"Read it to us, Lizzī," he requested.
"No, I want you to see it and read it for yourselves."
Then he read it aloud. They were overjoyed at this confirmation of their faith in her. Peter fell on his daughter's neck and begged her forgiveness. With a kiss she sealed it, already granted.
When she could control her voice she said: "John's mother was opposed to our marriage, and threatened to cut him out of her property. John is dead, or he would have come back to me."
Lizzī had schooled herself, and was able to utter that sentence as she would have told a bit of ordinary news.
"So I never told you, and let mother die without knowin' I wasn't bad, because I don't want John's mother to know he left a wife, for she would cut me off without anything, and after a while I might want to claim her property for John's child."
"Oh!" said Cassi, a vision of wealth gleaming before him.
"Oh!" echoed Matthi, glad of Lizzī's prospects.
"Ah!" ejaculated Levi, seeing ahead a sensational lawsuit that would likely come on by the time he was admitted to practice and make him famous.
But the father said:
"I hope Gill's money will come ter yer, Lizzī; but I'm gladder of thet writin' than if yer had the wealth of Nebuchadnezzar. I'd a great deal rather see you eatin' grass and know yer was clean, than have yer livin' in a king's palace, foul."
It was a thrilling speech dramatically delivered.
"And you'll keep my secret, boys? Tell them to, father."
"We will," they answered, without waiting for their father's command, and speaking earnestly, as if they took an oath.
From downstairs came a rattling of the stove doors. Gret, unconscious of the dramatic incident upstairs, was getting breakfast. She did not wonder why Peter had called his sons. She was not inquisitive, not officious, but sympathetic and helpful.
"I must tell one woman," Lizzī said, "for I can't bear to have all my sex have a bad opinion of me. So I'll tell Gret Reed. Levi, you go down and help her a minute, while I tidy up a bit."
Gret had breakfast on the table when Lizzī came downstairs, and the hungry brothers had taken their seats. Peter stood at the foot of the table. Gret was at Lizzī's accustomed place; the mother's chair at the head of the table was vacant. Lizzī went to Gret: "You take mother's place."
"No, Lizzī, that is your seat now. I will sit where you used to."
Gret would not yield to Lizzī's urgent request.
"Then," said Lizzī, "I can't sit there till you read that and know I don't shame my mother's place."
"Why, Lizzī!" Gret began in protest, but Lizzī interrupted:
"Read it; you have trusted me, and I'll trust you."
Gret took the marriage-certificate, read it, and returned it without a word. A soft smile was the only indication of joy at Lizzī's vindication.
"I have good reason for wantin' nobody else to know it' Gret. Now sit down to breakfast."
"It's not worth the paper it's written on, except to show us our sister is pure."
Levi addressed his father and brothers in the school-room on the Sunday following his mother's funeral. He referred to the marriage-certificate which Lizzī guarded so carefully.
Hunch Blair lay close to the floor, under a desk which protected him from discovery. During the day he had heard Levi tell Cassi to come to the school-house in the evening. Suspecting something interesting, he got there before the McAnays.
"It's no good, I say," Levi continued, "and there's nothing left for us to do but bring the sneak back and have Parson Lawrence marry him and Lizzī. And if he won't come, why, settle with him, that's all."
"Yes, tar and feather and then burn him," suggested Matthi as his idea of settlement.
"No, lynch him," Cassi advised.
"Well, we must lose no time," said Levi.
"But Lizzī believes Gill is dead," Peter remarked.
"Dead nothin'," replied the stolid Matthi. "He's most likely foolin' another girl some place, and I'd like ter git a chance ter put a stop to his gallantin'."
Matthi made a gesture suggestive of wringing the neck of a chicken.
"Come, boys," Levi said, "let's swear. Join your right hands to mine above our father's head. Now say, we are three brothers whose sister hasbeen deeply wronged, and we do swear in the presence of our aged father and upon our honor as men to seek John Gillfillan, our sister's betrayer, and compel him to return to her and make her his wife, and if he will not, to avenge our sister's honor by his blood."
"We swear," they all said solemnly, after the formula had been repeated.
Peter bowed his approval, and encouraged them by saying:
"Go to-morrer, boys, and God bless ye. I'll take care of Lizzī."
Levi pulled from his pocket some money, not very much, although it was the savings of two years, and began counting it in the moonlight, while the others watched him curiously. He fingered the bills fondly. He slowly dropped the gold coins into his hat, and listened with evident delight to the clinking of the falling pieces. He held the silver close to the window, and looked from it to the gold, from the gold to the moon.
"The moon is a silver dollar, and the sun is a twenty-dollar gold-piece."
About to make a sacrifice, he said a silly thing that his father and brothers should think he gave easily and without pain.
"There, father," he said, turning first the silver, then the gold, into his father's hat, and on top of the yellow and argent pile laying the paper money, "there, father, that's for Lizzī, and will keep her until we come back, bringing her husband. If we don't find him, we'll work for her."
Peter, seized with a fit of trembling, sat down helplessly, and picking up the hat, ran his fingers among the coins, clinking them. Cassi and Matthi looked on in quiet admiration, both wishing heartily that the balance due them on the furnace books was not so light. Although half ashamed to place his small savings beside Levi's princely gift, Matthi remarked:
"Guess if we put our money together it would look bigger, Cassi."
"Kind of small potatoes beside of Levi's pile," Cassi replied; "but if Levi will write us an order, we'll sign it, hey, Matthi?"
Levi had with him an inkstand, a then new invention for the pocket, and pen and paper. He wrote the order in the moonlight, and the brothers signed it.
"God bless ye all!" exclaimed Peter as he received the order. "Ye are the best sons any man ever had. Oh! if yer mother's lookin' down on us, she's not ashamed ter hold her head up among the angels, 'less she feels bad 'bout not believin' in Lizzī." He put the money and order in his pocket. When they were secure, Levi hoisted a window on the dark side of the school-house and crawled through it. Then he helped his father out, and the others followed. For a moment they stood under the trees and breathed the resinous atmosphere of the woods just budding.
There was a silent shake of the father's trembling hand by each son in turn, and then they parted.
Lizzī got the usual early Monday breakfast, but made places for four only. Levi's school was closed for the year, and she meant he should enjoy a long morning nap if he chose. Her father came down, and she inquired if he had called Matthi and Cassi.
"I looked in their room, but they're up," he replied.
"Up? Funny I didn't hear them. Wonder where they could have gone this time in the morning without any breakfast."
"There's no tellin'," was Peter's answer.
Father and daughter ate silently. When his hunger was satisfied, Peter kissed her and, taking his axe and bundle, departed to the chopping.
The morning slipped by. Matthi and Cassi did not return, and Levi's sleep seemed endless. Lizzī went to his door and listened, but heard nosound. Pushing the door open a little, she looked in. The room was empty. The bed had not been slept in that night. On the wash-stand lay a note addressed to her in Levi's writing.
"Dear Lizzī: We have gone to find out for you all about John Gillfillan.
Your Three Brothers."
"Father knew it," she said, with a soft smile. "I hope the boys will bring me good news; but I know John is dead."
She had not wept for her husband, but for him a constant stream of grief flowed through her being, a river of soul-tears, no sound of its current rising to the surface.
She was almost entirely alone now. No one came to see her except Gret Reed and Mrs. Hornberger. Even Blind Benner and Hunch seemed to have deserted her, for they were missing from the town.
"I know somethin' I won't tell," was Hunch's greeting to his blind friend on the Monday following the secret meeting of the McAnays in the school-house.
"Yer allers knowin' somethin', and it ain't nothin' when a feller finds it out."
"But it's somethin'; no little niggers in a peanut-shell this here time."
Hunch lowered his voice to a whisper, as he led Benner to the rear of the store. There he continued:
"Levi, Cassi, and Matthi's gone ter find Gill."
Benner gave a start, and would have uttered an exclamation, had not Hunch prevented him by laying a hand over his mouth and saying:
"Hush."
"They'll mebbe kill him," he continued.
"What fer?"
"Fer not marryin' Lizzī right."
"Lizzī don't know," Benner asserted.
"Yes, she does," Hunch replied.
"Yer a liar," and Blind Benner struck at Hunch.
He dodged, and said:
"Can't yer keep quiet? Lizzī don't want nobody ter know it."
"Yer a bigger liar than ever, an' yer ain't no friend uv mine."
Benner spoke louder than before, and sprang at Hunch, but missed him, and would have fallen against the counter had not Hunch caught him.
"Hello, there, boys! What are you fighting about?" Colonel Hornbeger called from the desk.
"Nothin'," Benner replied surlily; and Hunch said, "Benner's mad 'cause I told him somethin' he didn't like."
"Well, no fighting here."
"Say, Benner, what'd yer call me a liar fer?" Hunch asked when the Colonel's back was turned.
"'Cause yer sed Lizzī knowed she was married wrong."
This was spoken in a whisper so the Colonel would not hear it.
"Didn't say nothin' uv the kind. I sed she knowed the boys hed gone huntin' fer Gill."
"They won't ketch him," the blind man stated. "If he's run off, he'll hide from 'em, but he couldn't hide from me."
Hunch did not laugh at this declaration. He had equal faith in the blind man's ability as a detective, and expressed it.
"They orter hev took yer with 'em."
"Yes, they orter."
"Hunch!" called the clerk who had succeeded Gill. He responded, and was sent to the cellar. When he returned, Blind Benner had formed his plan and was ready to disclose it.
"Hunch, Gill must be brung back ter Lizzī, an' I want yer ter take me ter the McAnay boys an' I'll help find him."
"I'll do it, Benner."
"Hand, then, Hunch."
They closed the compact, which had been made in whispers, with a vigorous hand shaking.
Bill Kellar stood before the door of his house, shouting at the top of his voice as if he bayed the moon, just rising over the top of Bald Mountain. Echo, hiding in the shadow, replied to him. He would shout, then listen to his voice coming back, mellowed and musical.
"Bill's got 'nuther crazy fit," said Hunch, pausing at the gate, while Benner leaned against the fence to rest. In one hand the dwarf carried his cornet, in the other Blind Benner's fiddle, enclosed in a green bag.
"You fellows are always welcome on this plantation," said Bill, coming to meet them, and grasping Benner's hand affectionately, while he playfully knocked Hunch's hat over his eyes.
"Say, Bill," inquired the dwarf, "what 'er yellin' at, the sky?"
"Well, Hunch, I'll tell you and Benner, for I know you will keep it secret. I'm working on an invention that will be a blessing to the folks that live in cities. I mean a sound-softener."
"Sound-softener, thet runs off yer tongue slick as soft-soap."
Blind Benner was very angry at this lack of reverence, but Bill only laughed, and replied:
"It does slip easily, too much so, or I'd have found it out before now and had the right thing patented."
"Why don't yer set a trap fer it?" Hunch inquired seriously.
"Hunch, yer a fool!" Benner exclaimed angrily.
"Jist find it out?" the dwarf asked serenely.
Bill continued:
"I've been experimenting, but I have only one voice, and it makes the same echo. Now, you boys shout when I do, one short loud yell. Then pause and listen. Now, ready: one, two, go."
They shouted loudly as they could, and became instantly still. Echo sent back to them their voices, Hunch's shrill scream dominant over Bill's round full tone. In the wave of sound Benner's plaintive cry was almost drowned. Bill clapped his hands; he was overjoyed.
"It'll work, it'll work," he exclaimed, "and the dwellers in cities will thank me, thank Bill Kellar when he perfects his Echo Sound-softener. I am going to rig up a combination of walls that will reverberate sounds, most of which will die before they reach the drum of the ear. It will just slip over the ear easily and fit it comfortably. Two people wearing sound-softeners can converse easily on the streets, undisturbed by the noise of drays, street-cars, stages, and the shouts of the drivers."
Bill broke off abruptly here. He had become excited, and was nervouslyafraid his hearers did not understand him, so he ceased description and remarked:
"You will see just how it works when I get it done."
Blind Benner said he was sure it would succeed. Hunch was silent for a while. Presently he observed:
"Last winter my ear-lugs shet up my hearin' purty near, and I hed ter punch a hole in 'em, and then I didn't hear very loud."
Bill looked at the goblin leering at him in the moonlight and wondered how much mockery, how much earnestness there was in his words. As for Blind Benner, he was so much vexed as to lose his patience. Yet, willing to avoid a quarrel, he asked Bill how his violin did.
"Well, very well," Bill replied. "Last night I named her Magdalene, for in her dwell seven devils of fascination. She went before me, and I followed. We climbed heights, we plunged into depths, until I fell prostrate, worn out in the chase after the phantom, Music, who smiled on me pityingly as she stepped into her star chariot drawn by flying meteors."
Blind Benner, enraptured, cried:
"Go on, go on."
But Hunch again checked Bill's enthusiasm by pointing to the Milky Way, dim through the moonlight, and remarking:
"Jerushy! What a lot uv crazy fiddlers' girls must be out ridin' ternight."
Benner's face at first expressed contempt, but it softened to compassion as he said:
"'Tain't yer fault, Hunch. Yer ain't got it in yer head."
But Bill thought Hunch had it in his head, and resolved never to mention the sound-softener nor use high-sounding phrases before him. Becoming more practical, he invited his guests indoors, curious to know the object of their visit, yet too courteous to inquire. Benner did not keep him long in ignorance.
"The McAnay boys is gone ter hunt Gill, but they'll never find him, an' me an' Hunch is goin' ter find the boys an' help 'em git Gill. Then they'll bring him back an' make him marry Lizzī right."
"How can you help find him?" Bill asked gently and not incredulously.
"By my ears. He can't fool 'em if they'd ever hear him laugh er speak, but he might fool the boys' eyes."
"That's so," Bill assented. "But how are you and Hunch goin' to keep up with the big McAnays? They wouldn't want to be bothered with you."
He was considering the plan practically.
"We thought mebbe you'd lend us yer spring wagon," Benner said timidly.
"Of course I would, and drive it too, if I had somebody to look after the place."
"Gee-whitaker!" shouted Hunch. "Wouldn't that be the dandy fun, though."
"We could give concerts to pay expenses," Bill continued, "only I'm afraid of the devil."
"Thunder! I'd blow the devil up his own chimney with my horn," Hunch fairly screamed, greatly excited by the proposed tour.
Benner trembled in silent joy. He was afraid to speak lest he should suggest some objection to the plan and overthrow the whole scheme.
"We'd have to practice awhile together, then I'd know if the devil meant to bother me." Bill spoke meditatively, and continued his thought in silence. Presently Hunch broke the quiet.
"Say, Bill, listen ter me. It's my thinkin' thet if there's enybody this side uv heaven that Satan's afeard uv, it's Parson Lawrence; an' ef yer hed somethin' uv his'n 'long with yer, I don't think the devil'd come near yer."
"Right, boy, right." Bill rushed at Hunch and shook him nervously. "Maybe you have freed the devil-bound slave."
Blind Benner expressed his gratitude by saying:
"Yerain'tno fool, Hunch, but yer an awful tease."
No king ever received homage more gracefully than Hunch.
"What'll it be?" he asked; and when the others failed to suggest anything he gave them further reason to admire his cleverness.
"I don't think Satan'd dare put his split foot on a lock uv Parson Lawrence's hair."
That was decisive; but how to obtain a lock of Parson Lawrence's hair was not so easily agreed upon. Finally, Hunch asserted with something of a swagger.
"I'll git it, don't be afeard, fellers."
Before him rose a vision of the good man asleep upon his bed. A malformed figure creeps silently across the floor. It is Hunch. He reaches the bed. He stretches out a hand, which holds a pair of shears. There is a snap in the stillness. Soon the dwarf departs through the window, bearing with him a lock of the snow-white hair.
Blind Benner spoiled this possible adventure.
"Don't steal it, Hunch," he said, "'cause if yer do, the devil will walk on it jest like he would on his own carpet, fer all stole things is his."
Hunch's countenance fell and his manner became less confident, but yet he declared he would be able to procure the lock of hair. However, he made an effort to prepare Bill for disappointment by asking:
"Wouldn't cotton in yer ears do as well as the hair in the box?"
Bill shook his head despondently, and replied:
"No, no; that makes me deaf for a while to the sweet voice of the violin, become a devil's witch when my bow crosses the strings. When I refuse to listen, the old Tempter gets into the fibre of the violin and pleads by the touch of the vibrating, throbbing instrument, tender and thrilling as the caress of the woman you love."
Blind Benner's thoughts went to Lizzī. He knew what her touch was to him.
While talking, Bill had got the violin and was tuning it. Hunch caught up his horn and blew a series of discordant notes. A frown settled on Bill's brow as he put the violin back into the box, while Hunch exclaimed:
"That devil of yers couldn't stand a brass band, ef one horn scares him, an' I guess there's no use in gittin' a lock uv hair from Parson Lawrence."
"Yes, there is. Get it for me. When I'm alone I can't resist the temptation sometimes, and I haven't got you to drive Satan away. Yes, Hunch," he pleaded, "please get it for me."
Early the next morning Hunch started for Parson Lawrence's home, near the Boomer Creek church. On his way he met the mail-carrier going to Three-Sisters, and sent a note to Lizzī. It read:
"Lizzī: Me and Benner is visitin' Bill Kellar fer fun.Hunch."
"Lizzī: Me and Benner is visitin' Bill Kellar fer fun.
Hunch."
The dwarf never gave a thought to the store or his father, nor for a moment regretted the loss of a situation, which he knew would be the penalty of his unceremonious departure. The note to Lizzī would inform Benner's friends of his whereabouts and quiet their uneasiness.
"Parson," Hunch said, meeting the reverend gentleman at the church door, "what der yer think crazy Bill Kellar's got inter his head now?"
"I am sure I cannot imagine. A crazy man's notions are hard to guess."
"He still thinks the devil's got him by the ear an' makes him play the fiddle in spite of hisself."
"That is his old delusion, and I'm afraid he will never be rid of it."
"But he thinks yer kin cure him, Parson."
"How?" asked the kindly man, much amused, but willing to be of assistance to the violinist.
"By givin' him a lock uv yer hair ter keep in the fiddle-box, and thet'll keep the devil out so he can't coax Bill."
"He wants a fetich," the clergyman replied sharply, not inclined to encourage the superstition.
"Oh! he's crazy enough ter want anythin'," Hunch remarked innocently, not knowing what a fetich was, but thinking it a queer name for a lock of hair.
The minister laughed. He did not think it wrong to humor the fancies of the insane, and so complied with the request.
Bill received the lock of hair with demonstrative joy and effusive thanks, and Benner shook the dwarf's hand gratefully.
Within a week the trio departed on their tour. A man whom Bill could trust was left in charge of his farm, and a note was sent to Lizzī by her laconic correspondent:
"Lizzī: Bill, Benner and me is gon' consertin'.Hunch."
"Lizzī: Bill, Benner and me is gon' consertin'.
Hunch."
The McAnay brothers went direct to the town where Gill had said his mother lived. There they learned that he had not been seen in the village since his mother died.
"How long ago was that?" Levi asked their informant.
"'Bout five year."
"Five years? You must be mistaken."
Levi was staggered by the realization of the cruelty of Gill's plot against his sister, while Matthi and Cassi ground their teeth and clenched their hands.
"If yer don't believe me," said the indifferent villager, "yer kin ask his mother-'n-law; she lives jist over there."
"His mother-in-law? Has he a wife?" Levi would not believe Gill was so depraved.
"He hed one here; nobody knows how many he's got scattered 'round. The one here died 'bout a month ago. She heard he'd marrid agin, an' the news didn't 'gree with her. She was sickly ennyhow. Gill's a slick un, he is."
"Did they call him Gill here?" Levi asked.
"Yes; nobody but his mother an' his wife called him John. Gillfillan's too long, so folks jist called him Gill, 'cept his mother-'n-law, an' she didn't call him nuthin'."
Levi laughed in a forced way at this, but Matthi and Cassi scowled. With his sinister smile lighting up his face, Levi said, lightly as he could:
"We didn't know Gill was so gay. We used to work where he did, and as we were out of a job, thought we'd hunt him up and get something to do, since we were passing his way."
"He ain't ben here fer more'n five year, as I was tellin' yer. Guess he's somewheres in jail. He was honest 'nuff, but would go courtin' the gurls in spite uv enything."
The garrulous fellow was laughing at his own wit, when Levi said in a careless way:
"Since we have heard so much about Gill, I would like to know one thing more. He was always bragging about his rich mother and the fortune he was going to get at her death."
The villager exploded in a loud guffaw at this, and, after a vigorous shaking of his sides and slapping his thighs, said, between the gasps and swallows which were distressing him:
"Why, she—well, thet's—by jiminy—well, heng it, she was a wash an' scrub woman, an' the neighburs buri'd her."
By this time Levi had obtained the mastery of himself, and laughed heartily, apparently, as he said:
"He was a very tall liar, and he fooled us all. Lord, how we used to envy him when he told of his rich mother, that she was mighty fine-looking and could write such beautiful letters, and all that! Guess it was all a lie, eh?"
"Couldn't write her own name; never went to school in her life."
Matthi and Cassi were becoming restless, and their black looks attracted the villager's attention. The brothers had met him just at the beginning of a street, and were able to have this conversation with him alone; but presently two or three curious men came up to learn the reason of the visit of the stalwart strangers.
"These fellers knowed Gill somewheres, an' they thought he was livin' here. Guess from the looks uv two uv 'em it wouldn't go easy fer him ef they was ter git their han's on him."
The villager vouchsafed this explanation to his fellow-townsmen.
"Well, we have got a crow to pick with him if we happen to find him," said Levi, who persisted in talking for himself and his brothers, feeling he could not trust them, they were so angry.
"Where yer from?" asked one of the new-comers.
"Three-Sisters."
"Why, thet's where Gill got his last wife," exclaimed another.
Levi was thankful that it was growing so dark that faces could not be clearly distinguished. He stated frankly, believing the quickest way out of the difficulty to be the truth:
"That wife was our sister, and we are looking for him."
"I hope yer will ketch him an' bring him back here, an' I'll help yer settle with him."
"Who are you?" asked Levi, struck by the fierce earnestness of the man who had come up just in time to learn the object of the McAnays' quest.
"One uv his fathers-'n-law," the man replied, with brutal sarcasm.
"The father of the wife he had here?"
"Who told yer 'bout thet?" asked the man, angrily. "Bet 'twas thet little gossipin' woman, Pete Dunn, thet I seen yer talkin' ter."
He made a rush at Pete Dunn, but Matthi interfered.
"He was only obligin'. Natur'ly we'd ask the first person we met 'bout Gill. So don't put the blame on our friend here."
Matthi's position was so reasonable that even the angry man agreed with him.
The brothers went in company of the villagers to the town, and stopped all night at the inn. When they departed next morning, a crowd gathered and wished them success in bringing to justice the man who had injured them.
They went from town to town, stopping a week or more at a place, doing what work they could obtain, and keeping a sharp lookout for Gill. Their reticence and mutual understanding, coupled with their constant watchfulness, excited suspicion when they first entered a village or town, but when they departed from it they left behind many friends.
The musicians went first to Barberry, where they gave a concert, at which the advance agent of a circus was present on a complimentary ticket given him by Bill Kellar.
There was a small audience, but the performers were not discouraged. They began the programme with a trio, which was rather noisy than melodious. Of this Bill was rather glad, for, although not discordant, it was sufficiently vigorous to warn the devil that there was ample discord in reserve to overcome the wooing of the violin should he instigate it to tempt the violinist.
Next came a violin solo by Bill, which he began nervously but played to the end without distress. The audience demanded more, and he gave an improvisation, a slow, insinuating thing that held the senses of the hearers with the winsome spell of an opiate.
Hunch followed as the "Human Bagpipes," introduced by Bill, who spoke of him as "the unpremeditated, one of impulsive Nature's whims, a man full of unexpected things and bountifully provided with breathing apparatus."
"The hump on his back," Bill continued, "is not a deformity, but an abundance. Consumption would grow weary in trying to absorb his lungs, and pneumonia hesitates to attack him. He is triple-lunged, and the bump on his back is the home of the third one. In this curved space the superfluous, yet useful, lung inflates and collapses, and from it are emitted the musical notes which you will now listen to. It is with great pleasure, ladies and gentlemen, that I introduce to you Mr. Blair."
Hunch got up on the platform and made a bow that caused everybody to laugh, it was so comically affected. Bill noticed with pride that the circus agent paid more attention to the bagpipe imitation than he had done to his own solo. A veritable Scotchman Hunch seemed as he wriggled his back and piped the "Campbells are coming." For an encore he gave "Annie Laurie." He himself could not give an explanation of the manner of producing the peculiar tones that so closely resembled the bagpipes. He knew only that his mouth was partly open while it emitted the sounds, and that instinctive, rather than intended, movements of his jaws, assisted by nervous contractions and expansions of his throat and chest, forced out the notes. When he finished the encore he was loudly applauded, and a repetition was insisted upon. Hunch was obliging, and played on his larynx the ever-popular "Bessie, the Maid of Dundee."
The next thing on the programme was a series of magical tricks performed by Bill, who claimed to have been a pupil of Signor Blitz. These pleased the audience, and they cried for more. He executed all he knew, and then treated them to some ventriloquism, which was not good, but delighted them nevertheless.
The musicians remained in Barberry another night, and the school-house would not hold the crowd that came to hear the demon-driven fiddler, his blind second, and the human bagpipes.
The circus agent was again in attendance, and concluded that it would be wise to compromise with the opposition show. So he made the musicians a liberal offer, which they accepted, thus becoming a part of Barkup's Colossal Aggregation. With it they wandered from town to town, exhibiting twice a day, but doing none of the drudgery attendant upon the pitching and striking of the tents.
They gave their performances in a side-show, and during the exhibition in the big tent played with the band. Only here Blind Benner handled the bow, playing second to Bill, who was leading violin.
The season was almost over, and the circus was working towards the Eastern city whence it started. One dismal night the flickering fires of pine-knots in the iron crates on the posts in front of the tents shot long quivering lances into the darkness without seeming to illuminate it. The glib ticket-seller stood before the side-show, active and picturesque in the ruddy gleams. One minute he was half in shadow, at the next in bold relief, as the blaze of the fires bent toward him as though giving him its undivided attention, while he cried the list of curiosities, phenomena, and attractions to be seen inside the tent for the small sum of a dime.
Just as the words "human bagpipes" fell from his lips, three men emerged from the darkness and stopped a few paces from the tent. They were tall, muscular, and seemed to be listening to his fluent and wordy narrative of the annex-show. He noticed them and, beginning anew, he directed his harangue to them. Amused smiles spread over their faces when they realized to whom his descriptions applied, and, buying tickets, they entered with the other sight-seers.
Hunch mounted the platform and began his bagpipe imitations. The peculiar position of his head in this vocal exercise required him to look towards the top of the centre-pole of the tent, so that he could not see his audience except when making his bow.
When he finished, and the audience was tumultuously encoring him, a hand was laid on the arm of the tallest of the three men, who stood apart from the crowd. Hunch, who was bowing to the mixed assemblage, missed Blind Benner from his accustomed seat, just before the stage. Hunch soon caught sight of his blind friend, who was saying:
"Oh, I'm so glad ter see yer, Levi."
Levi started in surprise at the naturalness of the greeting. After scrutinizing the blind eyes for a moment, he waved a hand close to them, but they stared at him without blinking.
Hunch jumped from the platform and elbowed a way through the astonished spectators.
"Gee-whittaker, fellers! we thought yer was dead, er lost, er back in the Sisters. We've been huntin' yer."
"Say, Benner, when did you leave the Sisters?" Cassi asked.
"'Bout a week after yer fellers."
"And Lizzī was well then?"
"Yes, she was well."
The blind man had turned toward the stage, where Bill was standing violin in hand, and was waiting reverently to hear the music.
Hunch shouted familiarly:
"Say, Bill, don't yer know yer old frien's?"
The audience laughed at this ingenuous inquiry.
Signor Kellar, as he was denominated on the bills, did not smile, but bowed gravely and slipped the violin under his chin.
"They might 'Signor' Hunch Blair all they'd a mind ter, he'd stop the biggest show on earth ter shake han's with Lizzī's brothers," the dwarf muttered.
The liquid notes of "Home, Sweet Home" floated to him as he stood by the exit. The air seemed to rise and fall in long undulations set in motion by the violin. In these waves the brothers bathed their weary souls. The melody caressed them, and, thinking of their own home, they wept silently.
Blind Benner crouched at Bill's feet. A silence almost of pain held the incongruous crowd.
Hunch alone seemed untouched—apparently he was beyond the power of spells. He made no effort to guard Bill from the fascination of the instrument.
"Bill don't need no horn ter let him loose," he growled. "There ain't no devil in that tune. He don't kick his feet ter eny sech. Guess Bill's playin' fer the angels."
"How did you know me," Levi asked Blind Benner as they went from the side-show to the big tent.
"I don't know how; yer didn't speak and yer didn't laugh. Hunch was bagpipin', an' all at once somethin' pulled me an' I follered, an' when I got closer I knowed it was you."
"You have a bad cough, Benner," Levi remarked sympathetically, as he listened to the blind man struggling for breath.
"Yes; I ketched it soon after we left the Sisters. It goes hard with me sometimes, but mostly it's only a little hack."
Here he caught Levi's arm and asked in a whisper:
"Did yer hear anything of him?"
"Yes, we heard something of him, but we did not find him."
"Yer oughter hed me with yer from the first; I'd hev found him. Bill an' Hunch an' me's been huntin' yer all this time."
"That's why you left Three-Sisters and joined the circus?"
"Yes, we thought yer would come to the show when yer seen Bill's and Hunch's names on the bills."
"You have been on another road from us. We did not see any bills posted before to-night. We had been workin' in a choppin' over the hill yonder, and just come to the town to settle our account and go somewhere else. But didn't you hear anything of Gill?"
"Nuthin'. Hunch kep' askin' 'bout him, an' I kep' watchin' the folks goin' inter the tent when I could. I allers waited 'bout Hunch when he was bagpipin', thinkin' mebbe Gill 'ud be in the crowd an' I'd hear him laugh er somethin, but I didn't."
A tear rolled over Blind Benner's cheek, and in the red firelight resembled blood.
Blood! It is typical of vengeance, emblematic of atonement. It is a scarlet thread through the history of the world. On it are strung covenants; from it dangle the names of covenant-breakers, and close to these latter hang the names of avengers. Blood on Blind Benner's cheek. It sent a thrill through Levi's being. The blood in his own heart warmed and leaped to his face as he grasped fraternally the blind man's hand.
Then Hope, coy, fickle, and false, appeared, like a comet in the heavens, which stretched without horizon their black expanse before Blind Benner's eyes. Behind her trailed a long train of gleaming possibilities, and he said with emotion:
"We'll find him yit."
Levi replied in a trembling voice:
"You may; we can't."
And the blind man answered:
"I will."
Then they were in the tent, and the evening show began.
The season had been prosperous, but the fall rains had set in and the roads were heavy. The labor attendant upon getting from town to town became arduous. Overworked men daily left the combination, and the McAnay brothers were hired by the proprietor, who was glad to secure the services of three able-bodied utility men.
One day early in November the Colossal Aggregation stuck in the mud, and was unable to keep its engagement at a town in the mountains. The proprietor decided not to show at the place, but push on to the county-seat, where the circus was billed to appear on the following day. The citizens of the village, however, demanded a performance for their pleasure, and, as the proprietor refused to give one, there was every chance of a riot. Finally a compromise was effected at the suggestion of a man who wore green goggles, and who seemed to be a ruling spirit among the villagers. He proposed that Barkup should give each man two tickets, admitting him and his wife or sweetheart free to the show at the county-seat. Barkup consented to this, and when the tickets were distributed the circus passed on.
Blind Benner lay asleep in a closed van, and knew nothing of the occurrence until in the evening, when Hunch graphically told of it.
"I tell yer," he concluded, "there was a tight fit uv missin' a fight, an' Levi grinned as onconsarned as if he hed wings."
A great crowd attended the circus at the county-seat. There was a rush and struggle for the pasteboard slips when the ticket-wagon was opened. At times it seemed as if the vehicle would be overturned, but the ticket-seller was as imperturbable as the man with green goggles, who held his ticket between his fingers and calmly watched the embryo riot, caused by those who had bought their tickets struggling to get through the crowd pressing forward to buy.
A youth who had in his escort two buxom girls grew tired of being hustled about. Going to the front of the wagon, he dropped on all fours and, with heroic disregard of his Sunday suit, crawled to the rear. Thrusting his head between a pair of active legs, he lifted their owner into the air as he raised his burly form erect. In a moment he was supplied with tickets and placed on the ground the man who had squirmed upon his neck, departing as he came. Goggles laughed heartily, much amused at the rustic's stratagem.
"How funny!" a woman remarked.
Goggles turned to see who had spoken. She had been pretty, but now she was brazen and her voice sounded like a cracked cymbal.
"Mighty smart fellow, that," he said. "But you may not have a ticket. Let me offer you one; see, I have two." He took a ticket from his pocket.
"I don't need a card, thank you; I go in the back way," she replied, smiling invitingly, as he thought.
"I have often wanted to see in the dressing-tent of a circus. Could you take me in?" he asked.
"Oh yes. I'm a privileged character 'round this show. There's only one Mlle. Faro in this country, and if she don't have her way she raises Cain. I'm Mlle. Faro. Old Barkup will say, 'Walk right in, Mr. Smith, if Faro has invited you.' Yes, indeed I'm descended from the pyramids, and am cousin, many times removed, of Cleopatra."
The equestrienne talked thus volubly as she led the way to the ante-room, her new acquaintance stumbling after her. Passing into the tent, he was given a seat on an upturned bucket placed against a tent-pole.
In the ante-room Blind Benner lay on a bed of coarse blankets. He coughed frequently and painfully. The man in the goggles turned inquiringly towards the couch, but paused to admire a splendid gray horse that was waiting for Mlle. Faro, who was to ride him in the grand entrée. Soon she appeared in a long riding-habit, trimmed with gold tinsel, and with a jaunty air walked to the horse. The ring-master gave the signal. From the main tent sounded the boom of the big drum, the clash of the cymbals, and the blast of the cornet.
Mlle. Faro was just settling in the saddle, when she heard Blind Benner cough. Slipping to the ground, she ran to him, tucked the blanket around him and gave him a pat on the cheek. In another moment she was acknowledging the applause of the spectators as her mettlesome horse dashed into the ring.
"By thunder, she can ride!" exclaimed the man in goggles as he watched the movements of the horse.
She threw him a kiss, as she returned to the ante-room, and he hastened to assist her dismount. Promising to come back soon, she retired to the dressing-room, while he resumed his seat on the inverted bucket. Before long Mlle. Faro came out in ballet costume, and, leaning against a pole, began to talk in a rattling way to him.
Bill Kellar hurried past them and paused at the couch.
"Are you awake, boy?" he asked gently.
"Yes," Blind Benner replied, and caught Bill's coat in his thin hand, giving it a pull.
Bill understood, and, bending lower, placed his ear close to Benner's lips.
"Tell Levi I want him."
Away went Bill like a hurricane, jostling against Faro, who gave him a slap for his rudeness. He was scarcely out of the tent, when Levi entered and asked Benner what he wanted.
"Levi," a low, hoarse, eager tone, "jist knock off them green goggles thet Faro's teasin' her feller 'bout."
Just as Levi turned, as though half in doubt, the man laughed. Instantly Levi's indecision left him, and with a bound he stood before the couple.
"Beg your pardon, Miss Faro, but I've got a curiosity to see your lover's eyes."
The man with the goggles did not move.
"I think you're very impudent, driver, and I'll have Barkup discharge you," Mlle. Faro said indignantly.
A fiendishly gleeful laugh broke from Levi's lips.
"I'll bet you a dollar that one of his eyes is blue and the other black. Come now, Miss Faro."
The man with the goggles moved uneasily and slipped a hand under his coat. Levi watched him warily.
"I'll bet you five dollars that you are wrong," said Faro, angrily.
The man with the goggles rose quickly, and a knife flashed in his hand. Levi warded off the blow, and before it could be repeated Mlle. Faro held his arms by his side.
"Don't stab him, dear, 'cause that would stop the show too long on the road. Just show him your eyes, for I want to win his money."
Before he could free himself her deft fingers had removed the goggles.
"You see I have lost, Miss Faro," Levi said gayly; and then sternly added, "My brothers and I have been looking for you, John Gillfillan."
Hunch had come in, and was sitting on the couch. Blind Benner, leaning against him, was quivering with joy, and uttering low cries of satisfaction. Mlle. Faro heard them, and went to him. When she stood by the bed he was saying:
"Oh, Hunchy, I kin die happy now, 'cause I found Gill. Won't Lizzī be glad ter know it was Blind Benner what found him?"
"What does it all mean?" Faro asked.
He did not reply, but Hunch answered:
"He didn't marry Levi's sister right."
"He didn't? Let me kick him."
She ran to thus express her contempt for Gill, but Levi restrained her and led him away.
Hunch picked up the long knife which Mlle. Faro had taken from Gill and thrown on the ground.
"Gill, you must go back to Three-Sisters and marry Lizzī," said Levi, when they were out of the tent.
"All right, Levi, I'll go; but, to tell you the truth, I'm ashamed to meet Lizzī."
"I ain't doubtin' you," said Cassi, who, noiseless as a shadow, had followed to assist Levi if Gill should attempt to get away.
That was all that was said, the brothers not being talkers. One of them constantly remained with Gill.
Two days later the Colossal Aggregation went into winter quarters, and the members of it from Three-Sisters, accompanied by Gill, started homewards.
On the last night of November a gypsy-like covered wagon stopped at the farther end of the river bridge at Three-Sisters. From it Levi and Gill alighted. Matthi and Cassi followed, and then paused to assist Parson Lawrence to the ground. Levi and Gill entered the bridge immediately at a rapid pace, the others following leisurely. Bill Kellar, Blind Benner, and Hunch were left in the wagon to follow later, in time to be guests at the wedding by the church's ceremony of Gill and Lizzī.
She sat near the stove, rocking the new cradle her father had brought that day from the chopping. It was made of wild grape-vines ingeniouslyplaited, and rocked smoothly on oak rockers. She was very proud of it, and as she moved it with a light motion of her foot, she hummed a lullaby which had soothed both grandfather and grandchild, for they slept, he sitting in the arm-chair where his wife died. His clay pipe was held lightly between his fingers.
Some one entered without knocking, and Lizzī slowly turned from the fire at which she had been gazing vacantly. Her glad cry of welcome startled her father, and the pipe slipped to the floor, breaking it in pieces; but he did not heed it, so astounded was he at seeing Lizzī throw her arms around a man's neck and lay her head against his chest. The man apparently was a stranger, but Lizzī soon informed her father who she greeted so affectionately.
"Oh, John!" she said, "you have come back at last, and I'll not see a finger pointing at me from everybody's eyes any more."
Gill had no reply ready for such a welcome, and none suggested itself to him. So he remained silent, while Lizzī, forgetful of the open door, wept on his shoulder. Levi, gazing upon the scene, was fully repaid for his long search for Gill.
Presently Peter arose, and walked with dignity to the door. Laying his hand on the latch, he paused and said sternly:
"Ef yer come back, Mister Gillfillan, ter cure the hurt yer give Lizzī, I'll shet this door with yer inside; but ef yer ain't, better let me shet it as yer found it yerself, with yer out in the dark."
Calmly he awaited the reply.
"If I have come for anything but Lizzī and the baby there in the cradle, I hope she will never forgive me for being away from her so long."
Gill spoke frankly.
When Peter slammed the door he was outside, peering into the darkness and hoping to discover the sons for whom his heart longed.
The jar caused by the door being shut so positively awoke the baby, and it began to cry.
"Come see the baby, John," said Lizzī. "There isn't a finer boy in the regi'n."
Then running to the cradle, she patted and soothed the child, exclaiming in the glad language and fond tones of happy mothers: "Oh! oh! it was too bad for its granddaddy to scare it awake that way."
She did not lift the infant from the cradle, for she wanted to keep Gill in ignorance as long as possible of the fire-mark that disfigured its cheek.
He admired his son very much, yet in lame sentences that seemed forced. A twinge of disappointment shot through Lizzī's heart, and a shadow of vexation passed over her face. Seeing the change in her countenance, he said:
"You know, Lizzī, that a man isn't much at praising a baby, no matter if he thinks it the prettiest child ever born."
This in a measure satisfied her, and, smiling brightly, she said:
"I think he looks like you, John."
He laughed, and sat down in the chair she had placed for him beside the one she had occupied. She, too, sat down, taking his hand in hers.
They were silent, she trying to frame a question about his absence, and he seeking for a proper introduction to the story he meant to tell. An exclamation from Peter McAnay interrupted her just as she had formulated her inquiry and was going to utter it.
"It's Levi," she cried, as his voice was heard replying to his father.
Hastening to the door, she opened it, and paused on the threshold. Her father was saying:
"Boys, I knowed yer was here when I waked up an' seen Gill. Yer done well, an' yer hev yer father's blessin'."
Gathered around him were Levi, Matthi, and Cassi, and just beyond them, in the semi-darkness, she could see another person, a tall man with white hair and beard.
Glancing quickly over her shoulder, she saw that Gill had risen and was standing near the table on which the lighted candles stood. Had not Cassi, who was nearest to her, thrown his arms around her, she would have shut the door and run to Gill to ask him a question. But Cassi held her and was kissing her cheek, and the other boys pressed forward for a welcome. Forced thus to remain she received her brothers, as joyously as her chilling heart would permit, gazing inquiringly the while at Parson Lawrence, whom she had recognized. At last, released from her brothers' embraces, she entered the house and went to the cradle, giving Gill an appealing look for an explanation of it all as she passed him. He stepped forward to speak to her, but Peter McAnay interrupted again.
"Lizzī, we'll have a great weddin' ter-night."
She had dropped on her knees by the cradle to soothe the infant, petulant at being neglected. Without rising, she looked over her shoulder at Gill, who went nearer to her and said:
"Lizzī, your father and brothers think we had better be married by a preacher; then no one would question our relations."
Slowly she rose to her full height, the baby held to her bosom, and her look defiant, uncompromising.
"No," she said, "married once to the same man is enough. If the first time isn't right, the second can't make it so. No, I won't throw doubt on my boy." Then she paused and kissed the child. "No"—something choked her, but she gulped and continued bravely—"I won't marry you again, John, for it would cast doubt on the boy."
There was a pathetic tenderness in her voice. Not yet had she given up her husband.
"You were all right," exclaimed the impetuous Levi, "but your marriage was not legal."
Gill turned to him in silent appeal. Lizzī listened with her lips apart, gazing in mute inquiry from one to the other of the men before her. Deliberately she tore open her dress and got the marriage-certificate once so precious in her eyes. Holding it before them with a shaking hand, she said:
"This is all I've got to keep my name clean and give my boy a right to his father's name. Why isn't it legal?"
There was a wail in her unsteady voice that cut her hearers to the heart.
"Because Squire Harker married you before he was commissioned, when he had no right to issue writs or marry people."
Levi spoke in a lawyer-like way, and the terrible meaning of each word was plain to her.
"John, did you know it?"
Her effort to be calm was great. Her voice indicated the measure of her success, as in even cold tones she asked for the truth.
He hesitated.
The certificate fluttered to the floor.
As she turned her back upon them all, Blind Benner, led by Hunch,came into the room. She sank upon her knees. The blind man groped his way to her and knelt by her side.
"Oh, John, you wronged me! You wronged me! You wronged me!" she repeated piteously, as she laid her head on the blind man's shoulder, and held her child close to her breast.
Parson Lawrence's beard was wet with the tears that flowed unheeded down his cheeks.
The brothers looked murder as their gleaming eyes saw their old father sink helpless and undone in a chair, while their sister grovelled before them.
In Hunch's hand, partly concealed, glittered the knife Gill had drawn on Levi in the circus-tent.
All waited for Gill to act, for upon him lay the burden of proof, although he was really the defendant in the case. Advancing to Lizzī he laid his hand gently on her shoulder, and said:
"Lizzī."
His touch restored her queenliness to her, and she stood erect in the majesty of scorn. Her contempt flashed from her eyes as with a magnificent sweep of her perfect arm she repelled him.
"What did you tell your mother?" she demanded, while with bowed head he obeyed the command of the gesture.
He did not lift his eyes.
"His mother had been dead for five years," said Levi, angrily.
"Then who wrote this?" she inquired imperiously, producing from the pocket where it had lain beside the certificate, which she now trampled upon, the letter Gill had read to her the night before his departure on the pretended visit to his mother.
All eyes were directed to him. His gaze was riveted to the floor.
"Oh, John, John! how could you, and in your mother's name, too?"
That was her only rebuke when his plan to ruin her was fully revealed.
With downcast eyes and slow step she moved towards the stove, intending to destroy the letter, but Levi snatched it from her hand, and read it aloud, despite her protestations.
When he had finished the letter he leaped at Gill with a shriek of rage, and thrust it into his face. Gill did not attempt to run or show fight, as Levi's hand closed on his throat in a grip that meant sure and speedy death.
"No, Levi, no; you must not punish him: leave that to me. And, Hunch Blair, how dare you?"
She stamped her foot at Hunch, and entwined her fingers around Levi's, her touch thrilling Gill as always it had done when she caressed him.
Hunch had darted forward with the knife uplifted, but Cassi had restrained him.
Matthi had turned to Parson Lawrence, who had begun to remonstrate, but ceased when Lizzī went to Gill's rescue.
Peter McAnay rose and looked approvingly on his son wreaking vengeance on the betrayer of his daughter, and frowned when she interfered to prevent a murder.
Levi obeyed her with savage reluctance, and Gill stood free, gasping for breath.
All the while Lizzī had held the baby to her heart, which she thought would not thump so hard if the child were pressed against it.
Hunch blurted, as he gave up the knife:
"He drawed it on Levi, an' I wanted ter stick it inter him."
That informed Lizzī fully: Gill had been compelled to come back to her. Looking around upon her brothers, she tried to smile gratefully, but it wasa dim light that flittered across her face to leave a deeper shadow. They had meant well, but far better for her had they left Gill where they found him; for then, had he not returned, she would not have known that she had been his victim, and would have continued to mourn for him as dead, believing herself his widow.
Holding the child before him, she said: "Take your last look at him, John. See the fire-mark. I shivered when I first saw it, but didn't mind it long, for it made me think I had saved you from death once. But I do mind," and her voice rose and vibrated in scorn, "if he bears your name. That would be an awful mark on his soul for God to look at; a horrid ugly scar that would make him hideous to the angels that rung his mother's weddin' bell."
Her voice faltered a little as that pine-grove memory came over her, but it became strong again as she addressed Parson Lawrence.
"Will you baptize my boy?" she asked.
"Yes, yes," the saintly man replied, his voice ill controlled.
"His name will be Peter McAnay," she said simply. Then facing Gill, she held the child to him.
"You may kiss him, John."
The boy cried when Gill pressed his lips to the purple mark.
At that moment a sharp crash of glass was heard. The elbow of a man pushed by the crowd behind him on the porch had gone through a pane in the sash.
"Let down the blind, Hunch," Lizzī commanded.
Hunch pulled the string, tied in a bow, and the green shade shut off the crowd.
"Now, John, good-by."
She held out her hand to him, but withdrew it quickly. Her momentary tenderness vanished when she saw the eagerness in his eyes. She dared not shake hands, remembering how he had clung to her in Sugar-Camp Hollow. Another opportunity she dared not give him now, for he must know she was implacable. With the boy held to her bosom as if to shield him from Gill, she stood erect and pointed to the door.
"Go!"
It was a stern command.
She met his appealing look with unyielding gaze.
Slowly he walked to the door.
"Wait!" she called.
He paused, but did not turn.
"Have you any money?"
"Yes," he replied eagerly, and came back to her, a roll of bills in his extended hand.
"Give it to Levi."
"So much is mine, Levi," and she named an amount, remembering to a cent how much of his money she had spent.
Levi counted the sum, making change from his pocket.
Matthi and Cassi stood near the door, looking on in amazement. Parson Lawrence leaned against a table. Peter McAnay sat with his face buried in his hands. Hunch walked nervously around the room, while Blind Benner waited near Lizzī, hoping she would speak to him.
Levi returned the balance of the money to Gill; he proffered it to Lizzī.
"Not a cent," she said proudly. "The money you gave Levi is what I spent of his savin's, when I thought I was your wife; but not a cent ofyour money will I take from this on. I'll scrub and wash for a livin', if I must, and Benner, here, will help take care of little Peter. Now go!"
Compelled to give vent to her feelings, she impulsively kissed Blind Benner. His hand was across her eyes as he lovingly felt her face, and she did not see Gill pass through the door.