XI
THE DANCE IN THE FOREST
She did not go on the next morning. That day had been chosen for thedance in the forest, one of the two merrymakings dearest to the heartsof those earliest Kentuckians. The May party came first, with itscrowning of the queen of love and beauty and its dance round theMay-pole; and after that this festival of dancing and feasting under thegolden trees.
Both of these were held as regularly as the opening of the springflowers and the tinting of the autumn leaves. No one ever asked why orwhen they were first begun; it was never the way of the Kentuckians toask any questions about anything that they had always been used to. Andindeed, had they tried ever so hard, they could hardly have found intheir own history the origin of these ancient customs. Those must havebeen sought much farther back than the coming of those first settlersinto the wilderness,--as far back, perhaps, as the oldest traditions ofthe purest stock of the old English yeomanry from which these peoplewere sprung. For in their veins throbbed the same warm red blood,which, having little to do with the tilling of the soil or the buildingtrade, had everything to do with the fighting of battles and the makingof homes. For in their strong simple hearts was the same love of countrythat bore England's flag to victory, and the same love of the firesidethat made peace as welcome as conquest.
And as these old English fighters had danced with their sweethearts onthe greensward in the intervals between wars, so these fighters of thewilderness now went on with the dance in the forest just as if there hadbeen no fierce conflict at hand. They might be called to fight to-morrowand they would be ready, but they would dance to-day, just as theirforefathers had done. To go elsewhere than to the dance on the morningselected for it was, therefore, not to be thought of by any young personof the neighborhood. Ruth had asked David to take her, explaining thatWilliam Pressley could not accompany her quite so early as she wished togo. He had business which would detain him, she explained with a painfulblush. And then, when she had said this with a troubled look, sheflashed round on the boy, demanding to know why William should not dowhatever he thought best.
"William always has a good reason for everything he does, or doesn't do.He is never neglectful of any duty. Never!" with her blue eyes, whichwere usually like turquoises, flashing into sapphires. "He takes time tothink--time to be sure that he is right. He isn't forever rushing intomistakes and being sorry, like you and me!"
In another moment she laughed and coaxed, patting his arm.
"Do be ready, David, dear, and wear your nicest clothes," she said, inher sweetest way. "And no girl there will have a handsomer gallant thanmine, than my Knight of the Oracle, my--"
The boy teased but smiling ran away to do her bidding, as he always did.He had no clothes besides the worn suit of homespun which he was thenwearing, except one other of buckskin, gayly fringed on the sleeves andon the outer seam of the breeches. This had been his pride till of late.But he now took it down from its peg behind his cabin door and eyed itwith new dissatisfaction. Fashions were changing in the wilderness.Gentlemen no longer clothed themselves in the skins of wild beasts, noreven in the coarse homespun. Not many, to be sure, were dressed likePhilip Alston; but David had lately seen Mr. Audubon hunting in velvetknee-breeches and white silk stockings, with fine ruffles over hishands. That gentleman had laughed at himself for doing it, but the sighthad pleased the boy's taste and gratified his craving for everythingrefined and beautiful. It humiliated him to have no choice between theshabby homespun and the fantastic buckskin. But he tried to find comfortin thinking that he would have a boughten suit before very long. Thejudge had given him a calf. The master of Cedar House was always kindwhen he did not forget, as has already been said, and he was mostgenerous at all times. The calf was now ready for sale to the firstpassing buyer of cattle. Nevertheless, David sighed as he put on thebuckskin suit, wishing, as only the young can wish for what they desire,that he had the boughten suit then to wear to the dance in the forest.
Yet Ruth smiled at him as if she were well pleased with his looks. Therewere, to be sure, certain tangles in the gay fringes for her deftfingers to untangle. There were, of course, many swift little touches tobe given here and there, the caressing touches that no true woman canwithhold from the dress of a man whom she is fond of. So that David'sbuckskin suit suddenly seemed to him just what it should be--as all thata man wears or has or is always does seem, when a woman's caressingtouches have convinced him that everything is right. Indeed, Davidforgot to think any more of his own clothes or of himself. Looking atRuth he thought only of her.
He did not know what it was that she wore. He did not know that themuslin of her dress had cost an hundred francs the yard. He did not knowhow charmingly odd the mode of its make was, since Ruth's little handshad planned it out of her own pretty head in enchanting ignorance of thefashion. He knew nothing of the value of the three-cornered kerchief ofwhite lace which tied down her gypsy hat. He did not notice that theflowers on her hat were primroses, or that the long gloves meeting theshort sleeves and the slender little slippers peeping from beneath herskirt, were both of the finest primrose kid. He saw only the beauty ofher face smiling at him from under the gypsy hat, the sweetness of herred lips, and the charm of her blue eyes. And she seeing only the lookthat she had seen in every man's eyes ever since she could remember, wasnot made vain thereby, as a less beautiful girl might have been. Shetook it all for granted and thought no more about it. Rising on the tipsof her toes, she put back an unruly lock of David's hair with a lastloving little pat.
"There now! We are all ready," she said, with a happy sigh.
"Yes, the coffee is the first thing on the top of the basket," said MissPenelope, coming in from the kitchen. "That's it in the biggest bottle.You can have it warmed over the campfire. I shouldn't like to drinkwarmed-over coffee, myself. But then nobody in this house ever thinksas I do about anything. It isn't my notion of what's right andproper--to say nothing of Christian--to be a-dancing when everybodyought to be a-praying. Not a day passes without something in the way ofa warning. Now there is the big hole that they've just found in theearth right over yonder--a hollowness without end or bottom, and as darkas the bottomless pit. That's what it ought to be called, too--insteadof the Mammoth Cave. For if that don't show that there is nothing but adreadful, empty shell left of this awful world, I don't know what anytrue sign is. But all the same, I know very well that nobody in thishouse pays any attention to what I say. Howsomever, the works of thelight-minded who are a-dancing on the edge of perdition don't make anydifference in my plain duty. And I am a-going to do it as near as I canso long as I breathe the breath of life. When my cold, stiff hands arecrossed under the coffin-lid, nobody left 'pon top of this mournfulearth ever can say that I sat by, like a bump on a log, and never said aword when I saw all these awful calamities a-coming."
Thus voicing these vague alarms in her sweetest tones, Miss Penelopeturned nervously and glanced at her half-sister. She was always afraidof her, as very talkative, restless people often are of those who saylittle and watch a great deal. But the widow Broadnax seemed to bedozing among her cushions, and Miss Penelope felt it quite safe to goon with the softly uttered threats which scattered the small darkservitors, who were still flying about her like a flock of frightenedblackbirds, although the basket was packed.
"No," said Miss Penelope, "it don't make any difference in my duty. Iffolks won't listen to what I am bound to say, that is no fault of mine.My duty is to give warning when I see true signs of what's a-going tohappen. For a true sign is as plain as daylight to me. I never had acaul, and I don't lay any claim to second sight. But I know what itmeans when I hear the dogs a-baying the midnight moon. I know, too,what's a-coming to pass when the death-watch goes thump, thump, thumpingin the wall right over my head the whole blessed night. And more thanthat, I was a-looking for both these true signs of bad luck before Iheard 'em. That big black ring round the comet's head that I've seen fora night or two back told me plain enough what to expect. And look at
thethings that have already happened--all over the country. Nobody in thisworld of trouble surely ever saw the like. Just look at the twins!"
This was the chance that the widow Broadnax had been waiting andwatching for in motionless silence. She seized it as suddenly as aseemingly sleepy cat seizes an unwary mouse.
"I don't see any sign of bad luck in twins, or triplets either, for mypart," she said hoarsely and loudly. "They are every one of 'em bound tobe whole brothers and sisters. To my mind, it don't make any differencehow big a family is so long as it ain't mixed up."
Ruth and David seized the basket, and escaped--laughing andrunning--carrying it between them.
The spot chosen for this Indian Summer dance in the forest was nearCedar House. It was one of the natural open spaces, of which there weremany in the wilderness, and it overlooked the river. High walls of thickgreen leaves enfolded it upon three sides, and it had a broad levelfloor of greener sward. It was sun-lit when the shadowed woods weredark. In the spring the greensward was gay with wild flowers; for it wasin these open spaces between the trees that Nature displayed her mostbrilliant floral treasures which would not bloom in the shade. In thefall the leafy walls were more brilliant than the flowery sward, andthey now rose toward the azure dome, gorgeously hung with bronzed andgolden vines, blossoming here and there with vivid scarlet leaves. Belowran a dazzling border of shrubs--the sumac, which does not wait for thecoming of the frost king to put on its royal livery; the sassafrasalready gleaming with touches of fire; the wild grape as red as thereddest wine, and rioting over all the rich green; the bright wahoo withits graceful clusters of flame-colored berries overrunning its sobererneighbors; the hazel, the pawpaw, the dog-wood, the red-bud, thespice-wood, the sweet-strife, the angelica. On the west the velvet turfbegan to unroll gently downward toward the river. The quiet stream ranwith molten silver on that flawless October day, and deep shadows ofroyal purple hung curtains of wondrous beauty above the water. Backunder the trees the shadows were darkly blue, bluer even than thecloudless sky arching so high above the tall tree-tops.
Nature indeed always made more preparations and much finer ones, for thedance in the woods than the simple people of the wilderness ever thoughtof making. The word merely went from one log house to another, fixingthe day for the dance. The hunters' daughters with the help of theirmothers, filled the big baskets with simple good things on the nightbefore; for the young hunters came very early to go with theirsweethearts to the festival, and there was no time to spare on themorning of the dance. The dancing sometimes began at nine o'clock in themorning. The three black men from Cedar House who played for the dancingwere in their places long before that hour, with their instrumentsalready in tune. One had an old fiddle, another the remnant of a guitar,and the third a clumsy iron triangle which he had made himself.Nevertheless they were famous for their dance music and knownthroughout the wilderness to all the dancers. Those old-time countryfiddlers--all of them, black or white--how wonderful they were! Theyhave always been the wonder and the despair of all musicians who haveplayed by rule and note. The very way that the country fiddler held hisfiddle against his chest and never against his shoulder like the trainedmusician! The very way that the country fiddler grasped his bow, firmlyand squarely in the middle, and never lightly at the end like a trainedmusician! The very way that he let go and went off and kept on--theamazing, inimitable spirit, the gayety, the rhythm, the swing! Notrained musician ever heard the music of the country fiddler withoutwondering at its power, and longing in vain to know the secret of itscharm. It would be worth a good deal to know where and how they learnedthe tunes that they played. Possibly these were handed down by ear fromone to another; some perhaps have never been pent up in notes, andothers may have been given to the note reader under other names thanthose by which the country fiddlers knew them. This is said to have beenthe case with "Old Zip Coon," and the names of many of them would seemto prove that they belonged to the time and the country. But there is adelightful uncertainty about the origin and the history of almost all ofthem--about "Leather Breeches" and "Sugar in the Gourd" and "Wagoner"and "Cotton-eyed Joe," and so on through a long list.
On this day the musicians sat in a row on a fallen tree, and the grassbeside it was very soon worn away, and the earth before it beaten ashard as any ballroom floor under the gay and ceaseless patting of theirfeet. On the other side of the wide level space was a green bower madeof freshly cut boughs. This was a retiring room, intended for the use ofany fair dancer whose hair might fall into disorder or whose skirt mightbe torn in the dancing. The baskets were all put out of sight tillwanted, hidden beneath the bushes that bordered the open space. But nowand then, when the soft warm breeze swayed the leafy screen of green andgold and crimson, there were tantalizing glimpses of the foldedtable-cloths covering the baskets, like much belated or very earlysnowdrifts.
Most of the hunters' daughters came to the dance riding behind theirsweethearts, after the pleasant custom of the country. They were finegirls for their station in life, and well fitted for the hardships whichmust be their portion. They were large, strong, brave, simple,good--healthy in body and mind, warm in heart, and cool in courage, withpleasing faces roughened by exposure, and capable hands hardened bywork. They were dressed in homespun as became their looks, their means,and manner of living. In all things these future mothers of a greatstate were the natural and suitable mates for the gallant youngstate-makers. And each one of the young hunters now standing besidethem, held his head high as he led out the girl of his choice, feelinghis own right to be prouder and happier than any of his fellows.
The dancing had begun before Ruth and David came, although they were soearly. The spot being near, they had walked through the forest swingingthe basket between them like two happy children, and coming to the openspace, they stopped for a moment and looked on, thinking what a pleasingscene it was. The girls, tripping through the dance, smiled at Ruth asthey passed. They knew her very well, and had seen her so often thatthey no longer looked at her as plump brown partridges might look at anexquisite bird of paradise. And then, they felt that Ruth wasunconscious of any difference between herself and them. There was asweet, cordial friendliness about her, an innate warm-hearted, magneticcharm which won women as well as men. The hunters' daughters liked herbecause they knew that she liked them for, after all, most of us getwhat we give in our larger relation to humanity--seldom, if ever,anything else, either more or less. Those who truly love their kind cannever be really hated: those who hate their kind can never be reallyloved. The balance may waver one way or the other at times, but itcannot fail to weigh truly at last.
Ruth danced first with David and then with one of the bashful younghunters. But all the while she was looking toward the opening in theundergrowth, expecting to see Paul Colbert. He had said that he would bethere, and presently she saw him standing in the opening between thetrees, with the shining river at his back. He was wearing his best andRuth thought with a leap of her heart, that she had not known till nowhow handsome he was. His hair was fairer than she had thought, as fairas hers was dark, and she liked it all the better for that. His eyeswere gray and clear and steady and fearless. He had a proud way, too, ofthrowing up his head, as if he tossed away all petty thoughts. She sawhim do this as he crossed the greensward, coming straight to her side.It pleased her that he did not stop for a single glance round. She felthis unlikeness to another man, when she saw that he had no thought ofany eyes that might be upon himself. And because of this comparison, andthe pang of uneasiness and self-reproach which it brought, she blushedwhen her eyes met his as she had not done heretofore.
There is little use in trying to put into words what he thought of her,or what any true lover thinks of the beloved. The rose of the dawn, andthe breath of the zephyr were not glowing or delicate enough to portrayRuth as she was to Paul that day. The beauty of her face under the gypsyhat; the witchery of her dark blue eyes smiling up at him; the pinkroses blooming on her fair cheeks; the red rose of her perfectm
outh--all this gave him at a glance a likeness of her to lay away inhis memory: a vivid flashing, imperishable treasure to keep forever.
* * * * *
The gayety of the Indian Summer dance was now at its height. The mellowsunlight fell straight down through the arching green branches of thebordering trees. The earth, still warm with the summer's fires, lifted acool face to the soft breeze. The dancers growing tired and hungry aboutnoon, sat down on the greensward in little groups, while the basketswere taken from their hiding-places and the simple feast was soonspread. The black men served it with the coffee which they had heatedover the campfire built at some distance in the forest. The homespunlinen of the table-cloths looked very white on the dark green of therich grass. But the single square of fine damask from Ruth's basket wasnot whiter than its humble neighbors, and she did not think of her finerlinen or richer food. With Paul Colbert seated on the grass at her righthand, and David at her left, she took what was given her, knowing onlythat she was quite content and perfectly happy. She was indeed so happythat she was less gay than usual, for the greatest happiness makes leastnoise. She listened to all that was said, saying almost nothing herself.Paul's eyes hardly left her face, and he instantly observed that ashadow suddenly clouded it, the same shadow which had fallen over it onthe evening before. Turning his eyes in the direction of her gaze, hesaw William Pressley standing not far away. He did not know that thewhite-haired gentleman who stood beside the young man was Philip Alston,but he noted that the shadow quickly left Ruth's face at sight of theolder man, when, brightening and smiling, she beckoned the newcomers toapproach. And he also saw what she seemed not to see, that the older manturned a frowning face on the younger, and said something which was notcordially received. Had he known William Pressley better, he would haveseen the dignified protest that was in every line of his largeslow-moving figure as he followed Philip Alston across the wide openspace to Ruth's side. To her, William's very step said as plain as wordscould have spoken that he was used to being misunderstood, but none theless sure of having done his whole duty. She looked up with the littleuneasy flutter which this manner of his always caused her. She so cravedlove and approval that a dark look made her tender heart ache, eventhough she was unconscious of having done anything to deserve it. Thiswas nearly always the state of feeling between her betrothed andherself, but up to this moment she had never doubted that her ownshortcomings were wholly to blame. She hurriedly drew her thin skirtcloser about her, nervously trying to make room for him between Davidand herself. The boy and doctor rose to their feet as the two menapproached. Ruth sat still on the grass, lifting her blue eyes toWilliam Pressley's face with a timid, wistful, almost frightened glance.
"You have met Doctor Colbert, William," she said quickly, and then sheturned with a smile that was like a flash of light. "And unclePhilip--Mr. Alston--this is the doctor."
Paul Colbert in his utter amazement took the hand which Philip Alstonheld out. He could not have refused it had there been time to think, forher eyes were on him, and there was no doubting her affection for PhilipAlston; that shone like sunlight on her face and thrilled in everytender tone of her voice. The young doctor could scarcely believe theevidence of his own eyes and ears. This Philip Alston! It wasincredible, impossible; there was certainly some mistake. Neverthelesshe hastily withdrew his hand and Philip Alston noted the haste,understanding it as well as Paul Colbert himself. His own manner wasquiet and calm, showing none of the irritation which he felt at WilliamPressley's negligence. He lost none of his graciousness through seeingthe young doctor's involuntary recoil. His intuitions were unerring; heknew instantly that this newcomer was already acquainted with thestories told about himself, but he cared little for that. He wasconsidering the interference with his plans which might come from thesudden appearance of a young man of this young doctor's looks andintelligence. Hardly half a dozen commonplace remarks had been exchangedbetween them before he had recognized the unusual power of mind and bodywhich he might soon have to contend with. He turned and looked atWilliam Pressley and then back at Paul Colbert with a clouded brow, buthe glanced down with a smile when Ruth touched his arm.
"Dearest uncle Philip," she said, "I am so--so--glad that you have come.You are just in time to dance with me. You did once, you know, at theMay party, and none of the other girls had so courtly a partner. Theycouldn't have because I wouldn't let them have you. I should be jealousif you were to dance with any one else, and there is no one anywherelike you."
Looking up with her eyes full of affection she took his hand and pressedit against her pink cheek. At the sight a stab of pain and a thrill offear went through the doctor's perplexed thoughts. He suddenly realizedthat the girl's life was closely bound up with this man's. He felt thatany distrust of him must wound her, and although he still knew nothingof the bond between them, he saw that there could be no question of itsbeing very close and strong. His first impulse was to try to persuadehimself that the suspicion against Philip Alston might be unfounded; asit was certainly unproven. And then, finding himself unable to do this,he felt tempted to put the whole problem of the man's guilt or innocenceaside, as no concern of his own. It is always the lover's temptation toshut his eyes when he must choose between the neglect of duty and thewounding of the woman he loves. And alas! this is a choice that comessooner or later, in one form or another, to all who love. The womansometimes can find an invisible thread leading through the labyrinth ofthe feminine conscience which may help her to follow a middle course.The man never has any such subtle resource and he knows, from first tolast, that he must do what is wrong if he does not do what is right.
Paul Colbert's troubled perplexity grew deeper as he continued to lookat Philip Alston and to listen as he talked. The softness of his voice,the culture that every word revealed, the intellectual quality of eachthought, the clear, calm, steady gaze of his fine eyes, the noble shapeof his distinguished head--all these things taken together almost madethe young doctor feel that Philip Alston was the victim of monstrouscalumny. And yet some unerring intuition told him that the terriblethings which he had heard were true. His gaze wandered from PhilipAlston to Ruth, and he grew sick. A sudden cold dampness gathered on hisforehead under all the mellow warmth of the sun. He began to wish thathe could get away long enough to clear his mind--to think. It was rathera relief when Philip Alston suggested that William Pressley should leadRuth out for the next dance. Paul Colbert's gaze followed them as theywalked away across the sun-lit grass, but he scarcely knew that he waslooking at them till Philip Alston spoke.
"They are a handsome, well-matched young couple, are they not?" he saidwith a smile, and with his eyes on the young doctor's face. "You know,of course, that they are to be married on Christmas Eve."