VII
“DID you go to Silas Farnum’s?” was Molly’s first question, and her father confessed having done precisely as Amos had predicted; but while giving a truthful account of his experience, he told the story in a half-jesting manner, attributing his compulsory visit to some hypnotic influence, and to a temporary irresponsibility of his own. His daughter, however, was not deceived. Her belief in a supernatural agency renewed its strength.
As for her father, he had never been more at sea in the solution of a problem. In his own mind the only explanation was by the dominance of another mind over his own, by a force presumably mesmeric. The fact that Amos himself was also a victim rendered that theory difficult to accept, unless both were dupes of some third person. If at the time of his visit to Silas Farnum he had been ill, or weak, or in anervous condition, or had it occurred at night when the imagination might get the better of one’s judgment, there would have been the possibility of an explanation on physical grounds. But that he, James Cabot, of good health and strength, should, in the sunlight of a summer noon, be the powerless victim of such an influence, was a theory so mortifying and preposterous as to upset his usual processes of reason.
It was not until the next afternoon that an opportunity was given for a word with Amos. Out on the grass, beneath a huge elm at the easterly corner of the house, Mr. Cabot, in a bamboo chair, was reclining with his paper, when he noticed his young friend cantering briskly along the road on a chestnut horse. Amos saw him, turned his animal toward the low stone wall that separated the Cabots’ field from the highway, cleared it with an easy jump and came cantering over the grass.
“Is that old Betty? I didn’t know she was a jumper.”
“Oh, yes. She has a record.” Dismounting, he faced her about and, with a tap on the flank, told her to go home. She returned, however, and showed a desire to rub noses with him. “Well, have your way, old lady,” and leaving her to a feast of clover he threw himself on the ground at Mr. Cabot’s feet.
“You are a kind man to your animals, Amos, although you may be somewhat offensive as a prophet.”
“So you went, after all?”
“Went where?”
“To see Silas Farnum.”
“Did I say that?”
Amos looked up with a smile that could have a dozen meanings. His wily companion, from a sense of professional caution, wished to feel his way before committing himself.
“You think I went, after all?”
“Yes, sir, I know you did, from my own experience.”
“Which is that the events inevitably occur as foreseen?”
“Always.”
“Well, I will make a clean breast of it and tell you just what happened.”
“I know it already, Mr. Cabot, as well as if you had told me.”
“Do you know of my resolve not to do it? Of my ineffectual resistance and the sensations I experienced?”
“I think so. I have been through it all myself.”
For a minute or two neither spoke. Amos, resting upon an elbow, his cheek against the palm of one hand, was, with the other, deceiving a very small caterpillar into useless marches from one end of a blade of grass to the other. Mr. Cabot, in a more serious tone, continued: “Can you tell me, Amos, on yourhonor, that as far as you know there was no attempt on your part, or on the part of any other person, to influence me upon that occasion?”
Amos tossed aside the blade of grass and sat up. “I give you my word, sir, that so far as I know there is nothing in it of that nature. I am just as helpless as you when it comes to any attempt at resistance.”
“Then how do you account for it?”
Amos had plucked a longer blade of grass, and was winding it about his fingers. “My explanation may seem childish to you, but I have no better one to offer. It is simply that certain events are destined to occur at appointed times, and that my knowing it in advance is not allowed to interfere with the natural order of things.”
“The evidence may seem to point that way, judging from my own experience, but can you believe that the whole human race are carrying out such a cut-and-dried scheme? Accordingto that theory we are merely mechanical dummies, irresponsible and helpless, like cogs in a wheel.”
“No, sir, we are at liberty to do just as we please. It was your own idea going to Silas Farnum’s. That you happened to be told of it in advance created an artificial condition, otherwise you would have gone there in peace and happiness. In other words, it was ordained that you should desire to do that thing, and you were to do as you desired.”
The lawyer remained silent a moment, his face giving no indication either of belief or denial.
“Have you never been able to prevent or even modify the fulfilment of an act after having seen it in advance?”
“No, sir; never.”
“Then these scenes as presented to you are invariably correct, without the slightest change?”
“Yes.”
Mr. Cabot looked down at his friend with a feeling that was not without a touch of awe. Of the young man’s honesty he had not the slightest doubt, and his own recent experience seemed but one more proof of the correctness of his facts. He looked with a curious interest upon this mysterious yet simple Oriental squatting idly on the grass, his straw hat tilted back on his head, the dark face bent forward, as with careful fingers he gathered a bunch of clover.
“If this faculty never fails you your knowledge of future events is simply without limit. You can tell about the weather, the crops, the stock market, the result of wars, marriages, births, and deaths, and who the next president is to be.”
“Yes, sir,” he answered quietly, without looking up.
Mr. Cabot straightened up in his chair and rubbed his chin. His credulity had reached itslimit, yet, if he could judge by the evidence already presented, the young man was adhering strictly to the truth. There followed a silence during which Betty, who in nibbling about had approached within a few feet of them, held out her head, and took the clover from Amos. Mr. Cabot brought a pencil and piece of paper from his pockets. “I would like to try one more experiment, with your permission. Will you write on that paper what I am to do at—well, say ten o’clock to-night?”
Amos took the paper and closed his eyes, but in a moment looked up and said, “You are in the dark and I can see nothing.”
“Then you have no knowledge of what goes on in the dark?”
“No, sir; only of things that I can see. If there is any light at all I can see as if I were there in person, but no better. To-night at ten o’clock you are in your own chamber, and it is absolutely black.”
“Then change the hour to six o’clock.”
As Mr. Cabot, a moment later, turned a sidelong glance toward his friend, sitting with closed eyes before him, he thought the little mark upon his forehead had never been so distinct. He regarded it with a mild surprise as it seemed almost aglow; but the sky was becoming rosy in the west, and there might be a reflection from the setting sun. Amos wrote something on a slip of paper, folded it up and returned it to Mr. Cabot, who carefully tucked it away in a pocket saying, “I shall not read it until six-thirty. I will tell you to-morrow if you are correct.”
“Oh, that is correct, sir! You need have no anxiety on that point.”
As he spoke there passed slowly along the road a cart containing two men, and behind the cart, securely fastened, walked a heavy, vicious-looking bull.
“That is an ugly brute,” he said.
“So I was just thinking. Does he belong in the town?”
“Yes; it is Barnard’s bull. Yesterday he got loose and so mutilated a horse that it had to be shot; and within an hour he tried his best to kill old Barnard himself, which was a good undertaking and showed public spirit. He is sure to have a victim sooner or later, and it certainly ought to be old Barnard if anybody.”
“Who is Barnard?”
“He is the oyster-eyed, malignant old liar and skinflint who lives in that red house about a mile below here.”
“You seem to like him.”
“I hate him.”
“What has he done to you?”
“Nothing; but he bullies his wife, starves his cattle, and cheats his neighbors. Even as a small boy I knew enough to dislike him, and whenever he went by the house I used to stone him.”
“What a pleasant little neighbor you must have been!”
Amos tried to smile, but his anger was evidently too serious a matter to be treated with disrespect. Mr. Cabot, after regarding for a moment the wrathful eyes that still followed the bull, continued:
“You are more than half barbarian, my war-like farmer. Must you do physical damage to everyone you dislike?”
“No, sir; but as a rule I should like to. As for loving your enemies—count me out. I love my friends. The man who pretends to love his enemies is either a hypocrite or a poor hater.”
The older man smiled at the earnestness with which this sentence was uttered. “I am afraid, Mr. Amos Judd, you are not a Christian. Take my advice and join a bible-class before the devil gets his other hand upon you.”
After a few words on other matters, Amos called his mare, and departed.
As the hour of six drew near, Mr. Cabot made a point of realizing that he was a free agent and could do whatever he wished, and he resolved that no guess, based on a probability, should prove correct. To assure himself that there was no compulsion or outside influence of any nature, he started first for the barn to execute a fantastic resolve, then as an additional proof that he was absolutely his own master, suddenly changed his mind, turned about, and went upstairs.
Going along a back passage with no definite intention, he paused at a half-open door, looked in, and entered. The blinds were closed, but between the slats came bars of light from the western sun, illumining the little room, an unused chamber, now serving as a storehouse for such trunks and sundry relics as had failed to reach the attic. Mr. Cabot noticed a rocking-horsein one corner and his eyes sparkled with a new idea. After closing the door he dragged the steed from its resting-place, planted it in the middle of the floor, and looked at his watch. It lacked four minutes of six. As he prepared to mount he saw the legs of a rag-baby projecting over a shelf, and pulling her down, could not restrain a smile as he held her in his arms. A large, round, flat, and very pale but dirty face was emphasized by fiery cheeks, whose color, from a want of harmony with the coarse material of her visage, had only lingered in erratic blotches. With this lady in his arms he mounted the horse, and, while gently rocking with both feet on the ground, he again took out his watch and found he was just on the minute of six o’clock. But he kept his seat for a moment longer, judging the situation too good to be trifled with, and too unusual for any ordinary guess. Carelessly he rocked a little faster, when a front foot of his overladensteed slipped from its rocker and Mr. Cabot nearly lost his balance. The damage, however, he easily repaired; the rag-baby was replaced upon her shelf, and when he left the little room and returned to his own chamber there was an expression upon his face that seemed indicative of an amiable triumph. Some minutes later, with a similar expression, he took from his pocket the slip of paper on which Amos had written, read it once with some haste, then a second time and more carefully.
The Hon. James Cabot, one of the most respected residents of Daleford, attempted at six o’clock to elope with an obscure maiden of the village. But his horse, an animal with one glass eye and no tail, broke down before they had fairly started and went lame in his off front foot.
The Hon. James Cabot, one of the most respected residents of Daleford, attempted at six o’clock to elope with an obscure maiden of the village. But his horse, an animal with one glass eye and no tail, broke down before they had fairly started and went lame in his off front foot.
Gently rocking with both feet on the groundGently rocking with both feet on the ground
Gently rocking with both feet on the ground
Gently rocking with both feet on the ground
For several minutes he stood looking down at the paper between his fingers, occasionally drawing a hand across his forehead. Then herefolded the paper and placing it in his pocket, took his hat and went out into the orchard, to think, and to be alone.
On questioning Amos he found no more light was to be expected from that quarter, as the young man had already expounded his only theory, which was that these visions were but optional warnings of the inevitable: that all was fore-ordained: that there could be no variations in the course of Fate. His mind was not philosophical; his processes of reason were simple and direct, and he listened with profound interest to Mr. Cabot’s deeper and more scientific attempts at reaching a consistent explanation. Little progress, however, was made in this direction, and the lawyer admitted that the evidence, so far, contradicted in no detail his friend’s belief. He also found that Amos, although deeply concerned in the subject when once opened, rarely introduced it himself or referred to it in any way; and that he neveremployed his power except in the rarest emergencies.
Moreover, the lawyer understood how such a faculty, although of value in certain cases, would, in the great majority, be worse than useless, while it could not fail of an overpowering influence on the being who employed it. He respected the strength of purpose that enabled the young man to keep it in the background, and he felt that he had discovered at least one reason for the restless pleasures of his youth. Now, happily, he was securing a calmer and a healthier diversion from a life in the open air. As his neighbor became the object of a deeper study it was evident the conflicting qualities that seemed to give such varying colors to his character were the result of these extraordinary conditions. His occasional recklessness and indifference were now easily explained. His disregard for religious observances was in perfect harmony with an insightinto the workings of a stupendous fate, immeasurably above the burning of candles and the laws of ecclesiastical etiquette. His love of exercise, of sunshine, of every form of pleasure and excitement, were but the means of escape from the pursuing dread of an awful knowledge. And the lavish generosity that often startled his friends and bewildered Daleford was a trivial matter to one who, if he cared to peruse in advance the bulletins of the stock exchange, could double his fortune in a day.
Off and on through July and a part of August an unwonted animation prevailed at the Cabots’, extending at times along the maples to the other house. Certain visitors of Molly’s were the cause of this gayety, and in their entertainment she found Amos a helpful friend. His horses, his fields, his groves, his fruits, his flowers, and himself, were all at her disposal, absolutely and at any time. A few friends of his own coming at the same period proved awelcome reinforcement, and the leaves of the old maples rustled with a new surprise at the life and laughter, the movement, the color, and the music that enlivened their restful shades. And also at night, during the warm evenings when farmers were abed, the air was awake with melodies which floated off in the summer air, dying away among the voices of the frogs and turtles along the borders of the meadow.
One warm afternoon in August, when there were visitors at neither house, Amos and Molly climbed over a wall into a pasture, for a shorter cut toward home. The pasture was extensive, and their course lay diagonally across a long hill, beyond whose brow they could see nothing. A crimson sunshade and white dress were in dazzling contrast to the dull greens of the pasture, whose prevailing colors were from rocks and withered grass. Patches of wild bushes where the huckleberries were in overwhelmingmajority necessitated either wide detours or careful navigating among thorns and briars. Her companion seemed indifferent to the painful fact that knickerbockers are no protection against these enemies. But pricks in the leg at the present moment were too trivial for notice. He was speaking with unusual earnestness, keeping close at her side, and now and then looking anxiously into her face. It may have been the heat and the exercise that drove the color to her cheeks, and there were also signs of annoyance as if she desired to escape him; but the ground was uneven, and the stones and bushes rendered haste impossible. She also appeared tired, and when they stopped at intervals always turned away her face, until finally, when half across the field, she sank upon a rock. “I really must rest. I am dreadfully warm.”
He stood beside her, facing in the same direction, both looking over the peaceful valleyfrom which an occasional cow-bell was the only sound.
“It is really a little unfair that my old record should come between us. I was only twenty then, with no end of money and no parents or guardian to look after me. Mr. Judd would let me do whatever I wished, and of course I sailed ahead and did everything. Instead of having an allowance like other fellows I just asked for what I wanted, and always got it. And that is death to a boy.”
He pulled a twig from a bush and began to bite the end of it. If at that instant he had glanced down at the face beside him, he might have detected an expression that was not unjustly severe. There was a distinct ray of sympathy in the eyes that were fixed thoughtfully upon the valley.
“And then all the girls met me more than half-way, as if they, too, had conspired against me.”
This was said in a half-resentful, half-plaintive tone, and so delightfully free from any boastfulness that Molly, to conceal something very near a smile, bent her head and picked nettles from her skirt.
“Of course I liked a good time, there is no denying that, and I struck the wrong gang at college. I suppose I was weak—everlastingly and disgustingly weak; but really you might make allowances, and anyway—”
He stopped abruptly and turned about. Looking up she saw an expression in his eyes, as they gazed at something behind her, that caused her to spring to her feet and also turn about. As she did so the color left her face and her knees gave way beneath her. Instinctively she clutched his arm. Within twenty yards of them stood Barnard’s bull, and in his broad black head and cruel horns, in the distended nostrils and bloodshot eye, she read the fury of an unreasoning brute; and with it her owndeath and mutilation. Helpless they stood in the open pasture with no tree or refuge near. Amos cast a swift glance to the right, to the left, and behind them. The bull lowered his head just a very little, and as he stepped slowly forward she could hear his breath in impatient puffs. Her brain began to swim and she closed her eyes, but a sharp word and a rough shake brought her back with a start.
“Do just as I tell you. Turn and walk slowly off to the wall at the right. Then climb over. Don’t run till I say so. Give me your parasol.”
He twisted her about and gave her a push.
“Don’t look around.”
Gasping, faint, and so weak from terror that she could hardly direct her steps, she did as she was told. In her dazed mind there was no conception of time or distance, but, a moment after, hearing a snort from the bull and the quick pounding of his feet, she stopped and turned. She expected to see Amos on the creature’shorns, but Amos was running in the other direction, so far safe, although scarcely his own length ahead. In an instant she saw to her horror that, although a nimble runner, he was losing distance with every spring of the bull. But with a presence of mind that did much toward renewing her own courage, he kept looking over his shoulder, and when further running was hopeless, he jumped swiftly to one side, the side up the hill, and the ponderous brute plunged on for several feet before he could come to a stop. Amos looked at once in her direction, and when he saw her he shook his hand and cried, in an angry voice:
“Run! Run! Your life depends on it!”
There was no time to say more, for the bull had wheeled and was again coming toward him. Molly turned and ran as she never ran before, and never before did so many thoughts flash through her mind. Above all came the torturing regret that she could be of no possibleservice to the man who, at that moment perhaps, was giving up his life for hers. Leaping rocks, stumbling over hillocks, tearing through bushes, she finally reached the wall, scrambled up and over as best she could, then, with a throbbing heart and pallid face, looked back into the field.
They were farther up the hill, and Amos had evidently just jumped aside, for again the bull and he were facing each other. The animal was advancing slowly toward him, head down, with an angry lashing of the tail and occasional snorts that drove the blood from the spectator’s heart. As Amos retreated slowly, his face to the animal, she saw him look swiftly in her direction, then back at the bull. Faster and faster the animal came toward him, and when finally he bounded forward on a run Amos turned and ran for his life. He was now making for this side of the pasture, but she saw with the keenest anguish that all his elasticityhad departed, that he was losing ground much faster than at first. That he should show signs of exhaustion caused her no surprise, for the ground was rough, low briars and bushes concealing rocks of treacherous shapes and varying sizes, and the race was harder for the man than for the bull. The distance between them was being lessened with a rapidity that might end the struggle without a second’s warning, and the horns were now within a yard of his heels. Again he jumped to one side, but this time it brought a cry of agony from beyond the wall. His foot slipped, and instead of landing a yard or more from the creature’s path, he measured his length upon the ground. The bull lowered his head and plunged savagely upon him. The horns grazed the prostrate body, and the heavy brute, by his own impetus, dashed a dozen yards beyond. Amos raised first his head and shoulders, then climbed to his feet, slowly, like one bewilderedor in pain. He stood cautiously upon his legs as if uncertain of their allegiance, but he still clutched the crimson sunshade. The bull, with fiery nostrils and bloodshot eyes, once more came on, and Amos started for the wall. It was evident to the one spectator that his strength was gone. With every jump of the thing behind him he was losing ground, and the awful end was near, and coming swiftly. She sank against the wall and clutched it, for the sky and pasture were beginning to revolve before her straining eyes. But Amos, instead of coming straight for the wall, bore down the hill. With the hot breath close upon his heels, he opened the crimson sunshade, jumped aside, and thrust it upon the pursuing horns: then without looking back he made a bee-line for the wall. It was skilfully done, and for one precious moment the seeming victor was delayed by goring the infuriating color; but only for a moment. He saw his enemy escaping andbounded in pursuit. This time, however, he missed him by a dozen feet and saw him vault the barrier into safety. The wall he accepted as a conclusion, but he stood close against it, looking over in sullen anger, frothing, hot-eyed, and out of breath.
Then he witnessed a scene, to him of little interest, but which signified much to another person. He saw the girl, anxious, pale, with disordered hair, eagerly approach the exhausted runner; then, nervously pressing a hand to her cheek, she bent forward and asked a question. The young man, who was leaning against a tree and seemed to have trouble with his breathing, suddenly, with a joyful face, stretched forth his hands, and with even more eagerness than her own, asked in his turn a question, whereupon the color rushed to her face. Looking down, then up at him, then down again, she smiled and muttered something, and he, without waiting for furtherwords, seized her in his arms, and with one hand holding her chin, kissed her mouth and cheeks, not once but many times. But she pushed away from him, flushed and possibly angry. However, it could not have been a deep-seated or lasting anger, for she created no disturbance when he took one of her hands in both of his and made a little speech. It appeared an interesting discourse, although she looked down and off, and all about, at everything except at him, smiling and changing color all the while. He seemed foolishly happy, and when a moment later he wished to assist in rearranging her hair, he was not depressed because the offer was declined with contempt.
Then the young man took a few steps toward the wall, and stood facing the huge head whose bloodshot eyes were still upon him. As he lifted his hand there was a hitch in the motion, and a spasm of pain drew down a corner of his mouth, but the girl behind him could not see this. He raised his cap and saluted his adversary.
“I thank you, Bull, for chasing me into Molly Cabot’s heart”“I thank you, Bull, for chasing me into Molly Cabot’s heart”
“I thank you, Bull, for chasing me into Molly Cabot’s heart”
“I thank you, Bull, for chasing me into Molly Cabot’s heart”
“I thank you, Bull, for chasing me into Molly Cabot’s heart.”
Then he turned, and hand in hand, the two people disappeared among the pines.