CHAPTER XXIV
TRUE GREATNESS
A shipwrecked sailor, waiting for a sail; No sail from day to day, but every day The sunrise broken into scarlet shafts --A blaze upon the waters to the east, A blaze upon the waters to the west, --but no sail.
_----From Enoch Arden._
ALMOST every person in the neighbourhood was interested in ArthurWemyss's new home which he had built on the bank of Plover Creek, asmall stream that dawdled aimlessly across the prairie from Lang'sLake to the Souris River. Plover Creek followed the line of leastresistance all the way along, not seeming to care how often itchanged its direction, but zigzagging and even turning around anddoubling on itself sometimes. Its little dimpled banks, treeless savefor clumps of silver willow, gave a pleasing variety to the prairiescenery.
It was on one of the highest of these banks that Arthur had built hishouse, and it was a pleasant outlook for any one who loves the longview that the prairie gives, where only the horizon obstructs thevision.
Behind the house, which faced the setting sun, was an old "buffalorun," a narrow path, grass-grown now, but beaten deep into the earthby the hoofs of innumerable buffalo that long ago came down to thelittle stream to drink. It had been a favourite killing-place, too,for the Indians, as the numerous buffalo bones, whitened by the sunand frost of many seasons, plainly showed.
Arthur had made a fantastic "rockery" of skulls and shanks and ribs,and filled it in with earth, enough to furnish growth for trailingnasturtiums, whose bright red and yellow blossoms were strangely atvariance with their sombre setting.
Arthur had won for himself many friends among the people of theneighbourhood by his manly, upright ways and by his courteous manner,and every one in the neighbourhood, particularly the women, wereinterested in the coming of Thursa. Mrs. Motherwell, Mrs. Slater, andMrs. Watson had each promised to set a hen on thirteen eggs--whichnumber is supposed to lose its unluckiness when applied to eggs--togive Thursa a start in poultry. Arthur thanked them warmly, but justfor a minute he found himself wondering how Thursa would look feedingchickens. He knew that she was adorable at tennis or golf, andalthough attending to fowl is not really more strenuous than these,still it is different. But everything looks rosy at twenty-five, andArthur was supremely happy dreaming of the coming of Thursa.
His father and mother had sent him a phonograph for his Christmaspresent the previous year, and it had been an unending source ofcomfort and pleasure to him as well as to his neighbours and friends.There was one record that Arthur put on only when he was alone, forit was Thursa's own voice singing to him from across the sea--thesong of all others he loved to hear, for every note, every word ofit, throbbed with tenderness and love:
"The hours I spent with thee, dear heart, Are as a string of pearls to me; I count them over, every one apart, My rosary, my rosary."
Often when his day's work was over and he sat in his little house, asthe velvet-footed dusk came creeping down the Plover Creek, Thursa'sbird-like voice, so clear and precious and full of dearest memories,would fill the little room with heavenly sweetness and carry him backagain to the dear days at home, when they wandered hand in handbeside the English hedges "white with laughing may."
There was only one person in the community with whom Arthur feltreally at home and to whom he could speak freely, and that was MarthaPerkins, for although Martha did not talk much she was a pleasantlistener, and Arthur always came away rested and cheered. "She is ajolly good sort, Martha is," he often told himself, "a realcomfortable sort of person." In return for Martha's kindness to himArthur brought her books and magazines when he found that Martha nowspent most of her time reading instead of working at the never-endingneedlework.
All through the harvest Arthur had had working for him a stolid-facedson of toil, whose morose face began to "get on his nerves," and itwas partly to get away from this depressing influence that Arthurwent much oftener to see Martha than he had up to this time. His manwas "no company and spoiled his solitude," he said. When the harvestwas over and his farm hand had gone it seemed quite natural for himto keep up his visits regularly, and since Bud had gone the familywere very glad of his cheery presence.
One Friday night Arthur did not come for his bread as was his custom,and when Martha took it over herself the next morning she found himsuffering from a bad attack of la grippe. Then followed for Marthafive sweet days of never-to-be-forgotten happiness, when Arthur,fevered and restless, would exclaim with joy when she came in. Marthawas a born nurse, quiet, steady, and cheerful, and no matter howArthur's head was aching when she came in, he always felt better justto have her near, and the touch of her hand, work-hardened though itwas, on his forehead, always had the effect of soothing him.
She went every night and morning to Arthur's house, bringing with herenough tempting eatables to feed two healthy men; for Martha wasstrongly imbued with the idea that to eat well was a sure road torecovery. In Arthur's case her faith was justified, for on themorning of the sixth day she found him so much better that sherealized the happy days were over. Arthur no longer needed her.
"My word, Martha," he said, "you have been a welcome sight to me thisweek. You are like the good fairy of the tales. I have been noticinghow you have improved the house. Thursa will thank you when shecomes: I am sure you and Thursa will be the greatest pals ever. I wasjust thinking, Martha, what a comfortable sort of person you areanyway. You do know how to make people feel easy in their minds. Itis wonderful. I never saw any one like you in that way."
Any person looking at Martha then would not have called her a plaingirl, so radiant did her face become at these words of praise.
"It's my only gift," she said with her slow smile. "I cannot sing ortalk or look nice. I can only bake and scrub and sew and keep thingstidy."
"Well, that is a gift, I tell you, a real good one. People who talksometimes talk too much, and you can't live on singing, you know,though it is one of the greatest gifts." He was thinking of Thursa'schirrupy little treble, which to him was the sweetest music on earth."Thursa will brighten us all when she comes. Just to hear her laugh,Martha, would chase away the blues any day. She has the most adorablelittle ways. You do not mind hearing me rave about her, do you,Martha? You know, you are the only person I can talk to about her,and when you see her you won't blame me at all."
Martha was putting on her wraps to go home, and fortunately he couldnot see her face.
"That's all right, Arthur," she said bravely. "I like to hear youtalk--about her," which came as near to being a deliberate falsehoodas Martha had ever told in all her honest life.
* * *
The arrangements for Arthur's wedding were all made. Thursa wascoming the first week in December and would stay with Martha untilChristmas Day. Arthur's house was not quite ready yet. Martha, gladto feel that she was of any service to him, made great preparationsfor the coming of Thursa.
Her own bedroom, which was to be used by Thursa, was re-papered andpainted; the new rag carpet that Martha had put away in her cupboard"in case" was put on the floor; new lace curtains, bought out ofthe butter money, replaced the frilled art muslin that had been atthe windows. Martha's best pin-cushion, her best stand-covers andpillow-shams were all brought out for Thursa's use. It seemed veryfitting to her that her treasures should be used by Arthur's bride.She thought of it all sadly, but without bitterness.
One afternoon Aunt Kate and Pearl came over, and Martha invited themto come upstairs and see the room she had made ready for Thursa.
"Upon my word, Martha," Aunt Kate said, as she looked admiringly atMartha's tastefully arranged room, "you're fixin' up as if you weregoin' to be married yerself, and I just hope this English girl of hisis all he thinks she is, and not a useless tool like some of themare. I mind well one Englishwoman who lived neighbour to me down inOntario, nice woman, too, but sakes alive, she was a dirtyhousekeeper. She was a cousin to the Duke of something, but she'dmake a puddin' in the wash-basin just the same. I'd hate awful
to seeArthur get a girl like that. I suppose you haven't heard him saywhether she's been brought up thrifty. It means a lot, let me tellyou. I've seen women that could throw out as much at the back door astheir man could bring in the front. You don't know, do you, whetheror not she's savin'?"
"I don't know, I'm sure," Martha said. "I don't think she has muchexperience, but she can learn. It's no trick to do housework."
"Well, now, Martha, you're wrong, for it is a trick," Aunt Kate saidpositively. "It's the finest thing a woman can know. A man will gettired of a pretty face, but he ain't likely to tire of good vittlesand well-mended clothes; and if he came home hungry and found herplayin' the piano and no dinner ready, it would make him swear, ifanything would."
Aunt Kate went down-stairs then to help Mrs. Perkins do some sewing,and Pearl and Martha were left alone.
"It's awful good of you, Martha, to help Arthur's wedding along sowell," Pearl said, "but I know you are glad to do it. People ought tobe kind to any one that's gettin' married, I do think. They needflowers and kind things said about them far more than people do whenthey are gettin' buried. Pshaw! When a person's dead they're cleanout of the bush and not needin' help from any one; but gettingmarried is awful. Ma saved the lilacs she had when she was married,and put them in a gem-jar, and I've often heard her tell what acomfort they were to her when she came home all tired and couldn'tget the stains out of some one's tablecloth. She had a piece of thecake, too, sealed up in a vaseline jar, and the very maddest I eversaw Ma was when she found Danny eatin' it--he et her clove apple thesame day, and we couldn't do a thing to him because it was hisbirthday."
Martha looked at Pearl wonderingly. There were no dried lilacs orsealed vaseline jars in her family, but she understood vaguely whatit might mean.
"You are going to be the bridesmaid, Pearl," Martha said. "Arthurtold me so!"
"Oh, goody!" Pearl cried, but a sudden thought occurring to her, shesaid, "You should be it yourself, Martha. Why don't you?"
"I'll tell you why, Pearl," said Martha. "I would look awful besideThursa. She is fair and fluffy-haired, and she'd make me look worsethan usual. Arthur asked me, but I told him I couldn't very well.Anyway, there is the gravy to make and the pudding-sauce, and I'llhave to be right there over it. You'll do it, won't you, Pearl?"
"Oh, yes, I'll do it," said Pearl. "Sure thing. Glad of the chance towear the white dress Camilla made me and my bracelet--and--and all!"She was about to ask Martha, question, but changed her mind suddenlyand went on: "I just hope there'll be a lovely blue sky and snow onthe ground and a real glitterin' sunshine, like what Christmas oughtto be, with everything so lovely that it just hurts, and so muchChristmas in it that you're dead sure the air is full of angels. And,Martha, we'll put blue ribbons on the table to make them think of theblue sky that was over them on their weddin' day. I tell you, Martha,it's a great thing to have blue skies to think of, even if youhaven't got blue skies over you. It heartens a person up wonderful toknow that up through the clouds the sky is blue anyway. It's justlike havin' on a clean shirt, Martha, even if your outside clothesare not very clean. So, if there's a blue sky we'll try to pin downsome of it, so they can use it when they need it. When is she comin',Martha?"
"Next week, she is in Brandon now. She is staying there a few days tosee the shops, Arthur said."
Pearl wrinkled her forehead. "Isn't it a wonder she don't comehustlin'? You'd think she'd be far more anxious to see him than anystore. She's seen loads of stores, and she hasn't seen him for twoyears. Say, Martha, there was an English painter in Millford when welived there who sent home for his girl, and comin' over on the boatdidn't she meet another fellow she liked better and she up andmarried him. Wouldn't it be awful if Thursa was to do that afterArthur gettin' all ready, too?"
Martha did not answer, and Pearl, looking up, was startled at theexpression of her face--it was like the face of a shipwrecked sailorwho has been looking, looking, looking over a desolate waste ofwater, dreaming of hope, but never daring to hope, when suddenly,before his weary eyes, there flashes a sail! Of course, it may not bea sail at all, and even if it is a boat it may never, never see theshipwrecked sailor, but still a great hope leaps into his face!
Pearl saw it all in Martha's face in that moment; she rememberedMartha's saying that often when she sat at her embroidery sheimagined foolish things that could never come true.
"Isn't she a brick?" Pearl thought to herself. "Gettin' ready forthis weddin' just as cheerful as if her heart wasn't breakin'!" ThenPearl, in her quick imagination, made a new application: "Just likeif it was me gettin' ready for Miss Morrison to marry--" She stoppedand thought, with a stern look on her face. Then she said to herselfgrimly: "I believe this is the greatest piece of True Greatness I'veseen yet, and if it is, then I haven't got a smell of it."
"No word from Bud, is there, Martha?" asked after a while.
"Nothing, only the card from Calgary saying he was working on ahorse-ranch west of there. It's lonely without him, I tell you,Pearl. I wonder will he ever come back?" said Martha wistfully.
"Sure he will!" cried Pearl. "Bud'll come back, and it'll all becleared up, and don't you forget it."
"I don't know how, Pearl."
"Some way we don't expect, maybe, but it'll all come right.Everything will in time," Pearl answered cheerfully.
At tea-time the conversation naturally turned to weddings. Mr.Perkins had been in a doleful frame of mind until the visitors came,but under the stimulus of fresh listeners he brightened upwonderfully. Here were two people who had not heard any of hisstories. He was full of reminiscences of strange weddings that he hadbeen at or had heard of. One in particular, which came back to himnow with great vividness, was when his friend, Ned Mullins, marriedthe Spain girl down "the Ot'way."
"Ned had intended to marry the youngest one," he said, "but when wegot there, by jinks, there was Jane, the oldest one, all decked outwith ribbons and smilin' like a basket of chips, while the prettyone, Rosie, that Ned wanted, was sittin' in a corner holdin' ahandkerchief to her eyes. Old man Spain said he'd let no man cull thefamily--he'd have to take them as they come, by George! Poor Ned wasall broke up. They wouldn't let him say a word to Rosie--they seemedto know which way her evidence would run. The timber-boss took Nedaside; I can hear him yet the way he said, 'Marry the girl, Ned, meboy; the Spaniards are too numerous for us! We mustn't make bad bloodwid them!' Father Welsh was there all ready, kinda tapping his footimpatient-like, waiting to earn his money. Old Geordie Hodgins wasthere; he was one of the oldest river-drivers on the Ot'way, a slyold dog with a big wad o' money hid away some place, some said it wasin the linin' of his cap. Old Geordie never looked at a girl--Scotch,you know, they're careful. Well, old Geordie began kinda snuffin'like he always did when he got excited. Well, sir, he got up andbegan to walk around, slappin' his hands together, and all theclatter stopped, for every one was wonderin' what was wrong withGeordie; and old man Spain, he says: 'What's wrong, Geordie? Sitdown, blame you, and let's get on wid the weddin'.' And then oldGeorgie straightens up and says, 'I'll take the old one, if ye like,and let Ned have the wan he wants,' and with that the little one withthe red eyes bounces right out of her corner and she slaps a kiss onGeordie that you could hear for the brea'th of an acre. Old Geordiewiped it off with the back of his hand and says he, 'Look out, youngMiss, don't you do that again or Ned'll have to take the old oneafter all.' And by jinks, as soon as she heard that the old one, whowasn't so slow after all, she bounced up and landed one on Geordiethat sounded like an ox pullin' his foot out of the mud, and, thenNed he came to himself and says he, 'See here, Geordie's gettin'more'n his share; where do I come in?' and then John McNeish, thepiper, struck up his pipes, and we were all off into an eight-handreel before you could wink. There wasn't enough girls to go round,and I had to swing around Bill Fraser with the wooden leg, and Billwas kinda topply around the corners, but we got the two couplesmarried and they both done well."
Mrs. Perkins was something of a raconteur herself, and she
, too, wasready with a story on the same subject. She and her husband neverinterfered with each other's story-telling. Each chose his or her ownstory and proceeded with it quite independent of the other one. Butit was confusing to the audience when the two stories ranconcurrently, as they did to-day.
Mrs. Perkins's story was about her youngest sister's husband'sbrother, who was the "biggest cut-up you ever saw." He'd keep a wholeroom full of people "in stitches, and he was engaged to a girl calledSally Gibson--she was one of the Garafraxa Gibsons that ran the millat 'the Soble'--well, anyway, this Sally Gibson gave him the slip andmarried a fellow from Owen Sound, and some say even kept the ring,"though Mrs. Perkins was not prepared to say for sure; but, anyway,this was pretty hard on her youngest sister's husband's brother.Henry Hall was his name and he had bought the license and all. "Hewas terrible cut up and vowed he'd marry some one and not lose hislicense altogether, so he came over to where Bessie Collins lived,and he came in at the back door, and there was Bessie scrubbin' thefloor, and he says: 'Bessie, will you marry me?' and she says,knowin' what a cut-up he was, she says, 'Go on, Hank, you'refoolin',' and he says: 'I'm not foolin', Bessie,' and he told herwhat Sally Gibson had went and done, and then Bessie says: 'Well,wait till I've finished this floor and do off the door-step, and Idon't care if I do.' So she went and primped herself some and theywere married and they done well, too!"
* * *
When Pearl and her aunt were walking home that night Aunt Kate said:"I like them people better one at a time. I never did like a two-ringcircus. I never could watch the monkey trundlin' a barrel up agangway when the clown was jumpin' through rings; it always annoyedme to be losin' either one or the other. Did you get any sense of it,Pearlie?"
But Pearl's thoughts were on an entirely different theme. "MissMorrison ain't what you'd call a real pretty girl, not like MaryBarner or Camilla," she said absently.