CHAPTER XXVII
IN WHICH THE OLD DOCTOR AND LITTLE HOYLE COME BACK TO THE MOUNTAINS
Cassandra, seated on the great hanging rock before her cabin, watchedthe sunrise where David had so often stood and waited for the dawnduring his winter there alone. This morning the mists obscured thevalleys and the base of the mountains, while the sky and the whole earthglowed with warm rose color.
Presently she rose and walked with lifted head into the cabin, andprepared to light a fire on the hearth. In the canvas room the bed wasmade smoothly, as she had made it the morning David left. No one hadslept in it since, although Cassandra spent most of her days there.Everything he had used was carefully kept as he had left it. Hismicroscope, covered from dust, stood with the last specimen still underthe lens. A book they were reading together lay on the corner shelf,with the mark still in the place where they had read last.
After lighting the fire, she sat near it, watching the flames steal upfrom the small pile of fat pine chips underneath, sending up red tonguesof fire, until the great logs were wrapped in the hot embrace of theflames, trembling, quivering, and leaping high in their mad joy,transmuting all they touched.
"It's like love," she murmured, and smiled. "Only it's quicker. It doesin one hour what love takes a lifetime to do. Those logs might have lainon the ground and rotted if they'd been left alone, but now the firejust holds them and caresses them like, and they grow warm and glow likethe sun, and give all they can while they last, until they're almost toobright to look at. I reckon God has been right good to me not to let melie and rot my life away. He sent David to set my heart on fire, and Iguess I can wait for him to come back to me in God's own time."
She rose and brought from the canvas room a basket of willow, woven inopen-work pattern. It was a gift from Azalea, who had learned from hermother the art of basket weaving. Some said Azalea's grandmother washalf Indian, and that it was from her they had learned their quaintpatterns and shapes, and that she, and her Indian mother before her, hadbeen famous basket weavers.
This pretty basket was filled with very delicate work of fine muslin,much finer than anything Cassandra had ever worked upon before. Herhands no longer showed signs of having been employed in rough, coarsetasks; they were soft and white. She placed the basket of dainty sewingon the same table which had served as an altar when she knelt besideDavid and was made his wife. It was serving as an altar still, bearingthat basket of delicate work.
She had become absorbed in a book--not one of those David had suggested.It is doubtful, had he been there, whether he would have really liked tosee her reading this one, although it was written by Thackeray, dear toall English hearts. It is more than probable that he would have thoughthis young wife hardly need be enlightened upon just the sort of thingswith which _Vanity Fair_ enriches the understanding.
Be it how it may, Cassandra was reading _Vanity Fair_, which she foundin the box of books David had opened so long before. While she read sheworked with her fingers, incessantly, at a piece of narrow lace, with ashuttle and very fine thread. This she did so mechanically that shecould easily read at the same time by propping the book open on thetable before her. For a long time she sat thus, growing more and moreinterested, until the fire burned low, and she rose to replenish it.
The logs were piled beside the door of the small kitchen David had builtfor her, and where he had placed the cook stove. She had come up earlythis morning, because she was sad over his last letter, in which he hadtold her of his disappointment in having to cancel his passage toAmerica. Hopeful and cheery though the letter was, it had struck dismayto her heart; it was her way when sad, and longing for her husband, togo up to her little cabin--her own home--and think it all over alone andthus regain her equanimity.
Here she read and thought things out by herself. What strange peoplethey were over there! Or perhaps that was so long ago--they might havechanged by this time. Surely they must have changed, or David would havesaid something about it. He never would become a lord, to be one of suchpeople--never--never! It was not at all like David.
A figure appeared in the doorway. "Cassandra! What are you doing hereall by yourself?"
It was Betty Towers. Cassandra ran joyfully forward and clasped thelittle woman in her arms. Almost carrying her in, she sat her by thepleasant open fire. Then, seeing Betty's eyes regarding herquestioningly, she suddenly dropped into her own chair by the table,leaned her head upon her arms, and began to weep, silently.
In an instant Betty was kneeling by her side, holding the lovely head toher breast. "Dearest! You shan't cry. You shan't cry like that. Tell meall about it. Why on earth doesn't Doctor Thryng come home?"
Cassandra lifted her head and dried her tears. "He was coming. The lastletter but one said he was to sail next day. Then last night cameanother saying the only man who could look after very important businessfor him had been thrown from his horse and hurt so bad he may die, andDavid had to give up his passage and go back to London. He may have togo to Africa. He felt right bad--but--"
"Goodness me, child! Why, he has no business now more important thanyou! What a chump!"
Cassandra stiffened proudly and drew away, taking up her shuttle andbeginning her work calmly as if nothing had happened to destroy hercomposure.
"I've not written David--anything to disturb him--or make him hurryhome."
"Oh, Cassandra, Cassandra! You're not treating either him or yourselffairly."
"For him--I can't help it; and for me, I don't care. Other women havegot along as best they could in these mountains, and I can bear whatthey have borne."
"But why on earth haven't you told him?"
Cassandra bent her head lower over her bit of lace and was silent. Bettydrew her chair nearer and put her arms about the drooping girl.
"Can't you tell me all about it, dear?"
"Not if you are going to blame David."
"I won't, you lovely thing! I can't, since he doesn't know--but why--"
"At first I couldn't speak. I tried, but I couldn't. Then he had to takeHoyle North, and I thought he would see for himself when he cameback--or I could tell him by that time. Then came that dreadfulnews--you know--four, all dead. His brother and his two cousins allkilled, and his uncle dying of grief; and he had to go to his mother orshe might die, too, and then he found so much to do. Now, you know hehas to be a--"
She was going to say "a lord," but, happening to glance down at her openbook, the name of "Lord Steyne" caught her eye, and it seemed to her atitle of disgrace. She must talk with David before she allowed him to beknown as "a lord," so she ended hurriedly: "He has to be a differentkind of a man, now--not a doctor. He has a great many things to do andlook after. If I told him, he would leave everything and come to me,even if he ought not, and if he couldn't come, he would be troubled andunhappy. Why should I make him unhappy? When he does come home, he'll beglad--oh, so glad! Why need he know when the knowing will do no good,and when he will come to me as soon as he can, anyway?"
"You strange girl, Cassandra! You brave old dear! But he must come,that's all. It is his right to know and to come. I can tell him. Letme."
"No, no. Please, Mrs. Towers, you must not. He will come back as soon ashe can; and now--now--he will be too late, since he--he did not sailwhen he meant to."
Betty rose with a set look about the mouth. "Unless we cable him,Cassandra. Would there be time in that case? Come, you must tell me."
"No, no," wailed the girl. "And now he must not know until he comes. Itwould be cruel. I will not let you write him or cable him either."
"Then what will you do?"
"Oh, I don't know. I'll think out a way. You'll help me think, but youmust promise me not to write to David. I send him a letter every day,but I never tell him anything that would make him uneasy, because hehas very important business there for his mother and sister, even morethan for himself. You see how bad I would be to write troubling thingsto him when he couldn't help me or come to me." A light broke over BettyTowers's face
.
"I can think out a way, dear, of course I can. Just leave matters tome."
Thus it was that Doctor Hoyle received a letter in Betty's ownimpassioned and impulsive style, begging him, for love's sake, to leaveall and come back to the mountains and his own little cabin, whereCassandra needed him.
"Never mind Doctor Thryng or anything surprising about his being absent;just come if you possibly can and hear what Cassandra has to say aboutit before you judge him. She is quaint and queer and wholly lovely. Ifyou can bring little Hoyle with you, do so, for I fear his mother isgrieving to see him. She wrote me a most peculiar and pathetic letter,saying her daughter was so silent about her affairs that she herself'war nigh about dead fer worryin', and would I please come and see couldI make Cass talk a leetle,' so you may be sure there is need of you. Thewinter is glorious in the mountains this year. Your appearance will seteverything right at the Fall Place, and Cassandra will be safe."
Old Time, the unfailing, who always marches apace, bringing with himchanges for good or evil, brought the dear old doctor back to the FallPlace--brought the small Adam Hoyle, with his queer little twisted neckand hunched back, drawn by harness and plaster into a much improvedcondition, although not straight yet--brought many letters from Davidfilled with postponements and regrets therefor--and brought also alittle son for Cassandra to hold to her bosom and dream and pray over.
And the dreams and the prayers travelled far--far, to the sunny-hairedEnglishman wrapped in the intricate affairs of a great estate. How muchmoney would accrue? How should it be spent? What improvements should bemade in their country home? When Laura's coming out should be? How manyof her old companions might she retain? How many might she call friends?How many were to be hereafter thrust out as quite impossible? Shouldshe be allowed a kennel, or should her sporting tendencies bediscouraged?
All these things were forced upon David's consideration; how then couldhe return to his young wife, especially when he could not yet bringhimself to say to his world that he had a young wife. Impatient he mightbe, nervous, and even irritable, but still what could he do? While therein the faraway hills sat Cassandra, loving him, brooding over him withserene and peaceful longing, holding his baby to her white breast,holding his baby's hand to her lips, full of courage, strong in herfaith, patient in spirit, until as days and weeks passed she grew welland strong in body.
Being sadly in need of rest, the old doctor lingered on in the mountainsuntil spring was well advanced. Slight of body, but vigorous and wiry,and as full of scientific enthusiasm as when he was thirty yearsyounger, he tramped the hills, taking long walks and climbs alone, orshorter ones with Hoyle at his heels like a devoted dog, shrillingquestions as he ran to keep up. These the good doctor answered accordingto his own code, or passed over as beyond possibility of reply withquizzical counter-questioning.
They sat together one day, eating their luncheon in the shelter of agreat wall of rock, and below them lay a pool of clear water whichtrickled from a spring higher up. Now and then a bullfrog would soundhis deep bass note, and all the time the high piping of the peepers madeshrill accompaniment to their voices as they conversed.
The doctor had made an aquarium for Hoyle, using a great glass jar whichhe obtained from a druggist in Farington. They had come to-day on aquest for snails to eat the green growth, which had so covered the sidesof the jar as to hide the interesting water world within from the boy'seyes. Many things had already occurred in that small world to set theboy thinking.
"Doctah Hoyle, you remembeh that thar quare bunch of leetle sticks an'stones you put in my 'quar'um first day you fixed hit up fer me?"
"Yes, yes."
"Well, the' is a right quare thing with a big hade come outen hit, an'he done eat up some o' the leetle black bugs. I seed him jump quicker'nlightnin' at that leetlist fish only so long, an' try to bite a pieceouten his fin--his lowest fin. What did he do that fer?"
"Why--why--he was hungry. He made his dinner off the little black bugs,and he wanted the fin for his dessert."
"I don't like that kind of a beast. Oncet he was a worm in a kind of ahole-box, an' then he turned into a leetle beast-crittah; an' what'll hebe next?"
"Next--why, next he'll be a fly--a--a beautiful fly with four wings allblue and gold and green--"
"I seen them things flyin' round in the summeh. Hit's quare how thingsgits therselves changed that-a-way into somethin' else--from a worm intothat beast-crittah an' then into one o' these here devil flies. Youreckon hit'll eveh git changed into something diff'ent--some kind er abird?"
"A bird? No, no. When he becomes a f--fly, he's finished and done for."
"P'r'aps ther is some folks that-a-way, too. You reckon that's what ailsme?"
"You? Why,--why what ails you?"
"You reckon p'r'aps I mount git changed some way outen this here quareback I got, so't I can hol' my hade like otheh folks? Jes' go to sleeplike, an' wake up straight like Frale?"
The old doctor turned and looked down a moment on the child sittinghunched at his side. His mouth worked as he meditated a reply.
"What would you do if you could c--arry your head straight like Frale?If you had been like him, you would be running a 'still' pretty soon.You never would have come to me to set you straight, and so you wouldn--never have seen all the pictures and the great cities. You are goingto be a man before you know it, and--"
"And I'll do a heap o' things when I'm a man, too--but I wisht--Iwisht-- These here snails we b'en hunt'n', you reckon they're donegrowed to ther shells so they can't get out? What did God make 'emthat-a-way fer?"
"It's all in the order of things. Everything has its place in the worldand its work to do. They don't want to get out. They like to carry theirbones on the outside of their bodies. They're made so. Yes, yes, all inthe order of things. They like it."
"You reckon you can tell me hu' come God 'lowed me to have this-er lumpon my back? Hit hain't in no ordeh o' things fer humans to be like Ibe."
The sceptical old man looked down on the child quizzically, yet sadly.His flexible mouth twitched to reply, but he was silent. Hoyle lookedback into the old doctor's eyes with grave, direct gaze, and turnedaway. "You reckon why he done hit?"
"See here. Suppose--just suppose you were given your choice this minuteto change places with Frale--Lord knows where he is now, or what he'sdoing--or be as you are and live your own life; which would you be?Think it over; think it out."
"Ef I had 'a' been straight, brother David never would 'a' took me up toyou?"
"No--no--no. You would have been a--"
"You mean if a magic man should come by here an' just touch me so, an'change me into Frale, would I 'low him to do hit?"
"That's what I mean."
"I don't guess Frale, he'd like to be done that-a-way." The lovinglittle chap nestled closer to the doctor's side. "I like you a heap,Doctah Hoyle. Frale, he fit brothah David--an' nigh about killed him. Ireckon I rutheh be like I be, an' bide nigh Cass an' th' baby--an' havethe 'quar'um--an' see maw--an' go with you. You reckon I can go backwith you?"
"Go back? Of course--go back."
"Be I heap o' trouble to you? You reckon God 'lowed me to have this erhump, so't I could get to go an' bide whar you were at, like I done?"
A suspicious moisture gathered in the doctor's eyes, and he sprang upand went to examine earnestly a thorny shrub some paces away, while thechild continued to pipe his questions, for the most part unanswerable."You reckon God just gin my neck er twist so't brothah David would takeme to Canada to you, an' so't maw'd 'low me to go? You reckon if I'mright good, He'll 'low me to make a picture o' th' ocean some day, likethe one we seed in that big house? You reckon if I tried right hard Icould paint a picture o' th' mountain, yandah--an' th' sea--an'--allthe--all the--ships?"
The doctor laughed heartily and merrily. "Come, come. We must go homenow to Cassandra and the baby. Paint? Of--of course you could paint! Youcould paint p--pictures enough to fill a house."
"We don't want no magic man, d
o we, Doctah Hoyle? I cried a heap after Iseed myself in the big lookin'-glass down in Farington whar brothahDavid took me. I cried when hit war dark an' maw war sleepin'. Next timeI reckon I bettah tell God much obleeged fer twistin' my hade 'roun''stead er cryin' an' takin' on like I been doin'. You reckon so, DoctahHoyle?"
"Yes--yes--yes. I reckon so," said the doctor, meditatively, as theydescended the trail. From that day the child's strength increased. Sunnyand buoyant, he shook off the thought of his deformity, and hisbeauty-loving soul ceased introspective brooding and found delight insearching out beauty, and in his creative faculty.