Truscott. Shewanted to laugh, to cry aloud her happiness to the dark woods whichcrowded round her. She wanted to tell all the world. She wantedeverything about her to know of it, to share in it. Oh, how good Godwas to her. She knew that she loved Dave. Loved him with a passion thatswept every thought of herself from her fevered brain. She wanted to behis slave; his--his all.
Suddenly her passion-swept thoughts turned hideously cold. What ofDave? Did he?--could he? No, he looked upon her as his little "chum"and nothing more. How could it be otherwise? Had he not witnessed herbetrothal to Jim Truscott? Had he not been at her side when sherenounced him? Had he not always looked after her as an elder brother?Had he----
She came to a dead standstill in the heart of the woods, gripped by afear that had nothing to do with her thoughts. It was the harsh soundof a voice. And it was just ahead of her. It rang ominously in her earsat such an hour, and in such a place. She listened. Who could be inthose woods at that hour of the night? Who beside herself? The voicewas so distinct that she felt it must be very, very near. Then sheremembered how the woods echo, particularly at night, and a shiver offear swept over her at the thought that perhaps the sound of her ownfootsteps had reached the ears of the owner of the voice. She had nodesire to encounter any drunken lumber-jacks in such a place. Her heartbeat faster, as she cast about in her mind for the best thing to do.
The voice she had first heard now gave p
lace to another, which sheinstantly recognized. The recognition shocked her violently. Therecould be no mistaking the second voice. It was Jim Truscott's. Hardlyknowing what she did, she stepped behind a tree and waited.
"I can't get the other thing working yet," she heard Truscott say in atone of annoyance. "It's a job that takes longer than I figured on.Now, see here, you've got to get busy right away. We must get thebrakes on him right now. My job will come on later, and be the finalcheck. That's why I wanted you to-night."
Then came the other voice, and, to the listening girl, its harsh notehad in it a surly discontent that almost amounted to open rebellion.
"Say, that ain't how you said, Jim. We fixed it so I hadn't got to do athing till you'd played your 'hand.' Play it, an' if you fail clearout, then it's right up to me, an' I'll stick to the deal."
Enlightenment was coming to Betty. This was some gambling plot. Sheknew Jim's record. Some poor wretch was to be robbed. The other man wasof course a confederate. But Jim was talking again. Now his voice wascommanding, even threatening.
"This is no damned child's play; we're going to have no quibbling. Youwant that money, Mansell, and you've got to earn it. It's the spirit ofthe bargain I want, not the letter. Maybe you're weakening. Maybeyou're scared. Damn it, man! it's the simplest thing--do as I sayand--the money's yours."
At the mention of the man's name Betty was filled with wonder. She hadseen Mansell at work in the mill. The night shift was not relieveduntil six o'clock in the morning. How then came he there? What was hedoing in company with Jim?
But now the sawyer's voice was raised in downright anger, and thegirl's alarm leapt again.
"I said I'd stick to the deal," he cried. Then he added doggedly, "Anda deal's a deal."
Jim's reply followed in a much lower key, and she had to strain to hear.
"I'm not going to be fooled by you," he said. "You'll do this job whenI say. When I say, mind----"
But at this point his voice dropped so low that the rest was lost. Andthough Betty strained to catch the words, only the drone of the voicesreached her. Presently even that ceased. Then she heard the sound offootsteps receding in different directions, and she knew the men hadparted. When the silence of the woods had swallowed up the last soundshe set off at a run for home.
She thought a great deal about that mysterious encounter on her way. Itwas mysterious, she decided. She wondered what she should do about it.These men were plotting to cheat and rob some of Dave's lumber-jacks.Wasn't it her duty to try and stop them? She was horrified at thethought of the depths to which Jim had sunk. It was all so paltry,so--so mean.
Then the strangeness of the place they had selected for their meetingstruck her. Why those woods, so remote from the village? A moment'sthought solved the matter to her own satisfaction. No doubt Mansell hadmade some excuse to leave the mill for a few minutes, and in order notto prolong his absence too much, Jim had come out from the village tomeet him. Yes, that was reasonable.
Finally she decided to tell Dave and her uncle. Dave would find a wayof stopping them. Trust him for that. He could always deal with suchthings better--yes, even better than her uncle, she admitted to herselfin her new-born pride in him.
A few minutes later the twinkling lights through the trees showed herher destination. Another few minutes and she was explaining to her auntthat she was off to the hill camps nursing. As had been expected, hernews was badly received.
"It's bad enough that your uncle's got to go in the midst of hispressing duties," Mrs. Tom exclaimed with heat. "What about the affairsof the new church? What about the sick folk right here? What about oldMrs. Styles? She's likely to die any minute. Who's to bury her with himaway? And what about Sarah Dingley? She's haunted--delusions--andthere's no one can pacify her but him. And now they must needs takeyou. It isn't right. You up there amongst all those rough men. It's notdecent. It's----"
"I know, auntie," Betty broke in. "It's all you say. But--but think ofthose poor helpless sick men up there, with no comfort. They've justgot to lie about and either get well, or--or die. No one to care forthem. No one to write a last letter to their friends for them. No oneto see they get proper food, and----"
"Stuff and nonsense!" her aunt exclaimed. "Now you, Betty, listen tome. Go, if go you must. I'll have nothing to do with it. It's not withmy consent you'll go. And some one is going to hear what I think aboutit, even if he does run the Malkern Mills. If--if Dave wasn't so big,and such a dear good fellow, I'd like--yes, I'd like to box his ears.Be off with you and see to your packing, miss, and don't forget yourthickest flannels. Those mountains are terribly cold at nights, even insummer." Then, as the girl ran off to her room, she exploded in a finalburst of anger. "Well there, they're all fools, and I've no patiencewith any of 'em."
It did not take long for Betty to get her few things together and pitchthem into a grip. The barest necessities were all she required, and herpractical mind guided her instinctively. Her task was quite completedwhen, ten minutes later, she heard the rattle of buckboard wheels andher uncle's cheery voice down-stairs in the parlor.
Then she hurried across to her aunt's room. She knew her uncle so well.He wouldn't bother to pack anything for himself. She dragged a largekit bag from under the bed, and, ransacking the bureau, selected whatshe considered the most necessary things for his comfort and flung theminto it. It was all done with the greatest possible haste, and by thetime she had everything ready, her uncle joined her and carried thegrips downstairs. In the meantime Mary Chepstow, all her anger passed,was busily loading the little table with an ample supper. She mightdisapprove her niece's going, she might resent the sudden call on herhusband, but she would see them both amply fed before starting, andthat the buckboard was well provisioned for the road.
For the most part supper was eaten in silence. These people were somuch in the habit of doing for others, so many calls were made uponthem, that such an occasion as this presented little in the way ofemergency. It was their life to help others, their delight, and theircreed. And Mary's protest meant no more than words, she only hesitatedat the thought of Betty's going amongst these rough lumber-jacks. Buteven this, on reflection, was not so terrible as she at first thought.Betty was an unusual girl, and she expected the unusual from her. Soshe put her simple trust in the Almighty, and did all she knew to helpthem.
It was not until the meal was nearly over that Chepstow imparted apiece of news he had gleaned on his way from the mill. He suddenlylooked up from his plate, and his eyes sought his niece's face. She waslost in a happy contemplation of the events of that night at the mill.All her thoughts, all her soul was, at that moment, centred upon Dave.Now her uncle's voice startled her into a self-conscious blush.
"Who d'you think I met on my way up here?" he inquired, searching herface.
Betty answered him awkwardly. "I--I don't know," she said.
Her uncle reached for the salad, and helped himself deliberately beforehe enlightened her further.
"Jim Truscott," he said at last, without looking up.
"Jim Truscott?" exclaimed Aunt Mary, her round eyes wondering. Then shevoiced a thought which had long since passed from her niece's mind."What was he doing out here at this hour of the night?"
The parson shrugged.
"It seems he was waiting for me. He didn't call here, I s'pose?"
Mary shook her head. Betty was waiting to hear more.
"I feel sorry for him," he went on. "I'm inclined to think we've judgedhim harshly. I'm sure we have. It only goes to show how poor and weakour efforts are to understand and help our fellows. He is very, veryrepentant. Poor fellow, I have never seen any one so down on his luck.He doesn't excuse himself. In fact, he blames himself even more than wehave done."
"Poor fellow," murmured Aunt Mary.
Betty remained silent, and her uncle went on.
"He's off down east to make a fresh start. He was waiting to tell meso. He also wanted to tell me how sorry he was for his behavior to us,to you, Betty, and he trusted y
ou would find it possible to forgivehim, and think better of him when he was gone. I never saw a fellow socut up. It was quite pitiful."
"When's he going?" Betty suddenly asked, and there was a hardness inher voice which startled her uncle.
"That doesn't sound like forgiveness," he said. "Don't you think, mydear, if he's trying to do better you might----"
Betty smiled into the earnest face.
"Yes, uncle, I forgive him everything, freely, gladly--if he is goingto start afresh."
"Doubt?"
But Betty still had that conversation in the woods in her mind.
"I mustn't judge him. His own future actions are all that matter. Thepast is gone, and can be wiped out. I would give a lot to seehim--right himself."
"That is the spirit, dear," Aunt Mary put in. "Your uncle is quiteright: we must forgive him."
Betty nodded; but remained silent. She was half inclined to tell themall she had heard, but it occurred to her that perhaps she hadinterpreted it all wrong--and yet--anyway, if he were sincere, if hereally meant all he had said to her uncle she must not, had no right todo, or say, anything that could prejudice him. So she kept silent, andher uncle went on.
"He's off to-morrow on the east-bound mail. That's why he was waitingto see me to-night. He told me he had heard I was going up into thehills, and waited to catch me before I went. Said he couldn't go awaywithout seeing me first. I told him I was going physicking, that thecamps were down with fever, and the spread of it might seriouslyinterfere with Dave's work. He was very interested, poor chap, andhoped all would come right. He spoke of Dave in the most cordial terms,and wished he could do something to help. Of course, that's impossible.But I pointed out that the whole future of Malkern, us all, depended onthe work going through. Dave would be simply ruined if it didn't.There's a tremendous lot of good in that boy. I always knew it. Once hegets away from this gambling, and cuts out the whiskey, he'll get rightagain. I suggested his turning teetotaler, and he assured me he'd madeup his mind to it. Well, Betty my dear, time's up."
Chepstow rose from the table and filled his pipe. Betty followed him,and put on her wraps. Aunt Mary stood by to help to the last.
It was less than an hour from the time of Betty's return home that thefinal farewells were spoken and the buckboard started back for themill. Aunt Mary watched them go. She saw them vanish into the night,and slowly turned back across the veranda into the house. They were herall, her loved ones. They had gone for perhaps only a few weeks, buttheir going made her feel very lonely. She gave a deep sigh as shebegan to clear the remains of the supper away. Then, slowly, twounbidden tears welled up into her round, soft eyes and rolled heavilydown her plump cheeks. Instantly she pulled herself together, anddashed her hand across her eyes. And once more the steady courage whichwas the key-note of her life asserted itself. She could not afford togive way to any such weakness.