CHAPTER XV
IN WHICH JERRY CAREW GIVES DAVID HIS VIEWS ON FUTURE PUNISHMENT, ANDLITTLE HOYLE PAYS HIM A VISIT AND IS MADE HAPPY
Uncle Jerry Carew had led David's horse down to the station readysaddled to meet him, according to agreement, and side by side they rodeback, the old man beguiling the way with talk of mountain affairs mostinteresting to the young doctor, who led him on from tales of his ownyouthful prowess, "when catamounts and painters war nigh as frequent aswoodchucks is now," until he felt he knew pretty well the history of allthe mountain side.
"Yas, when I war a littlin', no highah'n my horse's knees, I kinremember thar war a gatherin' fer a catamount hunt on Reed's Hill ovahto'ds Pisgah. Catamounts war mighty pesterin' creeters them days. Ev'yman able to tote a gun war thar. Ol' man Caswell--that war MizMerlin--she war only a mite of a baby then--her gran'paw, he war theoldest man in th' country; he went an' carried his rifle his paw fit inth' Revolution with. He fit at King's Mountain, an' all about here hefit."
"Did he fight in the Civil War, too?"
"Her gran'paw's paw? No. He war too ol' fer that, but his gran'sonCaswell, he fit in hit, an' he nevah come back, neither. Ol' MizCaswell--Cassandry Merlin's gran'maw, she lived a widow nigh on tothirty year. She an' her daughter--that's ol' Miz Farwell that isnow--they lived thar an' managed the place ontwell she married Merlin."
"You knew her first husband, then?"
"Yas, know him? Ev'ybody knew Thad Merlin. He come f'om ovah Pisgah way,an' he took Marthy thar. Hit's quare how things goes. I always likedThad Merlin. The' wa'n't no harm in him."
David saw a quaint, whimsical smile play about the old man's mouth. "Hewar a preacher--kind of a mixtur of a preacher an' teacher an hunter.Couldn't anybody beat him huntin'--and farmin'--well he could farm,too,--better'n most. He done well whatever he done, but he had a rightquare way. He built that thar rock wall an' he 'lowed he'd have hit runplumb 'round the place.
"He war a fiddler, and he'd build awhile, and fetch his fiddle--hewarn't right strong--an' then he'd set thar on the wall an' fiddle tothe birds; an' the wild creeturs, they'd come an' hear to him. I seensquerrels settin' on end hearkin' to him, myself. Arter a while, folksbegun to think 'at he didn't preach the right kind of religion, an' theywouldn't go to hear him no more without hit war to listen did he sayanythin' they could fin' fault with. 'Pears like they got in that-a-waythey didn' go fer nothin' else. Hit cl'ar plumb broke him all up. Hequit preachin' an' took more to fiddlin', an' he sorter grew puny, an'one day jes' natch'ly lay down an' died, all fer nothin', 'at anybodycould see."
"What was the matter with his preaching?" asked David, and again thewhimsical smile played around the old man's mouth, and his thin lipstwitched.
"I reckon thar wa'n't 'nuff hell 'n' damnation in hit. Our people hereon the mountain, they're right kind an' soft therselves. They don't whopther chillen, nor do nothin' much 'cept a shootin' now an' then, butthat's only amongst the men. The women tends mostly to the religion, an'they likes a heap o' hell 'n' damnation. Hit sorter stirs 'em up an'gives 'em somethin' to chaw on, an' keeps 'em contented like. They hassomethin' to threat'n ther men folks with an' keep ther chillen straighton, an' a place to sen' ther neighbors to when they don't suit. Yas,hit's right handy fer th' women. I reckon they couldn't git on withouthit."
"Do they think they will have bodies that can be hurt by any such thingin the next world?"
"I reckon so. But preacher Merlin, he said that thar war paths o' lightan' paths o' darkness, an' that eve'y man he 'bided right whar he war atwhen he died. Ef he hed tuk the path o' darkness, thar he war in hit;but ef he hed tuk the path o' light whar war heaven, then he war thar.An' he said the Lord nevah made no hell, hit war jes' our own selvesmade sech es that, an' he took an' cut that thar place cl'ar plumb out'nthe Scripturs an' the worl' to come. But he sure hed a heap o larnin',only some said a sight on hit war heathen, an' that war why he lef' allthe hell an' damnation outen his religion."
Thus enlightened concerning many things, both of this particular bit ofmountain world, which was all the world to his companion, and of theworld to come, Thryng rode on, quietly amused.
Sometimes he dismounted to investigate plants new to him, or to gather abit of moss or fungi or parasite--anything that promised an elucidatinghour with his splendid microscope. For these he always carried at thepommel of his saddle an air-tight box. The mountain people supposed hecollected such things for the compounding of his drugs.
When they reached the Fall Place, David continued along the main roadbelow and took a trail farther on, merely a foot trail little used, tohis eyrie. He had not seen Cassandra since they had walked together downfrom Hoke Belew's place. He had gone to Farington partly to avoid seeingher, nor did he wish to see her again until he should have so masteredhimself as to betray nothing by his manner that might embarrass her orremind her painfully of their last interview, knowing he must eliminateself to reestablish their previous relations.
David rode directly to his log stable, put up his horse, then unslunghis box and walked with it toward his cabin. Suddenly he stopped. Fromthe thick shrubbery where he stood he could see in at the large windowwhere his microscope was placed quite through his cabin into the light,white canvas room beyond. Before the fireplace, clearly relieved againstthe whiteness of the farther room, stood Cassandra, gazing intently atsomething she held in her hand. David recognized it as a small, framedpicture of his mother--a delicately painted miniature. He kept it alwayson the shelf near which she was standing. He saw her reach up andreplace it, then brush her hand quickly across her eyes, and knew shehad been weeping. He was ashamed to stand there watching her, but hecould not move. Always, it seemed to him, she was being presented to himthus strongly against a surrounding halo of light, revealing everygracious line of her figure and her sweet, clean profile.
He turned his eyes away, but as quickly gazed again; she haddisappeared. He waited, and again she passed between his eyes and thelight, here and there, moving quietly about, seeing that all was inorder, as her custom was when she knew him to be absent.
He saw her brushing about the hearth, carefully wiping the dust from hisdisordered table, lifting the books, touching everything tenderly andlightly. His flute lay there. She took it in her hands and looked downat it solemnly, then slowly raised it to her lips. What? Was she goingto try to play upon it? No, but she kissed it. Again and again shekissed the slender, magic wand, hurriedly, then laid it very gently downand with one backward glance walked swiftly out of the cabin and awayfrom him, down the trail, with long, easy steps. Only once more she drewher hand across her eyes, and with head held high moved rapidly on.Never did she look to the right or the left or she must have seen him ashe stood, scarcely breathing and hard beset to hold himself back andallow her to pass him thus.
Now he knew that she had been deeply stirred by him, and the revelationfell upon his spirit, filling him with a joy more intense than anythinghe had ever felt or experienced before, so poignantly sweet that it hurthim. Had he indeed entered into her dreams and become an undercurrent inher life even as she had in his, and did her soul and body ache for himas his for her?
Then he suffered remorse for what he had done. How long she had defendedherself by that wall of impersonality with which she had surroundedherself! He had beaten down the ramparts and trampled in the garden ofher soul. As he stood in the door of his cabin, the place seemed tobreathe of her presence. She had made a veritable bower of it for hisreturn. Every sweet thing she had gathered for him, as if, out of herlove and her sorrow, she had meant to bring to him an especial blessing.
A shallow basin filled with wild forget-me-nots stood on the shelfbefore his mother's picture. Ferns and vines fell over the stone mantle,and in earthen jars of mountain ware the early rhododendron, with itsdelicate, pearly pink blossoms, filled the dark corners. Masses of theplumed white ash shook feathery tassels along the walls, making the airsweet with their fragrance. Ah, how clean and fresh everything was! Allhis disorder was set
to rights, and fresh linen was on his bed in hiscanvas room.
Even his table was laid with his small store of dishes, and food placedupon it, still covered in the basket he was now so accustomed to see.Sweet and dainty it all was. He had only to light the fat pine stickslaid beneath the kettle swung above and make his tea, and his meal wasready. Had she divined he would not stop at the Fall Place this time,when in the past it had been his custom to do so? Ah, she knew; for isnot the little winged god a wonderful teacher?
Thryng was humbled in the very dust and ashes of repentance as he satdown to his late dinner. The fragrance in the room, all he ate,everything he touched, filled his senses with her; and he--he had onlybrought her sorrow. He had come into her life but to bruise her spiritand leave her sad at heart with a deep sadness he dared not and couldnot alleviate. He lifted a pale purple orchid she had placed in atumbler at his hand and examined it. Evidently she had thought this thechoicest of all the woodland treasures she had brought him, and hadplaced it there, a sweet message. What should he do? Ah, what could hedo? He must not see her yet--at least not until to-morrow.
Later, David brought in his specimens and occupied himself with hismicroscope. He had begun a careful study of certain destructive things.Even here in the wild he found them, evil and unwholesome, clinging tothe well and strong, slowly but surely sapping the vitality of those whogave them life. Every evil, he thought, must, in the economy of nature,have its antidote. So, with the ardor of the scientist, he divided withcare the nasty, pasty growth he had found and prepared his plates.Systematically he made drawings and notes as he studied the magnifiedatoms beneath his powerful lens, and while he sat absorbed in his work,Hoyle's childish voice piped at him from the doorway.
"Howdy, Doctah Thryng."
"Why, hello! Howdy!" said David, without looking up from his work.
"What you got in that thar gol' machine? Kin I look, too?"
"What have I got? Why--I've got a bit of the devil in here."
"Whar'd you git him? Huh?"
"Oh, I found him along the road between here and the station."
"Did--did he come on the cyars with you? Whar war he at? Hu come he inthar?" David did not reply for an instant, and the awed child drew astep nearer. "Whar war he at?" he insisted. "Hu come he in thar?"
"He was hanging to a bush as I came along, and I put him in my box andbrought him home and cut him up and put a little bit of him in here."
Then there was silence, and David forgot the small boy until he heard adeep-drawn sigh behind him. Looking up for the first time, he saw himstanding aloof, a look of terror in his wide eyes as if he fain wouldrun away, but could not from sheer fright. Poor little mite! David inhis playful speech had not dreamed of being taken in earnest. He drewthe child to his side, where he cuddled gladly, nestling his twistedlittle body close, partly for protection, and partly in love.
"You reckon he's plumb dade?" David could feel the child's heart beatingin a heavy labored way against his arm as he held him, and, pushing hispapers one side, he lifted him to his knee.
"Do I reckon who's dead?" he asked absently, with his ear pressed to thechild's back.
"The devil what you done brought home in yuer box."
"Dead? Oh, yes. He's dead--good and dead. Sit still a moment--so--nowtake a long breath. A long one--deep--that's right. Now another--so."
"What fer?"
"I want to hear your heart beat."
"Kin you hear hit?"
"Yes--don't talk, a minute,--that'll do."
"What you want to hear my heart beat fer? I kin feel hit. Kin you feelyourn? Be they more'n one devil?"
"Heaps of them."
"When I go back, you reckon I'll find 'em hanging on the bushes? Dothey hang by ther tails, like 'possums does?"
Comfortable and happy where he was, the little fellow dreaded thedistance he must traverse to reach his home under the peculiar phenomenaof devils hanging to the bushes along his route.
"Oh, no, no. Here, I'll show you what I mean." Then he explainedcarefully to the child what he really meant, showing him some of thestrange and beautiful ways of nature, and at last allowing him to lookinto the microscope to see the little cells and rays. As he patientlyand kindly taught, he was pleased with the child's eager, receptive mindand naive admiration. Towards evening Hoyle was sent home, quite at restconcerning devils and all their kin, and radiantly happy with a box ofmany colored pencils and a blank drawing-book, which David had broughthim from Farington.
"I kin larn to make things like you b'en makin' with these, an' Cass,she'll he'p me," he cried.
"What is Cass doing to-day?" David ventured.
"She be'n up here most all mornin', an' I he'ped get the light ud ferfire, an' then she sont me home to he'p maw whilst she stayed to fixup."
"But now, I mean, when you came up here?"
"Weavin' in the loom shed. Maw, she has a lot o' little biddies. The ol'hen hatched 'em, she did."
"What have you done to your thumb?" asked David, seeing it tied aboutwith a rag.
"I plunked hit with the hammer when I war a-makin' houses fer thebiddies. I nailed 'em, I did."
"You made the chicken coops? Well, you are a clever little chap. Let mesee your hand."
"Yas, maw said I war that, too."
"But you weren't very clever to do this. Whew! What did you hit yourthumb like that for?"
"Dunno." He looked ruefully at the crushed member which the doctor lavedgently and soothingly.
"Why didn't you come to me with it?"
"Maw 'lowed the' wa'n't no use pesterin' you with eve'ything. She tol'me eve'y man had to larn to hit a nail on the haid."
David laughed, and the child trotted away happy, his hand in a slingmade of one of the doctor's linen handkerchiefs, and his box of pencilsand his book hugged to his irregularly beating heart; but it was with agrave face that Thryng saw him disappear among the great masses of pinklaurel bloom.
That evening, as the glow in the west deepened and died away and thestars came out one by one and sent their slender rays down upon thehills, David sat on his rock with his flute in his hand, waiting for amoment to arrive when he could put it to his lips and send out themessage of glad hopes he had sent before. She had asked that one littlething, that his music might still be glad, and so for Cassandra's sakeit must be.
He tried once and again, but he could not play. At last, putting awayfrom him his repentant thoughts, he gave his heart full sway, saying tohimself: "For this moment I will imagine harmlessly that my vision isall mine and my dream come true. It is the only way." Then he played asif it were he whom she had kissed so passionately, instead of his flute;and thus it was the glad notes were falling on her spirit when Fralefound her.