The Mountain Girl

  CHAPTER XXII

  IN WHICH DAVID TAKES LITTLE HOYLE TO CANADA

  "David," said his wife next day, as he came whistling up to his cabinfrom the farm below, "do you mind if I give mother a little help withthe weaving? Mattie can't do it. She's right nigh spoiled thecounterpane we had on when she came, and since mother's hurt, she can'twork the treadles, so now the hotel's open Miss Mayhew may come and findthem not half done."

  "Do I mind? Why should I mind, if you don't 'right nigh' spoil your backand wear yourself out?"

  "Then I'll go down with you after dinner and see can I patch up Mattie'smistakes. It takes so much patience--a loom does, to understand it."

  Mattie was the cousin David had imported from the low country to relieveCassandra from the burden of the work in the home below. Although adisappointment to them, she still did her work after her own fashion,clumsily and slowly, but her Aunt 'Marthy' was never at rest, proddingthe dull nature forward, trying to make her take the interest Cassandrahad done.

  David had wisely persuaded his wife to leave them to themselves, to workout the problem of adjustment to the new conditions as best they might,and his persuasions had been of a more peremptory nature than herealized. To Cassandra they had been as commands, but now--when theweaving on which the widow had counted so much was likely to be ruinedby Mattie's unskilled hands--the old mother had declared she could notbear to see her niece around and should "pack her off whar she comefrom."

  Therefore Cassandra had made her timid request--the first evidence ofshrinking from her husband she had ever given. Why was it? he askedhimself. What had he ever said or done to make her prefer a request inthat way? But it was over in an instant, and her own poised mannerreturned as they ate and chatted together.

  Little Hoyle came running up to eat with them. He had conceived adislike to the home below since the incumbent had come to take hissister's place, and evaded thus, as often as possible, his mother'svigilance. David did not mind the intrusion, but suffered the adoringlittle chap to sit at his side, ever twisting his small body about tofix his great eyes on David's face, while he plied him with questionsand hung on his words too intent to attend to his own eating unlessadmonished thereto by his sister.

  "If you don't eat, son, I'll send you back to mother," she threatened.

  "I won't go," he rebelled joyously. "I'll jes' set here 'longsidebrothah David."

  "No, you won't, young man. You'll do whatever sister says. That's what Ido." He put his hand on the boy's tousled head and turned him about tohis plate, well filled with food still untouched, but he noticed thatthe child ate listlessly, more as an act of obedience than from a normaldesire. He glanced up at his wife and saw that she also noticed Hoyle'slanguor. They finished the meal in a silence only broken by Hoyle'squestions and David's replies, now serious, now teasing and bantering.

  "You are so full of interrogation points you have no room for yourdinner. Here--drink this milk--slowly; don't gulp it."

  "I know what they be. They go this-a-way." The boy set down his glass toillustrate with his slender little hand the form of the question mark.Then he laughed out gayly. "You know hu' come I got filled up with themthings? I done swallered that thar catechism Cass b'en teachin' meSundays."

  "No, I'm thinking you just are one yourself."

  "'Cause I'm crooked like this-a-way?" He twisted about and looked up atDavid gravely.

  "No, no, son. Doctor didn't mean that," said his sister.

  "Finish your milk," said David. "We'll have some fun with themicroscope." And once again the child essayed to eat and drink a little.

  But the languor and pallor grew in spite of all David could do for him,and as the weeks passed his large eyes burned more brilliantly and histhin form grew more meagre. Cassandra got in the way of keeping him upat the cabin with her, and when she went down to weave, he went also andused to lie on the bundles of cotton, poring over the books which Davidprocured for him from time to time.

  "What he gets in that way won't hurt him. It's not like having set tasksto learn, and he's not burdened with any 'ought' or 'ought not' aboutit. Let him vegetate until cooler weather. Then, if he doesn't improve,we'll see what can be done. Something radical, I imagine."

  The fall arrived in a splendor that was truly oriental in itsgorgeousness. The changing colors of the foliage surpassed in brilliancyanything David had ever seen or imagined possible. The mantle of deepestgreen which had clothed the mountain sides all summer, becametransmuted, until all the world was glorified and glowing as if the heatof the summer sun had been stored up during the drowsy days to burstforth thus in warmest reds and golds.

  "The hills look as if they had clothed themselves in Turkish rugs,ancient and fine," said David one evening, as he sat on his rock,watching them burn in the afterglow of the setting sun.

  "How much there is for me to learn and know," Cassandra replied in a lowvoice. "I never saw a Turkish rug. You often speak of things I knownothing about."

  David laughed and turned upon her happy eyes. "Why so sad for that? Didyou think I loved you and married you for your worldly knowledge?" Shesmiled back at him and was silent. Presently he continued. "Now, whileHoyle is not here, I wish to talk to you a little about him."

  "Yes, David." Her heart fluttered with a nameless fear, but she betrayedno sign of emotion.

  "You've seen, of course. It's not necessary to tell you."

  "No, David--only--does it mean death?" She put her hand out to him, andhe took it in his and stroked it.

  "Not surely. We'll make a fight for him, won't we, dear?"

  "Oh, David! What can we do?" she moaned.

  "There's a thing to do that I've been reserving as a last resort. Ithink the time has come to try it. This curvature presses on some vitalpart, and the action of his heart is uncertain. He needs the tonic ofthe cold,--the ice and snow. Would you trust him to me, dear? I'll takehim to Doctor Hoyle. You know very well everything kindness and skillcan do will be done for him there."

  "Yes, yes, David. You are so good to him always! Would--would yougo--alone with him?" She drew closer to him, her head on his shoulderand her hand in his, but he could not see her face.

  "You mean without you, dearest?"

  "Yes."

  "That may be as you say. Would you prefer to go with us?"

  She drew a long breath, slowly, like an indrawn sigh, and somethingtrembled to pass her heart, but suddenly the old habit of reserve sealedher lips and she remained silent.

  "What do you say?" he urged.

  "Tell me first--do you want me to go?"

  He was silent, and they sat waiting for each other. Then he said, "I dowant you to go--and yet I don't want you to go--yet. Sometime, ofcourse, we must go where I may find wider scope for my activities." Hefelt her quiver of anxiety. "Not until you are quite ready yourself,dear, always remember that." Still she was silent, and he continued: "Ican't say that I'm quite ready myself. I would prefer one more yearhere, but Hoyle must be removed without delay. We may have waited toolong as it is. Will your mother consent? She must, if she cares to seehim live."

  "Oh, David! Go, go. Take him and go to-morrow. Leave me here andgo--but--come back to me, David, soon--very soon. I--I shall need you,I-- Can you leave Hoyle there and come back, David? Or must you bidethere, too?" Suddenly she bowed her face in her hands. "Oh, I'm sowicked and selfish to think of leaving him there without you or me ormother--one. David, what can we do? He might die there, and you--youmust come back for the winter; what would save him, might kill you. Oh,David! Take me with you, and leave me there with him, and you come back.Doctor Hoyle will take care of him--of us--once we are there."

  "Now, now, now! hold your dear heart in peace. Why, I'm well. To stayanother winter would only be to establish myself in a more ruggedcondition of body--not that I must do so. We'll talk with your motherto-morrow. It may be hard to persuade her."

  But he found the mother most reasonable and practical. He even tried toabate her perfect trust in him and his abilit
y to bring the child backto her quite well and strong.

  "This isn't a trouble that is ever really cured, you know. When takenyoung enough, it may be helped, and I've known people who have livedlong and useful lives in spite of it. That's all we may hope for."

  "Waal, I 'low ye can't git him no younger'n he be now, an' he's thatpeart, I reckon he's worth hit--leastways to we-uns."

  "Of course he's worth it."

  "You are right good to keer fer him like you have. I'd do a heap fer youef I could. All I have is jest this here farm, an' hit's fer you an'Cass. On'y ef ye'd 'low me an' leetle Hoyle to bide on here whilst welive--"

  David was touched. "Do you realize I've found here the two greatestthings in the world, love and health? All I want is for you to know andremember that if I can't succeed in doing all I would like for the boy,at least I tried my very best. I may not succeed, you know, but this isthe only thing to do now--the only thing."

  David parted from his young wife, leaving her standing in the door oftheir cabin, clad in her white homespun frock, smiling, yet tearful andpale. He was to walk down to the Fall Place, where Jerry Carew waitedwith the wagon in which he had arrived, and where his baggage had beenbrought the day before. When he came to the steepest part of thedescent, he looked back and saw Cassandra still standing as if in atrance, gazing after him. He felt his heart lean towards her, and,turning sharply, walked swiftly to her and took her once more in hisarms and looked down into those deep springs--her sweet gray eyes. Thusfor a long moment he held her to his heart with never a word. Then sheentered the little home, and he walked away, looking back no more.