CHAPTER XI
THREE COUSINS
"Good gracious, Oliver, do you mean to say you really did not know? Weused to talk it over, Polly and I, and wonder whether you were notbeginning to see through us. Janet had some suspicions, and when shemet us at the fair this afternoon, she understood who we were at last.Now I will present you to Miss Eleanor Marshall Brighton, known to herown family as Polly. I would not have broken this thing to you sosuddenly, if I had taken time to think."
Oliver listened to Cousin Tom's half-apologetic explanations, yet hescarcely heard them, but still stood leaning against the doorpost,gaping with astonishment. Of course he had always known that there wassomething unusual about the Beeman, but as to who he really was he hadnever had an inkling. And this was Cousin Eleanor, the girl he hadpictured so definitely that it seemed she could not be other than theprim, detested person he had so dreaded meeting. It was the veryvividness of his idea of her that had stood in the way of his guessingthe truth. But if the Beeman were really Cousin Tom, then he could,of course, put everything right and--more immediate cause forrejoicing--Polly could cook!
"Oh, come down to the kitchen and get Cousin Jasper something to eat,"he begged. "He is almost starved. It is half past eight and he hadlunch at twelve."
He gave Tom Brighton a rapid account of what had happened that day--ofthe letter, of Cousin Jasper's increasing agitation, of his finaldesperate call for help on his own responsibility.
"Poor Oliver, what a day you have had, while the rest of us wereenjoying ourselves at the fair!" said Cousin Tom. "Polly and Ihappened to come home early before the storm, so that your messagefound us and we came at once."
"And he is starved himself," put in Polly. "He has not had anything toeat any more than Cousin Jasper."
It was wonderful to watch Polly making short shrift of the remains ofhis own awkward preparations, to see her skillful manipulation of thegas burners and her marvelous dexterity with the egg beater. And thisslim, eager, shy Polly, with her crinkled brown hair and her frecklednose, this was really Eleanor Brighton. Oliver sat down limply uponone of the kitchen chairs to contemplate the wonder of it anew.
"I did not know who you were, myself, that first day," she said,"though Daddy guessed at once and even suspected that you wereplanning to go away. Janet told us all about it this afternoon, howCousin Jasper made such a mistake and thought that he could force youto meet a girl that you were sure you wouldn't like. I would have donejust the same myself if my father had tried to make me meet you, onlyhe is too wise for such a thing."
But Oliver could only shake his head and marvel that he had notguessed.
Later, after Cousin Jasper and Oliver had feasted on the supper ofPolly's providing, they all gathered about the table in the libraryand Cousin Tom unlocked the battered old strong box that he hadbrought in from the car.
"As I am the family lawyer," he explained to Oliver--"yes, bees areonly a hobby, and my real business is the law--I have in my possessionmost of the records belonging to this affair. I have gone into thewhole matter of Anthony's claims from the very beginning and I amprepared to fight him for every inch that he demands."
He began taking papers from the box, fat rolls of legal documents,letters with their edges worn into tatters and addressed in thecrabbed writing of a century ago, title deeds discolored and yellowwith age, most of them fastened with great red seals, a mass of mustyrecords that looked dry and dull indeed.
While he was spreading them out upon the table, the door openedquietly and Janet slipped in. She assured them that she had dined andhad not got wet, that, except for Mrs. Brown's terrible fever ofanxiety lest Cousin Jasper should not be properly cared for, all hadgone well. Might she listen, please, and was there going to be anotherstory?
"Not of just the same kind that I have been telling you up yonder onthe Windy Hill," replied Tom Brighton, "although here you see thesource of all those tales and of a hundred others like them. They areall buried here in these dusty papers, the history of your forbearsand of the lands in Medford Valley. It goes all the way back, does therecord, to the time when our several times great-grandfather boughtthe first tract from the Indian, Nashola. I am always glad to thinkthat the red man had enough intelligence and the white man enoughhonor to make something like a real bargain, that this valley waspurchased for what the wild lands were worth instead of being paid forwith a gun, a drink of bad spirits, and a handful of beads. See, hereis Nashola's name; he learned to write after a fashion, although theIndian witnesses signed only with a mark. And here is the signature ofthat first one of our kin to settle in the New World, MatthewHallowell."
"Hallowell?" echoed Oliver. "Did he belong to those same Hallowells inthe story, who quarreled over the _Huntress_?"
"Yes," was the answer, "he was the beginning of a vigorous line,living in and near Medford Valley until there came at last theHallowell who moved to the seaport town, who built his first shipthere and launched into foreign trade. They became great merchants,the Hallowells, in that time between the Revolution and the War of1812 when Yankee ships and Yankee owners were lords of the high seas.But fortune failed after the death of Reuben Hallowell; his son Alanloved sailing rather than trading and his daughter Cicely married ajunior partner in a lesser firm, Howard Brighton, who thought itbetter for his sons and daughter to go to live on the lands in MedfordValley that had belonged to their mother and had been given by her tohim. Cicely's children were Ralph and Felix and Barbara Brighton, ofall of whom you have heard."
"How have they heard, Tom?" asked Cousin Jasper, and the Beemansmiled.
"I have been filling up their minds with family history, for I knewthat they must understand about this whole affair some day and itwould take too long to tell them all the facts at once. So we havecome now to the latest portion of the story," he went on, turningagain to the younger members of his audience, "to a period when threecousins, Jasper Peyton, Anthony Crawford, and Tom Brighton used tospend much time together when they were growing up.
"Jasper and I are first cousins, since my father was Ralph Brightonand his mother was that younger sister, Barbara. I have had noreluctance in telling you of that bitter mistake my father made andthe quarrel with his brother, for he spoke of it often himself andsaid that, in all his life, he never learned a more valuable lesson.Felix did not marry, since his zeal for the orchard and the bees andlater for farming on a larger and larger scale seemed to occupy hisevery thought. It was he who reclaimed the marshy, waste ground in thevalley, 'for,' he said, 'it is wrong that we on the seaboard leave ourhome acres and move farther and farther westward, looking for new landthat is easy to till. It is a wasteful policy, even for a newcountry.' That was one of the things he had learned on his longjourney across the West and back again."
"But I do not understand about Anthony Crawford," put in Oliver. "Ihaven't seen yet where he comes in at all."
"He calls us cousin, but it is a distant kinship, since he is grandsonof that Martin Hallowell who broke with his partner Reuben over thematter of the _Huntress_. He used to come often to stay in MedfordValley, for he had been left without parents and Felix Brighton washis guardian. My Aunt Barbara, Jasper's mother, had lost her husbandearly, and she went to live with her brother Felix in the yellow stonefarmhouse that had come to him from some earlier Hallowell who hadbuilt it a hundred years ago. How we loved the place and how happy weall were there, for I spent almost as much time under that wide,friendly roof as did Anthony. How patient and good Jasper's motherwas to three mischievous, active boys, and how unceasingly, wiselykind was Felix Brighton! He has done much for us, Jasper and me, andhe would, if he could, have made a man of Anthony.
"He was not like the other two of us, we could see that even when wewere children. He was quicker and more clever than we, and he wasbetter, or at least wiser, at holding his tongue and keeping histemper when the occasion served. But the key to his whole characterwas that he could never see any possession in the hands of anotherwithout instinctively wishing to have
it for himself. I have seen himmove heaven and earth to get something that he did not really want,merely because it seemed of value when it belonged to some one else.There was no one more clever than he at acquiring what he desired.
"Felix Brighton prospered greatly, but he never moved out of thecomfortable farmhouse of which we were all so fond. It became verybeautiful under his hands, extended and improved and filled with therarest treasures of his gathering. He was especially fond of pictures,so that there was a wealth of portraits and landscapes that he hadcollected or inherited, that glowed like jewels on the mellow oldwalls. He did us unnumbered kindnesses when we were boys, and when, ongrowing up, we decided that we would all three be lawyers, he set usup as partners, Peyton, Crawford & Brighton. We felt very importantwith our law books, our profound knowledge, our newly painted sign andvery little else. Even while we were studying, it was plain thatAnthony, in his erratic, changeable way, was the cleverest of us all.
"And then history repeated itself, as it so often does. The grandsonof Martin Hallowell and the two great-grandsons of Reuben fell outwith each other over just such a questionable enterprise as hadwrecked a partnership a hundred years ago. I can see him now as hecame hurrying into our office that day full of the plan for his greatscheme--just a quibble of the law and the thing was done. We were allto be made rich and successful by it, he explained. There is no use indescribing to you the intricacies of his idea; it was one of thoseshoal waters in which the honesty of young lawyers can sometimes cometo grief. The pursuit of law will winnow out the true from the false;it makes an upright man a hundred times more certain and more proud ofhis honor: it searches out the small, weak places of a meaner man'ssoul.
"Anthony tried to make this project sound quite simple andstraightforward, but I can remember how narrowly he watched us andhow, when he attempted to laugh at our objections, his voice crackedinto shrill falsetto, under pressure of his excitement. I would haveargued with him, explained, tried to dissuade him, but Jasper scornedmy temporizing and would have had none of it. His sense of justiceblazed high within him and his words leaped forth, a very avalanche ofscorn and wrath. Anthony heard him through without replying, thenturned on his heel and went out. Our partnership was at an end. Laterwe heard that he had become involved with his scheme even before hespoke to us, that he had made himself liable for a sum of money, andthat, to pay it--don't wince, Jasper, these children must know thetruth--to pay it he forged Felix Brighton's name.
"There is something very terrible in the sudden destruction of yourconfidence in some one you have loved and trusted. Anthony is greatlychanged now, although there is still a little of his old charm left.Yet you would not think of him as some one who had been an intimatepart of our lives, a comrade whose cleverness we admired and whosehonesty we had never doubted. And then he was suddenly blotted out ofour existence. The wrong he had done was hushed up, he disappearedsomewhere in the West, and it seemed that we were never to hear of himagain. The years went by, Jasper's mother and then our Uncle Felixwent from us. He had given me the lands on the west side of the river,since I was already owner of the cottage, the Windy Hill, and the beesthat he had taught me to tend and love. To Jasper he had given theyellow stone house that had been like home for us all and his intimatepossessions, the treasures it contained. He had given him also thedrained farm lands by the river, a legacy that was an occupation initself. He had seen that Jasper's bent was not really for the law, butthat his best calling was the care of such an estate as this. Moreyears passed, I became more and more absorbed in my own work down inthe seaport town that has become a city, spending my holidays and myvacations in caring for the bees, not seeing Jasper so often, for hewas over-busy also. And then Anthony came home.
"Whatever he had been doing in all this time we have no way ofknowing. He had altered greatly, so that there seemed nothing left ofhis old self except his cleverness, some lingering affection for theplace where he had been happy as a boy, and that old habit of covetingwhat other people had. He came back with a claim to make, one thatwent back as far as the day when Reuben and Martin Hallowell quarreledand made a hasty division of what had belonged to them in common.There had always been a slight doubt as to the title of the land uponwhich the yellow stone farmhouse stood, and to the upper end of thefarms by the river. Anthony knew of it from the days when we studiedlaw together and he came back determined to make that property his. Iwill not deny that he had some slight basis for his claim. He wouldaccept no compromise or offer of purchase, so in the end Jasper gavein to him."
Cousin Jasper had not spoken throughout Tom Brighton's recounting ofthe whole affair. But now he took up the tale himself, going over theground that, very evidently, he had pondered and argued and weighedwithin himself a hundred times.
"I had much and he had nothing, he was in real want and had a wife andtwo children besides. There was, as Tom says, some real basis for hisclaim since the title had never been made quite clear. And there is,further, no more bitter thing than a family quarrel, a division overthe settlement of property, this one asking for what is more than his,that one fighting to hold what is not his own--no, it was unthinkable.So we settled the matter peaceably enough. I built a new house abovehim on the hill and he settled down in the place that had been home toall of us. He seemed to have repented of the wrong he had done and wewere ready to forget it. I do not think that I ever doubted thehonesty of his purpose, at first. Then it came to my wishing for someof the old possessions for my new house and he vowed that every one ofthem was his."
"I know," said Janet, nodding quickly. "He wouldn't give up thepictures, though he did not care for them himself. They were stored inthe dust and dirt under the eaves and he asked me if you had sent meto see where he kept them. He only wanted them because they wereyours."
"I suppose he meant to sell them some day," Cousin Jasper answered,"for there were several that were of almost as much value as the houseitself. But less than ever was I willing to bicker and haggle overwhat I had really loved, and since he would not sell them to me I gavethe matter up. Even then, there was a little justice on his side, forthe pictures had been purchased with money from the lands that hecalled his. But it was my great mistake, since he did not understandat all why I yielded to him, and from that time he made certain thathe had but to force me and I would relinquish everything."
Oliver muttered something angrily and went to stand by the window. Hewanted a minute to think it out, to understand clearly before the talewent on. He could see just how Anthony had read Cousin Jasper'scharacter, sensitive, high-strung, with strong affections that noteven great wrongs could quite break down. But how mistaken the man hadbeen who thought Jasper Peyton was a weak-willed person to be ledanywhere!
"His success in getting made him greedy for more," went on CousinJasper, "and he began to push his claims further and further until Iverily believe he began to think that everything I had should be hisown. When I refused to yield one more inch, then the difficultiesbegan indeed. He let the old house fall into unbelievable disrepairand he took the stand that since I was defrauding him, he was too poorto do otherwise. I built the high wall across the garden so that Ineed not see the home I had loved dropping to pieces before my eyes.At that his anger seemed to pass beyond control. He claims this, andhe claims that, but I know that his final aim is the whole of what Ihave. He sent me a letter to-day, I do not understand why he did notcome himself. He says that he is about to take public action, that hewill bring into court the story of how Felix Brighton became hisguardian and used that position as a blind to live in possession ofAnthony's inheritance. Oh, I cannot repeat it all, his threats againstour good name and against the memory of those who are gone."
Cousin Jasper's voice dropped wearily into silence. Oliver dug hishands deep into his pockets and stood staring and scowling out throughthe window although all that he saw was the blackness outside and thedim reflection of his own face upon the pane.
"Our Uncle Felix never had the least notion that Anthony had a
claimupon the place," Tom Brighton was saying behind him. "It was a legaltechnicality that Anthony was clever enough to find and make the mostof. I do not at all believe in his right to it, even yet."
"He doesn't believe in it himself," Oliver made his declaration,whirling suddenly about upon them. "I told him that he was onlybluffing and he could not even deny it. How I hate him," he criedhuskily. "It is lucky that there are none of your bees near by, justnow!"
Jasper Peyton looked at him in blank inquiry, but the Beeman smiled,yet shook his head at the same time.
"It is not only bees that are destroyed by hating," he said, "it isevery good thing in life that dries up and blows away under the forceof dislike and bitterness. Look at Anthony, who vows he has noaffection for any one, who does not believe in friends or kindliness.He has hurt others, he has brought no happiness to himself, and,unless I am mistaken, he is going to wreck his whole scheme in onetremendous crash that we cannot now foresee. A lawyer, like myself,sees many hard, miserable, sordid things, but a Beeman has leisure tospeculate as to whither they tend. And they all tend to the samething."
They sat for some time about the table, explaining, discussing, andquestioning, until finally the muffled booming of the clock in thehall proclaimed the hour of ten. Polly's eyes were beginning to lookheavy, a fact that did not escape her father's watchful observation.
"These girls have had a long day and it is time for them to be inbed," he announced. "We have been over this whole matter and madethings clear, and we have only to decide, since we are to fightAnthony in court, just what stand we will make. We will talk thatover, Jasper, while Oliver takes your car and drives Polly home."
"I'll go with them," said Janet, jumping up also. She had beenlistening, bright-eyed and alert, through all of the story and showedno signs of sleepiness. Oliver tore himself away with some regret, forhe did not wish to miss a word of the plans the two men were making.But Polly was evidently weary and ready to go home.
"Come along, Cousin Eleanor," he said briskly, and the three went,laughing, out through the door and down the steps.
It was very dark when Oliver brought out the big car and, skirting thefallen tree, made his way carefully down the drive. A bank of cloudsto the eastward was all that was left of the storm, however, andthrough this the moon was breaking, with promise to rise clear, andcome out into an empty sky. Oliver slowed down the car as they came tothe gate and stopped for a moment to consider. The wind had dropped socompletely that they could hear every sound of the summer night, eventhe dull, far-off roar of the flooded river.
"Do you know," he began slowly, "we never remembered to tell them thatJohn Massey has left his place. I don't think any one but ourselvesknows that he went away immediately; they will be thinking that he isstill there, watching the dike. And to-night--listen how loud theriver sounds!"
"Suppose we go down and look," said Polly. "It will not take us longand the road runs close to the bank."
He turned the car accordingly and they sped down the steep road, thesky growing brighter above them and the darkness fading as the mooncame out. When they reached the last incline the whole of the valleylands, spread below them, were so flooded with light that the broadpicture looked like an etching--white fields, black trees with blackersplashes of shade, sharp-cut, pointed shadows of houses and farmbuildings, the silver expanse of the river, and the straight, whiteribbon of the road. It was all very still and peaceful, with scarcelya light in any house and no single moving figure upon the highway.Medford Valley, worn out with its day of merrymaking, was wrapped inheavy sleep. Very strangely, the sight of this unsuspecting,slumbering community seemed to fill them all with sudden misgiving.
"I hope there's nothing wrong," muttered Oliver, swinging the car intoits highest speed as they dashed down the road.
John Massey's house lay still and dark in the moonlight, its windowsstaring with the blank eyes that an uninhabited dwelling always showsthe moment home life has gone out of it. They stopped the car near hisgate and climbed out, all three of them, to walk at the foot of thehigh, grass-covered bank and search for signs of danger. It lookedfirm and solid enough, with its thick, green sod, its fringe ofwillows along the top, but with the whispering haste of the riversounding plainly against its outer wall. Standing on tiptoe, theycould catch sight of the swift, sliding water, risen so high that ittouched the very top of the bank. The roar of the swollen currentcould be heard all across the valley, but it was not so ominous,somehow, as the smaller voices of the ripples sucking and gurgling soclose to their ears.
They walked along, three ghostly figures in the moonlight, untilJanet, who happened to be ahead, stopped suddenly.
"I hear something strange; I don't understand what it is," she said.
Oliver stepped forward, bending his head to listen. Yes, he could hearit, too.
The sound was a soft hissing, as though a tiny snake might be hiddenin the grass at their feet. But there was no grass thick enough forsuch shelter, only a few sparse stalks, rising in a drift of sand atthe foot of the dike. The noise was made by the moving of the sandparticles, as they stirred and seethed, with drops of water bubblingbetween them like the trickle of a spring. As they watched, the roundwet space widened; it had been as big as a cup, now it was like adinner plate.
"It's a leak in the bank." Oliver regarded it intently, thinking itquite too small to be dangerous. "I ought to be able to put my thumbin it," he added cheerfully, "but either there is something wrong withthat Dutch story or there is something wrong with this hole."
"It isn't a joke," said Polly quickly. "They always begin that way.It--oh, run, run!"
For the boiling circle of sand had changed suddenly to a spout ofmuddy water that shot upward, spreading into a wide, brown pool thatcame washing over the grass to hide the spot where they had stood amoment before. From the higher ground of the road they watched itfollow them, rising, pausing a little, then rising again.
"Back up the car or you will have to drive through the water,"directed Polly. "Henry Brook's is the nearest house where we can findhelp. If that leak is to be blocked, the men will have to be quick."
They were in the car, Oliver had backed it round almost within its ownlength, and they were flying up the road before Polly had finishedspeaking. "Once, years ago, this long stretch of dike caved in and thewhole current of the river came roaring down through the bottom lands.But there were no houses here then."
They came to a crossroad, turned into it, and stopped short before agate. Oliver did not take time to open it, but tumbled over the top,raced across the grass, and thundered at the door of a dark, silenthouse. Oh, why did country people sleep so soundly? He knocked andknocked again and, after what seemed an interminable time, saw a lightabove and heard a window open.
"What do you want?" The farmer's big voice sounded none too pleased,but it changed quickly when Oliver told his news. "A break in thedike? Where? On Anthony Crawford's land, is it? Well, that's justwhere it would be. We don't any of us, around here, have muchfriendship for Crawford. Of course if the leak is very bad it willthreaten us all. I'll spread the alarm while you go to get Mr.Peyton."
They were away up the road again; but, fast as they flew, the newsseemed to travel faster. The rural telephone and the comfortablecountry habit of "listening in" on every message can spread tidingsbroadcast at a moment's notice. The largest farm, at the foot of thevalley, had a great bell swung above its central barn, a bell whoseexcited voice could carry but one of two messages--flood or fire.Before they were halfway up the hill its wild clanging was calling allacross the valley.
Up Cousin Jasper's avenue they came with a rush, flung themselves outof the car, and ran to the house. The two men were still bending overthe papers, Cousin Jasper, with his thin, intent face, listening, TomBrighton talking steadily, his eyes alight with that cheerful, eagerkindliness that had so drawn Oliver to him from the first moment. Theyboth turned in astonishment as the three came bursting in.
"A break in the dike at John M
assey's place? And where was JohnMassey?" Cousin Tom questioned sharply. "Gone? If we had known that hehad left, neither Jasper nor I would have been sitting here so quietlyall evening, with the river in flood. And you have given the alarm?That is good."
There was a bustle of hasty preparations, but they were still standingin the hall when there came the sound of flying wheels on the driveand the uneven hoofbeats of an uncertain old horse urged to utmostspeed.
"It's Anthony Crawford," said Oliver suddenly.
The man came in, the outcast cousin who had turned his hand againstthem all. His face was white, his gray eyes were burning withexcitement, his voice was harsh and choked when he tried to speak.
"The dike--I see you know already. I went down over the hill to lookand saw the moonlight on that pool of water. It was at John Massey'splace. I came to get help."
Cousin Tom alone answered.
"Why was John Massey gone?" he said.
Oliver stepped forward to Tom Brighton's side and looked curiously atthe man who been their enemy. He could see his hands shake as theycrushed his battered old hat between them.
"We had quarreled," Anthony Crawford explained, his voice suddenlygone little and husky. "I turned him away three days ago and--and wehad some words, so that he wouldn't stay even overnight after that. Hewatched the dike--and now the water is coming in."
One more question Cousin Tom asked.
"Why did you come to us?" he inquired steadily. "It would have beenquicker to go down through the fields to the farms in the valley, tocall out Henry Brook and send him with men and shovels and sandbagsto stop the flood. To get here is a mile by the road and there was notime to lose." He pressed his question mercilessly. "Why did you cometo us?"
Anthony Crawford moistened his dry lips, but he did not speak. Therewas a pause, though all of them knew that every second the waters ofMedford River were sweeping higher and higher. It was finally TomBrighton who answered his own question.
"You were afraid to go elsewhere. It was your doing, this flood; youtook the land, you neglected the dikes, you sent John Massey away whowould have watched against such a disaster as this. You were afraid toface those men, below, and tell them what you had done."
The other nodded.
"I haven't a friend in Medford Valley to help me--except you. Yes, Iwas afraid to face them; the break is in just the place where it mayflood the whole bottom land. I thought they wouldn't move to help meuntil it was too late. And, on my life, Tom Brighton, if we can stopthe flood I do not care what becomes of me."
It was quite true, as they could all see, that the man's desperateterror was not all for himself, that the situation was far too bad forthat. He was picturing how the whole torrent of Medford River mightsoon be sweeping across those fields of ripening grain, thosecomfortable barns with their cows and sheep and horses, thosepleasant white farmhouses where a hundred people lay asleep. He wasseeing how, little by little, he had built up the wrong that was to behis ruin, he had driven away his friends, he had seized the land, hehad turned off its guardian, and now, in a wild whirlwind, the resultsof his misdoing were upon him. He did not look at Tom Brighton's setface but at Jasper Peyton, the one he had wronged most.
"A man can't live without friends," he said. "Will you stand by me,Jasper, not for what I deserve, but for what I need?"
"Yes," answered Jasper Peyton. He smiled suddenly, with all the old,tense misery quite gone from his face. "We're going to stand by you,Anthony, all of us. We are with you still."
CHAPTER XII
MEDFORD RIVER
Cousin Tom was giving rapid directions as they went out to the waitingautomobiles. "I will go on with Jasper and we will pick up some menfrom the farms as we pass. Anthony, you had better come with Oliver,we shall want to crowd in all the farmers we can. What is it, Polly?You want to come with me? I suspect you think you are going to keepyour father out of danger and I think the same of you. There is roomin front here, between us; jump in!"
The engine grumbled and roared and the first car slid away into theshadows.
"Get in," said Oliver curtly to Anthony Crawford, while Janet openedthe door of the second motor and slipped to the far side to give himroom. None of the three spoke as they went down the drive behindCousin Tom. As they came through the gate they could hear, faintly,the wild clanging of the bell in the valley below.
Oliver was too much occupied with his driving to have any otherthought, Janet was awed into silence by the alien presence at herside, but Anthony Crawford, in that same husky, broken voice,suddenly began to speak as though he were following his thoughts outloud.
"I don't know why I came back to Medford Valley," he said. "I hadlived through every sort of thing since I went away, but I was makinggood at last. Martha--that's the girl I married, she was a miner'sdaughter--had helped me to go straight. I was working in a mine,harder work than I had ever dreamed of in my life. It was good for me,yet I kept telling myself that it was being in prison. Perhaps it was,but I had forgotten that prison was the place where I ought to be."
Oliver tilted back his head that he might hear better, but his onlyanswer was an inarticulate sound like a mutter of agreement. To reachthe valley as soon as possible and without mishap, was more importantto him, at that moment, than explanations. But Janet looked up withround, wondering eyes, eager to hear the rest.
"I kept thinking how it was here at home, so green and clean andpeaceful, not like that stark, bare mountain country where I seemed tobe working my whole life away. I told myself that a certain portion ofMedford Valley belonged to me, that I could come back and live a lifeof dignified idleness, if only I had my rights, if only Jasper wouldgive me what was my own."
"But it wasn't true. You knew that he wouldn't keep what belonged toyou," burst out Janet.
"I knew it wasn't true, but people love to deceive themselves, and Ihad to explain to Martha. She would never have come if she had knownhow things really stood; she was unwilling, even as it was. But I wasso sure, I thought I knew Jasper so well, exactly how I could threatenhim, just where I could hurt him most. Had I not learned, when I was aboy, how proud and sensitive and generous he could be? I was assuccessful as I had hoped to be, but I wanted more and more, and seewhere it has brought me in the end!"
It seemed a relief to him to confess the very whole of hiswrong-doing, to leave hidden no single meanness or small-souledthought. It was as though, in the clean night air, in the face of twojust and clear-seeing companions, he wished to cast aside all thewrong of the past before making a new beginning.
"I am going away," he said. "It isn't because I found that my plandidn't pay as I had hoped it would. It is because I was happier backthere in the West, serving out a sentence at hard labor, learning tolive by the work of my hands rather than by my dishonorable wits. Ican look back over my life and see just where my honesty began towaver, just when I first compromised with my own conscience andpersuaded myself that something was fair and honest when I knew it wasnot. We had all the same chance, Jasper and Tom and I; look at themand look at me. You may wonder why I say all this to you. Perhaps itis because you alone saw through me, dared to tell me that I had noconfidence even in my own claims, called me a man of straw and a bogy.Well, after to-night I am going back, to be a real man again."
For the first time Oliver slackened the speed of the car and nearlystopped in the road.
"Do you want to go now?" he inquired shortly. "We can take you to thestation if you do. They don't need us down there, as they do theothers."
"No, not now. I must know what my criminal bungling has amounted to,first. When I have seen the flood go down, then it will be time to go.I want to see this thing through."
They had straightened out into the level road and were forced to drivemore slowly, for the highway was no longer empty. A big tractor waslumbering ahead, farm wagons turned out for them to pass, and hastilydressed men were thronging alongside. Two of them jumped upon therunning board, but, seeing who sat in the car, muttered someimpreca
tion and dropped off again. Anthony Crawford stood up andopened the door.
"I'll walk," he announced briefly. "Load in all the men you can carry.You will need every one."
Janet climbed over to the place beside her brother, and the tonneaufilled up with men, who crowded the seats, clung to the step and thefenders, and sat in a row across the back of the car. They came to theend of the road at last where, in that place that had been so emptyand quiet half an hour ago, there was now gathered a surging crowd ofmen, of horses, tractors, automobiles, and wagons. Oliver could see,on a knoll above the others, Polly standing with two farmers' wives,the only women there.
At first he could not see the water, but, as they pressed into thecrowd, he caught sight of the broad pool, dark even in the moonlight.It was over the road, now, through the fence, and had crept halfwayacross the stretch of grass before John Massey's door. Tom Brighton'swhite-clad figure was going back and forth among the men, but it wasCousin Jasper, standing high above the others on the seat of a wagon,who was directing operations and getting this confused army of workersinto rapid organization.
"Tom, take half the men to shovel dirt and pile up the sand sacks, andsend the other half back to the sand pits to fill them. Clear the roadso that the wagons can go back and forth. Henry Brook, take out yourhorses and join your team with Johnson's, the tractor can pull twowagons and we need four horses to each of the others. Now, go to itand bring the sandbags as fast as they can be filled. We can't saveJohn Massey's house, but we will build a dam to hold the water ahundred yards back, where the ground begins to rise. And remember, youcan't be too quick if you want to save the valley."
Oliver took off his coat and jumped out of the car.
"Go over where Polly is," he told Janet "I am going into this gamewith the others."
He was in every portion of it, as the night wore by, never quiteknowing how he passed from one task to another, but following ordersblindly, hour after hour. He helped to dig, but was not quite so quickas the others; he carried the sacks of sand that were brought up,loaded high upon the wagons, but he had not the quick swing of themore sturdy farmers. He found himself at last on the high, vibratingseat of the heavy tractor, rumbling down the road with a line ofwagons behind him, stopping at the sand pits to have them filled, thenturning laboriously to haul them back again. The owner sat beside himon the first trip, directing him how to manage the unfamiliar machine,but as they made ready for a second he ejaculated, "You'll do," andjumped down to labor with the diggers. Oliver was left to drive hisclumsy, powerful steed alone.
He saw the broad, semicircular wall of piled sandbags, banked withearth, rise slowly as the men worked with feverish haste, he saw thewater come up to the foot of it, seem to hesitate, and then creep upthe side. He saw, suddenly, just as they had all stopped to breathe, along portion of the dike begin to tremble, then cave in with ahideous, sucking crash that shook the ground under them, he saw theflood of muddy water come roaring in and sweep against the painfullybuilt rampart which swayed and crumbled to its fall.
In a wild turmoil of running, shouting men, backing wagons and rearinghorses, he managed to extricate the clumsy monster that had been putunder his care, brought it laboring and snorting out on higher groundand fell to work again. The barrier they had set up with so much toilwas tumbling and collapsing in great gaps where the hungry currentflung against it, but it held just long enough for them to raiseanother wall, longer, higher, firmer than the other and built with thefrantic haste of desperate men.
The hours went by, it was long after midnight, with the sky growingpale for the morning. Once or twice Oliver had seen Anthony Crawfordworking among the rest, carrying sacks of sand, jostled and cursed bythe men about him, but in spite of their abuse, toiling steadilyonward. When the dike collapsed and the men ran for their lives, onewagon lurched off the road; its driver was flung from the seat andcaught under the wheel, while the horses, having jammed the tongueagainst the bank, reared and plunged helplessly. Oliver saw AnthonyCrawford run out, with the swift, muddy water flowing knee-deep aroundhim, watched him extricate the man, drag him to the seat, and back thefrantic horses away from the bank to bring them struggling through thewater to safety. There was no time for words of commendation. Both menat once went back to their task of carrying sacks as the slow buildingof another wall began.
Some one had built a fire on the knoll, and here the farmers' wives,with Janet and Polly among them, were boiling coffee, frying bacon,and serving out food to the hungry, worn-out men. Oliver had munched agenerous sandwich as he drove down the road. As he came back again henoticed a strange lull and observed that the men were leaning on theirshovels and that the work had ceased. Tom Brighton, wet and muddy fromhead to foot, motioned him to come near.
"We've done all we can," the big farmer beside them was saying, "thesacks are nearly gone and the men are dead beat. If she breaks throughnow, the whole valley will have to go under."
The water was halfway up the side of the earth-banked wall and wasstill rising. Here and there a muddy trickle came oozing through, tobe stopped by a clod of earth, but otherwise there was nothing to do.To Oliver it seemed that they stood for hours, staring, waiting as thewater lifted slowly, rose half an inch, paused and rose again. It wasthree-fourths of the way up; it was a foot below the lip of the wall.The space of a foot dwindled to six inches.
"If there should be a wind, now," said the man beside him hoarsely.
Oliver looked back along the valley at the arch of sky showing blueinstead of gray, at the trees moving gently in a morning breeze thattouched the hilltop, but that did not stir the still air below. Heheard Tom Brighton suddenly draw a sharp breath and he looked backquickly. Was that space above the water a little wider, was there awet black line that stretched all along the rough wall where the floodhad touched and fallen again? He was not dreaming; it was true. Thelevel of the muddy tide was dropping, the crest of the flood hadpassed.
It was broad daylight now, with the morning sunlight moving slowlydown the slope into the valley. For the first time Oliver could seeclearly the sullen, yellow pool of water, the crevasse in the dike,and John Massey's little house, submerged to its very eaves. Hewatched the shining streak of wet earth that marked the drop in thewater, he saw it broaden into a ribbon and from a ribbon turn into awide, glistening zone of safety that proved to all the danger had goneby.
"We can go now," said Cousin Tom at last. "There is work enough stillto do, but it is time for us all to rest a little. We are certainly awet and weary-looking crew."
They had breakfast, all of the cousins together, at Cousin Jasper'shouse, where Mrs. Brown, having spent half the night wringing herhands in helpless anxiety, had seemed to spend the other halfsuperintending the preparation of a feast that should be truly worthyof the occasion. The guests were all cheerful and were still so keyedup by the struggle of the night that they did not yet feel weariness.Anthony Crawford sat on one side of Cousin Jasper, Tom Brighton onthe other, while the three younger members of the party watched themwonderingly from the other end of the table. Everything, for themoment, seemed forgotten except the old comradeship of their boyhood.The only reminder of the unhappy days just passed lay in theatmosphere of relief and peacefulness that seemed to pervade the wholehouse.
The windows stood wide open and the morning wind came in to lift thelong curtains and to stir the great bowl of flowers on the table.Oliver, hungrily devouring chicken and rolls and bacon and sausagesand hot waffles with maple sirup, was saying little but was listeningearnestly to the jokes and laughter of Cousin Jasper. After a day andnight of anxiety, depression, struggle, and victory, he seemedsuddenly to have become a new man. They were talking, the threeelders, of their early adventures together, but Oliver noticed thatthe reminiscences never traveled beyond a certain year, that theirstories would go forward to the time when they were nearly grown, andthen would slip back to their younger days again. Some black memorywas laid across the happy recollection of their friendship, cuttingoff all that c
ame after; yet they talked and laughed easily of thebright, remote happiness that was common to them all. The boy noticed,also, as they sat together, that Anthony was like the others incertain ways, that his eyes could light with the same merriment asCousin Jasper's, and that his chin was cut in the same determinedline as Tom Brighton's. Yet--no--there was something about his facethat never could be quite like theirs.
They had finished at last, and Anthony Crawford, pushing back hischair, came abruptly out of the past into the present. He thrust hishand into the inner pocket of his coat and brought out somelegal-looking papers like those that Cousin Tom had locked away in thetin box.
"Here is the deed that you made out, Jasper, for the house and theland that you gave up to me. I put it in my pocket yesterday morning;it seems a year ago. The purpose I had then is something that I wouldrather forget, if I ever can. But this is what I do with it now."
He tore the heavy paper into pieces, smaller and smaller, as though hecould not demolish completely enough the record of what he haddemanded. The breeze from the garden sent the scraps fluttering overthe table and across the rug, it carried the round, red seal along thetablecloth and dropped it into Janet's lap.
"Tom will have to make out some official papers," he said, "but I wantyou to understand this fully, that there among those fragments liesthe end of this whole affair."
Cousin Jasper was about to speak, but Tom Brighton broke in ahead ofhim.
"It has turned out better than we could have hoped, Anthony," hebegan, "so that we can all agree to let bygones be bygones."
Anthony Crawford turned very slowly and looked, with those penetratinggray eyes, at Oliver.
"We owe a great deal to these children here," he said, "and as for oneof them----"
Convinced that something was about to be said of him, Oliver got upquickly, pretending that it was merely because he had finished hisbreakfast and wished to be excused, hurried across the room, andslipped out through one of the long windows that opened on theterrace. He could still hear Anthony Crawford's voice, however, in theroom behind him saying:
"It was these children who found the leak in the dike; it was Oliverwho thought of going to look for it. It was Oliver who saw through me,saw that I had not a shred of honor or honesty behind my claim andtold me what I was."
The boy moved farther away from the window so that he could not hearand stood, his hands clenched on the terrace rail, looking out overthe garden, across the pools of color and stretches of green lawn,over the wall and down the white road that led away the length of thevalley. No matter what words they might speak of him they could nevermake him forget how he had walked away down that road, meaning toleave all this vaguely understood trouble behind him. Only a chancemeeting, the Beeman's friendly smile, the interest of a story thathad caught him for a moment, and all would have been changed. No,there should be no words of praise for him.
The voices were louder behind him, for the three men were passingthrough the library, and Cousin Jasper was speaking just within.
"We still have to talk over this matter of rebuilding the dike," hesaid. "We must have your advice in that, Anthony."
"Go into the study," Anthony Crawford replied. "I must speak to Oliverfor a moment."
He came out through the window while the others walked on together.Oliver turned to face him.
"I am going now," Anthony said quietly. "I thought you would be readyto help me when it was time."
Oliver reddened when he remembered the promptness of his offer theevening before.
"Do you need to go," he said awkwardly, "when you are friends againwith every one here? Even the men in the valley don't hate you," headded bluntly, "after what you did last night. I believe Cousin Jasperwill want you to stay."
"If I let him tell me so, I will not go," the other replied quickly."It must be this minute, while my mind is still made up, or never. Iwill write to Martha to follow, I cannot even trust myself to wait forher. It is better that I should go, better for them, in the studythere, better for the community, for myself, even better for you,Oliver, I know. Come," he insisted, as the boy still hesitated, "myconfidence in you will be less great if you do not tell me that youknow it also."
"Yes," returned Oliver grudgingly at last. "Yes, I know it too."
They drove away down the rain-washed, empty road with the earlymorning wind rushing about their ears. As they climbed to the highestridge, Anthony Crawford stood up to look back down the sun-filled,green length of Medford Valley. Yet he did not speak until they hadreached the station, with the train thundering in just as they drew upbeside the platform.
"Good-by, Oliver," he said briefly.
The boy knew that the word of farewell was not for him but for allthat the man was leaving--friends, memories, the place that he hadloved in his strange, crooked way, all that he was putting behind himforever. A bell rang, a voice shouted the unintelligible somethingthat stands for "All aboard," the train ground into motion, and he wasgone.
Almost every one in Medford Valley must have slept that morningthrough the long hours until far past noon. But by four o'clock Oliverhad slumbered all his weariness away, and so had Janet. They wererestless after their excitement of the night before, and they foundthe house very still and with Cousin Jasper nowhere visible. They wentout to the garage, got into the car, and set off along the familiarway toward the Windy Hill.
"Just to see if they are there," as Oliver said to Janet.
They came up the slope through the grass and saw the blue wood smokerising lazily above them, unmistakable signal that the Beeman was atwork. Polly greeted them gayly, for she, like them, was quiterefreshed by the hours of slumber that had passed. Her father stilllooked weary, as though he had spent the interval in troubled thoughtrather than sleep, but he hailed them cheerily. All up and down thehill was a subdued and busy humming, for the day after rain is thebest of all seasons for bees to gather honey.
"We thought we must find out what the storm had done to our hives,"the Beeman said. "Only three were blown over, but there must have beena great commotion. Now we have everything set to rights and we are notin the mood, to tell the truth, for a great deal more work to-day."
"Are you too tired," Janet asked, "for--for a story?"
"No," he answered, "stories come easily for a man who has had trainingas Polly's father. I thought there was no one like her for demandingstories, but you are just such another."
They sat down on the grass with the broad shadow of the oak tree lyingall about them and stretching farther and farther as the afternoon sunmoved down the sky. They had chosen the steeper slope of the hill sothat they could look down upon the whole length of the windingstream, the scattered house-tops, and the wide green of thosegardenlike stretches that still lay, safe and serene, ripening theirgrain beside the river. The Beeman's eyes moved up and down thevalley, resting longest upon the slope opposite, where the yellowfarmhouse stood at the edge of its grove of trees and showed its widegray roof, its white thread of pathway leading up to the door, its rowof broad windows that were beginning to flash and shine under thetouch of the level rays of the sun.
"Poor Anthony," he said slowly at last, "to be banished from a placehe loved so much. And yet a person thinks it a little thing when hefirst confuses right with wrong!"
He drew a long breath and then turned to the girls with his old cheerysmile.
"A story?" he repeated. "It will not be like the others, a tale fromold dusty chronicles of Medford Valley, to tell you things that youshould know. We have lived the last chapter of that tale and now wewill go on to something new."
Oliver leaned back luxuriously in the grass, to stare up at the clearsky and the dark outline of the oak tree, clear-cut against the blue.Its heavy branches were just stirring in the unfailing breeze thatblew in from the sea, and its rustling mingled sleepily with theBeeman's voice as he began:
"Once upon a time----"
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