“Seems ta me it was,” said the old woman.
“Well, would you mind seeing if you can find it, Mandy? I told a fella ta come and look at it.”
So Mandy plodded up the stairs, and while she was gone Revel carried his things from the bushes to the back of the garage and hid them behind some more bushes.
He had most of the heavy objects transported when he heard Mandy clumping downstairs, and he hurried in.
“Did you find it, Mandy?”
“No, Mr. Hiram,” said Mandy, with a troubled look. “Seems like maybe you give that away sometime back. Or maybe it’s out ta the garage. Want I should go out and look?”
“Oh, no, Mandy! I’ll look!” And Revel hurried out the door and to the garage. Then he came back.
“Yes, it’s out there all right, Mandy,” he called, putting his head in at the kitchen door. “It’s out in the garage. Sorry I made you go up all those stairs for nothing.”
“Oh, that’s all right, honey boy!” said Mandy, half under her breath, from the habit of never showing any kindliness to the boy at a time when his father or Irving might be around to scold her for spoiling him.
“Well, thanks a lot, Mandy,” said Revel, with a sudden feeling of the approaching separation, an almost guilty feeling that he wasn’t being fair to the faithful old servant and friend by stealing away unawares. Yet he knew that neither Mandy nor Irving would dare leave undone anything that could hold him from going before his father got back if they knew his intention.
“Now, I’ve got some writing to do, Mandy, but if anybody comes for me, call me, will you?”
Mandy promised, and Revel went back to his room to write that note to his father. Looking at his watch he found it was almost time for Bud to come, and he must hurry, so instead of studying over his words as he had meant to do, he wrote hastily, the main facts only.
Dad. I just had word that my grandfather Revel is very sick and about to die. He wants me to come and see him so he can talk with me a few minutes before he dies. The nurse wrote for him. He has sent me money to come, so I’m going right away. I thought this would be the right thing to do. Mother would have wanted me to. I’ll let you know how Grand is.
Hastily, your son
This note he put in an envelope addressed to his father and went and laid it in his room on his bureau.
Then he heard Bud’s old truck rattling down behind the garage. He gave one wild, half-frightened look around his room and hurried down the stairs.
Mandy appeared in the front hall.
“Where ya goin’, boy? It’s goin’ on toward dinnertime.”
“Why, I’m going down to the village on an errand,” said Revel with troubled impatience. “Don’t wait dinner for me. I’ve got some things to attend to.”
“What if yer dad comes back afore you get here?”
“Why, I’ve left a note for him up in his room. He’ll understand. Don’t you worry, Mandy.”
But Mandy stood watching him go down to the garage with trouble in her eyes.
Bud and Revel made short work of stowing the things in the truck and were soon rattling down the backstreet with the small-sized bicycle in evidence, if Mandy appeared to question again. But Mandy didn’t come. She had seen a look in Revel’s eyes that was something of the quality his father could assume at times, and she decided she had gone as far as she dared in trying to restrain him.
Revel was white with excitement now. So far all had gone well, but suppose Irving should appear on the scene, or his father should arrive by plane or private automobile with a friend? Even now, at this last minute, his plans might go all astray.
But Irving had met an old friend and lingered longer than he had intended, and Mr. Radcliffe was still in New York. Revel, feeling that perhaps he was under the protection of the God who had made a way for him to go, went on with what he had to do. At last the packages were all on their way to their destination. Bud bore the bicycle away in triumph, and Revel, dodging around the back way, caught the bus to the city and was started on his journey. His old cap was pulled down over his closed eyes. His head was back; he was getting a much needed rest. He found he was so tired that it felt good to rest, and it wasn’t long before he dropped to sleep.
Chapter 7
It was very still in the sickroom. The invalid lay white and stricken, scarcely seeming to breathe sometimes. The nurse in an easy chair was keeping close watch. Her heart was very much in this case. She felt deeply sorry for the old man who seemed so alone in the world. She sat there wondering whether the young grandson to whom she had written would ignore her letter as he had ignored all the other letters his grandfather had written with his own hand during the early part of his illness.
The afternoon shadows were growing long upon the grass out in the yard. She kept a close watch out the window and down the road for a possible telegram or special delivery letter, but no one was in sight, and she sighed softly.
Then the old man opened his eyes.
“You’re sure you sent the letter, Nurse? Special delivery, you know?”
“Oh, yes! I sent it. I gave the postman the money for the stamp as you directed.”
“And you put my check in?”
“Yes, I read the letter to you before it went. Don’t you remember?”
“Yes, I remember. But Nurse—” The old man was short of breath and paused. The nurse gave him a spoonful of medicine, and he went on again. “I think—if the lad—does not come—it is not his fault.”
“No, of course not,” agreed the nurse. “He maybe didn’t get the letter. Or he may be away at school.”
“He—has a—hard father—” said the old man breathlessly.
“Yes, of course, it wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t ever that kind of a heartless boy. From what you’ve told me about him, I know he wasn’t.”
“No, he wasn’t,” murmured the old man.
“Now,” said the nurse, “you’d better not talk anymore. You mustn’t use up your strength before he comes. He might get here in the morning.”
The old man smiled, the kind of smile that might dawn on an angel’s face at the threshold of heaven.
He knew she was trying to help him over these hard facts that were attending his last hours.
So he took the medicine obediently, and then, just as he was settling to close his eyes and rest again, the telephone rang. It was in the next room, but the old man opened his eyes, and there was about him a glad eagerness and a joyous impatience. He waited breathlessly. He heard the nurse’s clear voice. “Yes? Yes. Yes!” A pause. “Yes.” He could almost hear the scratching of the pencil on the pad as the nurse took down the message. Then she slowly came back to him, a glad light in her eyes, which the old man’s eyes were not too dim to see and understand.
“It was a telegram, sent from the train,” she said. Then she read from the paper.
“Am on my way. Shall be with you in the morning. Cheer up Grand, and try to get well for my sake. I love you and need you.
Your loving grandson,
Revel Radcliffe”
Ah! What a light came into the old eyes, what joy into the face that had been expecting to step away into heaven the next few minutes.
“Read it over again, Nurse,” he said, and already his voice sounded stronger.
She read it several times, each time the fleeting joy in the invalid’s face quivering brighter, more assured. Then he asked for the paper and held it in his hand. When the doctor came he held it out to him mutely.
The doctor read it through and nodded, a light in his eyes also.
“That’s great!” he said. “I thought little Emily’s son wouldn’t fail you.”
He touched the frail wrist with its fluttering pulse, and nodded to the nurse.
“Just a trifle firmer,” he murmured to her.
After the doctor was gone the invalid dropped into a gentle sleep.
All night the faithful nurse watched him anxiously. It would be so dreadful for that fine boy if he
should arrive too late. “Grand” he had called him, as if he really loved him. But why hadn’t he ever answered the letters? Of course young people didn’t like to write letters. But he might have written once, at least. However, maybe he didn’t realize.
So she got the invalid ready in the morning, and they waited quietly, the old man with his eyes closed and a semblance of a smile upon his lips.
Revel walked all the way from the nearby city out to Linwood, because it was too early when he arrived for any taxis to be about, and he could not bear to sit and wait till the early bus went that way, so he walked. And sometimes ran. For his heart was almost light thinking about his grandfather.
And yet, he thought, as he drew nearer to the old farmhouse where he remembered having gone with his mother once, suppose the old man had not survived the night? Suppose he was already gone, and it was too late for him even to put his face down to his and whisper in the dulling ear, a love message for him to take to Revel’s mother, over there! How could he bear that?
His young face grew graver, and his step swifter at that thought. But he must not think of that possibility yet. He could not, would not believe that Grand was dead. Not when he had come on the very first train to answer his summons!
But the keen old ears of the sick man heard Revel’s step on the walk even before the watching nurse. He opened his eyes with eagerness and lifted one frail hand. “There!” he said, and a kind of peace went over the worn face, as if the height of his desire had been attained.
The nurse saw and went swiftly to open the door. Then she was back, with Revel standing in awe behind her, his eyes wide with apprehension.
“Revel! My dear boy!” said the quavering old voice, and the old man tried to lift his hand with a welcoming gesture that went to the boy’s heart.
Revel’s eyes lighted with an answering gladness, and with a long stride he was beside the bed, kneeling, his grandfather’s frail hands in his, softly, tenderly. They felt so like his own dear mother’s hands! And then he lifted his young lips and kissed his grandfather.
“Grand!” he said. “Dear Grand!” And suddenly he knew what he had missed not having been much with this old man.
He bowed his head gently over those wrinkled hands he held, and the quick tears stung into his eyes, for somehow he seemed to feel his dead mother was near.
Presently the nurse came near with medicine, and Revel rose and stood beside the bed, looking down eagerly, studying the dear face, recalling its memory, line by line.
The nurse could see that the boy’s eyes were questioning her, yet she could only answer him with a grave smile.
“I’m glad you’ve come,” she murmured later when the doctor had come in and she and the boy were on the other side of the room for a moment. “He’s wanted you so much!”
“Oh,” said Revel fervently, “if I had only known it. I didn’t have any idea he cared. He didn’t write to me.”
“Oh, but he did! He wrote a good many letters!”
Revel looked at her in astonishment and shook his head.
“I never got them,” he said sadly.
The doctor called for the nurse then, and Revel stood thinking it over. Was it possible that his father had deliberately kept the letters from him?
When the doctor had completed his examination, he smiled down at his patient.
“You’ve got your wish, old friend,” he said, “and now you must take a little rest. Close your eyes and go to sleep.”
The sick man’s anxious eyes sought Revel’s.
“Don’t go, Revel,” he pleaded.
“No, Revel won’t go,” said the doctor. “He’ll sit right over there in the willow chair where you can see him as soon as you wake up. Won’t you, Revel?”
For answer the boy came and sat where the doctor indicated. The old man’s face lighted with pleasure.
“Nearer. Come nearer,” he whispered.
So Revel moved the chair nearer to the bed, where he could put out his hand and touch the old one, and the patient finally closed his eyes and drew a deep breath of satisfaction.
So Revel sat that morning beside the sick man and watched the gray shadows creep about his lips and under his eyes, and his heart cried out to the God he was just beginning to believe in again. Oh, God, save Grand! Let us have a time to know each other before You take him away! Over and over his heart pleaded as the old man slept, and finally Revel, worn out with the unusual excitement of the last few hours, slept, too.
It was the nurse, stirring about with medicine and a spoon, who awakened him, and then he saw his grandfather’s eyes were open, and a slow smile was dawning on his lips.
“I dreamed you were gone away—” he murmured in a whisper, “but you’re here yet. Emily’s baby—is here—yet—! How—long—can you—stay?”
The words were almost inaudible, but Revel answered them clearly with a glad ring in his own voice.
“Just as long as you want me, Grand!” And he wondered in his heart why he was so sure of that. What would his father say to such a proposition? And how much power would his father have over him legally if he should take a notion to exercise it? He was not of age yet, of course. And yet Revel knew in his heart that he would never desert this beloved old man as long as he needed him. Somehow he would accomplish that. How, he didn’t know. But perhaps the God who sent that letter of summons just when he was wondering what to do, would manage this staying for him, too, so long as he was needed. Then a stab of pain went through his heart as he realized how very near the border this dear invalid was drawing, and it seemed now that he had found him again, he could not bear the thought of giving him up. Not while he was living, anyway.
Each time the doctor came in—and his visits were frequent—he would slip in silently with the awe of one who expected to find the patient gone. But the old man held on, his pulse slowly keeping up the rhythm, yet seemed sometimes so near to stopping that no man of science could reasonably expect it not to stop very soon. And Revel, standing across the room, watched, and prayed in his heart, and stood so face-to-face with the possibility of death that it seemed as the hours went by that he had lived several years since he arrived.
As soon as his grandfather slept Revel wrote a brief note to his father and sent it special delivery.
Dad:
I reached here early this morning and found my grandfather still breathing, but that was about all. The doctor says he may go any minute. He does not think that there is likelihood of his rallying much, though he seemed greatly pleased at my coming, and the nurse says his pulse is somewhat steadier. I will keep you informed how things are going here. I am glad I came.
As ever,
Your son
He addressed it apathetically and put it in the postbox at the gate for the postman to get when he came, and then he went back and sat by his grandfather, his young, strong hand firmly clasping the old, wrinkled one. And as he sat so, he thought again how very frail and hot and unearthly that hand seemed to be. How like his mother’s before she died, when he had held her hand in just this way. Again his heart contracted with sudden fear.
That afternoon Revel wrote to his father again. He told him that the doctor thought his grandfather might linger for several days more, or even a week, just on the border, and that it was very important to have the grandson stay here. Then he added:
You just go ahead with your plans, Dad. I’ll stay here. I wouldn’t want to be there anyway, and I’m sure the lady you are marrying will be just as well pleased to have me out of the way.
That evening there came a telegram:
Have just returned. Found your communications. Insist you return at once! This is all nonsense that a man so sick would know. I despise a sis. Take the next train home. These are orders!
Your father
Chapter 8
The night that Revel left home for his grandfather’s, Mandy began to be anxious as twilight drew near. She knew that Irving was to be late because he had intended stopping at one or
two places on the way back and then meeting the nine o’clock train from New York, in case “the Boss,” as they called Mr. Radcliffe when he was not around to hear them, decided to return that night.
But Mandy was most uneasy. She had a nice dinner prepared for Revel, and she wanted him to eat it before Irving got back to see it and tell her she was pampering the boy, and if the Boss found it out, there would be thunder to pay.
But Revel did not come. The darkness came down, and there was no sign of anyone coming down the road, though she watched diligently.
When the telephone rang Mandy jumped and waddled so rapidly across the floor to the instrument that she was all out of breath when she got there. And then it was only Irving to know if she wanted him to get more butter in case the Boss should be there for breakfast.
Mandy got herself together and recollected several other things she needed at the store, and then she said breathlessly, “Young master ain’t come home for dinner yet.”
Irving, true to his role, gave Mandy a good scolding for not keeping better track of him, and then asked a number of questions about when he went out. Finally Mandy hung up on him and went to answer the doorbell. And then it was only that “Bud” boy, the truck driver.
“You Mandy?” he demanded, holding out a crumpled and soiled envelope.
“Yeah, I am,” said Mandy, with the air of one being summoned to court for stealing.
“Well, here’s a note fer ya from Revel. He said ta be sure ta give it to ya when nobody weren’t around.”
Bud departed with the air of one having performed an international mission, and Mandy, after squinting in the dark hall at the invisible envelope, betook herself to the kitchen, hunted up her spectacles, and spelled out the letter that Revel had written most plainly.
Dear Mandy:
I certainly hated to go away without telling you, but I thought it might be easier for you if I did, because you would have thought you had to stop me, perhaps, and I couldn’t be stopped.
You see, I got a letter this afternoon saying my grandfather Revel was about to die and wanted to see me before he went, so I had to hurry. I left a note for my dad, and I guess it’ll be all right. Anyway, I’ve gone. Thank you, Mandy, for all you’ve done for me, and you needn’t tell anybody about this note unless you want to. It wasn’t your fault I went. Give my love to Irving sometime when he gets over being angry, and take care of yourself.