XIII
A MESSAGE AND A MAP
This time there was no mistaking the right road; it ran straight pastQuality House to Arden--unbroken but for graveled driveways leadinginto private estates. Patsy traveled it at a snail's pace. Now thatArden had become a definitely unavoidable goal, she was more loath toreach it than she had been on any of the seven days since thebeginning of her quest. However the quest ended--whether she foundBilly Burgeman or not, or whether there was any need now of findinghim--this much she knew: for her the road ended at Arden. What laybeyond she neither tried nor cared to prophesy. Was it not enoughthat her days of vagabondage would be over--along with the company oftinkers and such like? There might be an answer awaiting her to theletter sent from Lebanon to George Travis; in that case she could inall probability count on some dependable income for the rest of thesummer. Otherwise--there were her wits. The very thought of themwrung a pitiful little groan from Patsy.
"Faith! I've been overworking Dan's legacy long enough, I'm thinking.Poor wee things! They're needing rest and nourishment for a while,"and she patted her forehead sympathetically.
Of one thing she was certain--if her wits must still serve her, theyshould do so within the confines of some respectable community; inother words, she would settle down and work at something that wouldprovide her with bed and board until the fall bookings began. And,the road and the tinker would become as a dream, fading with thesummer into a sweet, illusive memory--and a photograph. Patsy felt inthe pocket of her Norfolk for the latter with a sudden eagerness. Ithad been forgotten since she had found the tinker himself; but, nowthat the road was lengthening between them again, it brought her asurprising amount of comfort.
"There are three things I shall have to be asking him--if he everfetches up in Arden, himself," mused Patsy as she loitered along."And, what's more, this time I'll be getting an answer to every oneof them or I'm no relation of Dan's. First, I'll know the fate of thebrown dress; he hadn't a rag of it about him--that's certain. Next,there's that breakfast with the lady's-slippers. How did he come byit? And, last of all, how ever did this picture come on themantel-shelf of a closed cottage where he knew the way of breaking inand what clothes would be hanging in the chamber closets? 'Tis alltoo great a mystery--"
"Why, Miss O'Connell--what luck!"
Patsy had been so deep in her musing that a horse and rider had comeupon her unnoticed. She turned quickly to see the rider dismountingjust back of her; it was Gregory Jessup.
"The top o' the morning to ye!" She broke into a glad laugh, blessingthat luck, herself, which had broken into her disquieting thoughtsand provided at least fair company and some news--perhaps. She heldout her hand in hearty welcome. "Are ye 'up so early or down solate'?"
"I might ask that, myself. Is it the habit of celebrated Irishactresses to tramp miles between sun-up and breakfast?"
"'Tis a habit more likely to fasten itself on French cooks, I'mthinking," and Patsy smiled.
"Then how is a man to account for you?"
"He'd best not try; I'm a mortial poor person to account for. MaybeI'm up early--getting my lines for the next act."
"Of course. What a stupid duffer I am! You must find us plain,plodding Americans horribly short-witted sometimes. Don't you?"
Patsy shook a contradiction. "It's your turn, now. What fetched yeabroad at this hour?"
Gregory Jessup slipped his arm through the horse's bridle and fellinto step with her. "Principally because I like the early morningbetter than any other part of the day; it's fresh and sweet andunspoiled--like some Irish actresses. There--please don't mind mycrude attempt at poetic--simile," for Patsy's eyes had snappeddangerously. "If you only knew how rarely poetry or compliments evercame to roost on this dry tongue, you really wouldn't want todiscourage them when it does happen. Besides, there was anotherreason for my being up--a downright foolish reason."
Gregory Jessup accompanied the remark with a downright foolish smile,and then lapsed into silence. In this fashion they walked to the bendof the road where another graveled driveway branched forth; and herethe horse stopped of his own accord and whinnied.
"This is the Dempsy Carters' place--where I'm stopping," Gregoryexplained.
"Aye, but the other reason?" Patsy reminded him, her eyes friendlyonce more.
"Oh--the other reason; I told you it was a foolish one." He stoodrubbing his horse's nose and looking over the road they had come forsome seconds before he finally confessed to it. "It's Billy, you see.Somehow it occurred to me that if he should be in trouble and at thesame time knowing his father was sick--dying--he might be hangingaround somewhere near here--uncertain just what to do--and notwanting any one to see him. In that case, the best time to run acrosshim would be early morning before the rest of the people were awakeand up. Don't you think so?"
"It sounds more sensible than foolish; but I don't think ye'll everfind him that way. If he was clever enough to let the earth swallowhim up, he's clever enough to keep swallowed. There's but one way toreach him--and it's been in my mind since yester-eve."
A look of surprise came into Gregory Jessup's face. "Why, MissO'Connell! I had no idea what I said that day would fasten Billy onyour mind like this. It's awfully good of you; and he's a perfectstranger--"
Patsy broke in with a whimsical chuckle. "Aye, I've grown overpartialto strangers of late; but ye hearken to me. Ye'll have to leave asign by the roadside for him--if ye want to reach him. Otherwisehe'll see ye first and be gone before ever ye know he's about."
"What kind of a sign?"
"Faith! I'm not sure of that yet--myself. It must be something thatwill put trust back in a lad and tell him to come home."
"And where would you put it?"
"Where? On the roadside, just, anywhere along the road he's used totramping."
Gregory Jessup's face lost its puzzled frown and became suddenlyillumined with an inspiration. "I know! By Hec! I've got it! There'sthat path that runs down from the Burgeman estate to our old cottage.It was a short cut for us kids, and we were almost the only ones touse it. Billy would be far more likely to take that than thehighroad--and it leads to the Burgeman farm, too, run by an oldcouple that simply adore Billy. He might go there when he wouldn't goanywhere else. That's the place for a message. But what message?"
"I know!" Patsy clapped her hands. "Have ye a scrap of paperanywheres about ye--and a pencil?"
Hunting through the pockets of his riding-clothes, Gregory Jessupdiscovered a business letter, the back of which provided amplewriting space, and the stub of a red-ink pencil. "We use 'em in thedrafting-room," he explained. "If these will do--here's a desk," andhe raised the end of his saddle, supporting it with a large expanseof palm.
Patsy accepted them all with a gracious little nod, and, spreadingthe paper on the improvised desk, she wrote quickly:
"If it do come to pass That any man turn ass," Thinking the world is blind And trust forsworn mankind, "Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame": Here shall he find Both trust and peace of mind, An he but leave all foolishness behind.
"With apologies to Willie Shakespeare," Patsy chuckled again as shereturned paper and pencil to their owner. "Ye put it somewhere he'dbe likely to look--furninst something that would naturally take hisnotice."
"I know just the spot--and they're in blossom now, too. I'll fastenit to a rock, there, wedge it in the cracks. Billy won't miss it ifhe comes within yards of the place." He grasped Patsy's hand withgrowing fervor that gave promise of developing suddenly into almostanything. "You're a brick, Miss O'Connell--a solid gold brick of agirl, and I wish--"
"Take care!" warned Patsy. "Ye're not improving as fast in yourcompliments as ye might--and there's no poetry in gold--for me."
Gregory Jessup looked puzzled, but his fervor did not abate one whit."I want you to promise me if you ever need a friend--if there isanything I can ever do--"
"Ye can," interrupted Patsy, "and ye can do it now. Take thatriding-crop of yours and draw me a map in the
dust there of thecountry hereabouts--ye can make a cross for Arden.... That's grand.Now where would ye put Brambleside Inn? And is it seven miles fromthere to Arden?"
Gregory nodded an affirmative while he considered Patsy with graveperplexity. Patsy saw it, and smiled reassuringly. "'Tis all right.I've always had a great interest entirely to know the geography ofevery new country--and I haven't the wits to discover it for myself.Now where would ye put the cross-roads and the Catholic church? Andwhere would Lebanon be? Aye--Did ye ever see an old tabby chasing hertail? Faith! 'tis a very intelligent spectacle, I'm thinking. Nowwhere might ye put the cross-roads where ye picked me up with theDempsy Carters?... And Dansville?... and the railroad bridge? ... andthe golf links, back yonder?"
She stood for many minutes, studying the rough chart in the dust ather feet. The connecting lines of roads between the places named madefully a hundred and twenty degrees of a circle about the crossmarking Arden. And as chance would have it, every one of theencircling towns measured approximately seven miles from the centralcross. Patsy smiled, and the smile grew to a chuckle--and the chuckleto a long, rippling laugh. Patsy was forced to hold her sides withthe ache of it.
"I know ye think I'm crazy--but 'tis the rarest bit of humor thisside of Ireland. Willie Shakespeare himself would steal it if hecould to put in one of his comedies. There is just one thing I'd liketo be knowing--how much of it was chance, and how much was the tricksof a tinker?"
"I don't think I understand," mumbled Gregory Jessup.
"Of course ye don't," agreed Patsy. "I don't, myself. But there's onething more I'll be telling ye--if ye'll swear never to let it passyour lips?"
Patsy paused for dramatic effect while Gregory Jessup bound himselftwice over to secrecy. "Well," she said, at length, "'tis this: If Ihad the road to travel again I'd pray to Saint Brendan to keep myfeet fast to the wrong turn. That's what!"
Patsy left him, still looking after her in a puzzled fashion; andwith quickening steps she passed out of sight.
But once again did she stop; and again it was by a graveled driveway.She was deep in green memories when a figure in nurse's uniformcoming down the drive caught her attention. She was immediatelyreminded of two facts: that the Burgeman estate was in Arden, andthat Burgeman senior was dying. Impulsively she turned toward thenurse.
"Is Mr. Burgeman any better this morning?"
"We hardly expect that." The nurse's tone was cordial butprofessionally cautious.
"I know"--Patsy nodded wisely, as if she had been following the caseprofessionally herself--"but there is often a last rallying ofstrength. Isn't there?"
"Sometimes. I hardly think there will be anything very lasting in Mr.Burgeman's case. There are moments, now, when his strength and willare remarkably vigorous--any other man would be in his bed."
"Oh! Then he is--up?"
"He's taken about on a wheeled chair or cot. He is too restless tostay in any place very long. He seems more contented outdoors, wherehe can watch--" She broke off abruptly. "Lovely morning--isn't it?Good-by."
She turned about and went up the drive again. Patsy watched her go, astrange, brooding look in her eyes. "So--he likes to be out of doorsbest--where he can be watching. And if a body chanced to trespassthat way--she might come upon him, sudden like, and stay long enoughto set him a-thinking. Would it be too late, now, I wonder?"
She resumed her way--and her memories. She passed a half-dozen moredriveways and she climbed a hill; and when she came to the top shefound herself looking down on a thickly wooded hamlet. Spires andgabled roofs broke the foliage here and there, and on the risingslope beyond towered a veritable forest. Patsy stood on the brink ofthe hill and gazed down long and thoughtfully; at last she flung outher arms in an impetuous gesture of confirmation, while the old,whimsical smile crept into her lips.
"'Aye, now am I in Arden, the more fool I; when I was at home, I wasin a better place--but travelers must be content.'" And taking a firmgrip of her memories, her wits, and her courage, she went down thehill.