There are some free-thinking souls who love nature and the primitive so well as to believe that Providence made a mistake in permitting men to pass beyond the pastoral stage.
There are many who, though they love art, literature and the other gifts and comforts of civilization, would trade all to live in a primitive mountain home; to call their time, a house of logs and a few barren fields, "my own."
They care not for the smoke of many chimneys, or the surging crowd or the ceaseless din of commercial centers. They love the view from mountain tops, where hills peep over hills and pinnacles are clothed in clouds. They love the peace and quiet of the sheltered coves; where the timber grows verdant and strong, fern-bordered fountains burst forth to life, and the squirrels and other free things dwell. They love a home site in a secluded valley near the head of a gurgling, restless, mountain river and think to live a life of peace, dividing the glories of mountain and plain. But wherever man would rest and hide his head and heart, giant care comes with a club and the huntress misfortune finds her way with a full quiver.
Mary, who had done no wrong and expected no punishment, when she returned home, found these two unbidden guests awaiting her. Her eyes were opened to see sorrow; which all the world knows.
The following morning when she walked up to the school house door the children stood in groups talking in subdued tones. The little girls for the first time sincethe early days of the term failed to rush forward and greet her. She rang the bell; they came in slowly and rebelliously, the big boys last of all. Several of the children, among them those of one of the trustees, were absent.
Tim Fields, a lanky, overgrown boy of sixteen, after having been reproved, continued talking to his desk-mate. When Mary told him he must behave or go home, he arose and, starting towards the door, said: "I guess I will go anyway; pap said, last night, he didn't think a convict's daughter oughter handle this here school and he was going to see the trustees and the county superintendent and git ma's sister in."
A few minutes later, Luigi Poggi, whose seat near the window overlooked the creek, saw him on the bank throwing small boulders at a flock of geese.
He raised his hand, and snapping his fingers to attract attention, asked, and was given permission, to go to the spring for a bucket of water. When out of sight of the teacher he whistled for Tim and walked on slowly down towards the spring, until he came to a dusty, bare spot in the path under a tree, where the boys played keeps.
"Tim, what did you say that to teacher for; she's good to all of us?"
"What you got to do with it, you Dago?"
"This," and he struck Tim in the face with the empty water bucket.
They fought in the sand path for about five minutes; when Luigi, throwing Tim face down, rubbed and bumped his head in the sand until Tim could scarcely breathe through his bleeding nose and his mouth choked with dust and sand.
When he said, "'nuff," Luigi let him up, and returned to the school house with a dirty, scratched face, but a full bucket of spring water.
"Luigi, what made you so long?"
"I fell down."
"Are you hurt?"
"No'm."
"Go down to the creek and wash your face."
"Yes'm."
On Friday morning not more than half of the school were present.
Saturday afternoon the county superintendent called at the Saylor home and, telling Mary that several of the trustees objected to her keeping the school, asked for her resignation, which she wrote out and handed him.
The days were pleasant and busy ones for Cornwall. He looked forward with pleasure, as to a vacation, when he should return to Straight Creek and make the survey of the Brock, Helton and Saylor properties, and for that purpose chose that delightful season in October; last harvest time for man and beast, when the corn is ripe and the nuts loosened by the early frost are showering upon the ground like manna for all. It is the beginning of Indian summer, when nature, festive and placid of mood, clothes the hills in shades of red and brown; and, fearful that man, who is inclined to overlook nearby joys and pleasures for more distant and less certain ones, might overlook the familiar hills, even though freshly painted, hides her far-off attractions with a hazy curtain.
As the party came down over Salt Trace into the Straight Creek valley, in full accord with the perfect day and as gay of heart as the trees were gayly colored, theymet Caleb going down the creek road with the old squirrel rifle, longer of barrel than the small boy.
"Where now, hunter, just at sunset, when most hunters seek the camp?" was Cornwall's greeting.
"I'm going down to Elhannon Howard's. Ma told me he sent pap to jail. I shore will fix him if this gun don't bust."
"Wait a minute. That's a fine gun; let me have a look at it. It's mighty heavy. I'll ride down with you and carry it until we get within sight of the house. Has Elhannon any boys?"
"Yes, two."
"How old are they?"
"John is eleven; Henry is nine."
"John is a big, strong boy. I bet you are afraid of him. If you were not, it would be great fun to beat him up with your fists or kick him in the slats, or throw him in the creek and make him holler "'nuff." Why not save Elhannon for your dad when he gets out? He might not want you to do his fighting for him. Did he ask you to take a shot at old man Howard?"
"No, I ha'int thought about that."
"You didn't say you were not afraid of John Howard."
"No, I'm not. Why?"
"If you were not afraid of him, you would leave your gun at home and tomorrow beat him up at school."
"I believe I will go back home and beat him up at school tomorrow; but recess will be plenty long to wait."
"Oh, we better go on; he's older and bigger than you; you are afraid of him. You better tackle him with your gun."
"Waste powder and ball on that chump? Not me; I'm not afraid of any of them Howards. I'm hungry;supper's about ready; let's go home. I shore hope he comes to school tomorrow."
"Say, boy, are those your hogs? Why don't you feed them some corn?"
"They shore am poor. Them's old man Lewis'. He lives down the crick below here. This time last year he turned them out to eat the mast. After the mast was gone he still let them run and would go out with a basket of corn and feed them. He's dumb, he can't holler. He called them by pounding with a rock on a dead snag. Since the woodpecker's came this spring them fool hawgs have nigh 'bout run themselves to death."
"Here, boy, take your gun; there's a squirrel."
"That's right; give her here."
"He's a nice fat one."
"Yes, there's plenty of nuts now."
"I don't believe I would reload her now; there's the house."
"Mr. Cornwall, I'll loan you my gun tomorrow and you can go hunting."
"You better let me have her all the time we are surveying the land."
"All right."
Cornwall was met at the gate by Mary and her mother; they both seemed pleased to see him. Caleb took his horse to the barn and, removing the saddle, turned him loose for a roll in the dusty lot. Then he was put in a box stall and given three sheaves of oats.
"Mrs. Saylor, you see I am back and have brought three others with me. We will be here a week. I hope you will not find us too troublesome. The two chainmen will sleep in the loft on the hay, so as not to crowd you."
"We are glad to have you; come right in."
"Miss Mary, you must treat us like home folks; no extra work now or we will move down to old man Howard's. Your school and those big boys are enough of a worry."
"I have more time. They have another teacher at the school, Mrs. Field's sister. They removed me because of father's conviction."
"Who?"
"The county superintendent and the trustees."
"When we buy your father's land, why don't you go east to school?"
"I have been thinking of that. What school would you suggest?"
"Go to one of the best—Wellesley."
The next morning at sun-up the party started surveying the Saylor property. This they completed in two days; the boundary held three hundred and five acres.
Cornwall insisted on carrying Caleb's rifle; but the only squirrels they got were those killed by Henry Saylor. He was sixteen; a good axeman, and employed to blaze the lines and locate the corners.
Saturday morning they started on the Brock boundary; but quit work about four o'clock in the afternoon and had a most refreshing swim in a deep pool of the creek before supper.
Sunday afternoon the family went down to the school house, "to meeting." It was the first time Mary had been in the building or seen many of her acquaintances since the school had been taken from her.
When she walked in accompanied by Cornwall and Duffield, the surveyor, her face shone with happiness. Cornwall had dispelled the cloud of misfortune that had overshadowed it by the assurance that her father would be given a new trial and acquitted. Since her active,ambitious mind was building glorious castles of hope on the prospects of refinement and education, she found much joy and comfort in the company of the young lawyer; more than she admitted even to herself; and the young surveyor and his assistants were a source of amusement and entertainment.
She was so occupied with and hedged about by the two "furreeners" that young Doctor Foley, who had come to church with the hope of taking her home in his new buggy, had but time to greet her and pass on.
Several of the girls, who had rejoiced at her humiliation were disappointed when they saw how happy she seemed, saying: "She's a cool one; she don't care if her pap is in jail, now that she is bent on catching that city lawyer."
The preacher, a circuit rider, who during each month tried to preach not less than once at more than a dozen small log churches and school houses, many miles apart, was a godly man who traveled over the hills on an old gray mare, carrying most of his earthly possessions in his saddle-bags. His hair was thin and his frame almost a shadow. His deep-set eyes and strong face had an expression of righteousness and peace. Years before he had loved a young woman, but knew that he could not continue preaching in his district and support a wife. One day he came to her home and in tears, holding her hands, made and told her his choice.
Since then, with quivering voice but calm face, he had married her to a friend, and baptized her two children and had buried her husband. He loved her still, but his earthly treasurers were as meager as when she had wedded another.
The crowd was too great for the little school house, so they came out and sat upon the green under two greattwin oaks, while God's ambassador, standing upon a rude bench nailed between the trunks, gave to them his message of simple words in the voice and tone of friend and neighbor.
Since early morning he had preached two sermons, christened a half dozen infants, baptized three confessors, visited a bed-ridden man and a feeble, old, blind woman, and given burial service to one of his congregation. Far in the night, when the day's work was done and he slept, his were dreams of peace. Two angels with forward pendant wings formed a mercy seat above his bed and on it sat One a thousand times brighter than the sun, who in a voice that might be heard through space, though softer than the music of riffled waters, spoke to him.
"Well done, good and faithful servant, continue in the labor of the Lord."
"But, Lord, I am lonely and weak and homeless and would rest."
"Weary not in well-doing. My grace is sufficient for thee; My strength is made perfect in weakness—you have a home not made with hands, eternal in the heavens."
On Tuesday the surveying party began work on the Helton property. This was so distant from Saylor's that they thought of moving headquarters to Asher Brock's at the head of the creek valley; but as a couple of days would complete the work they concluded to remain where they were, riding forth in the morning and back in the evening.
Mary fixed a lunch, which was placed in a grain sack and tied behind Cornwall's saddle. Near noon they stopped to rest and eat under some elms in the uppercreek valley, when Cornwall discovered that the lunch was gone, the sack having been pulled off while he was riding through the dense underbrush.
Their appetites were whetted by the smell of frying ham, wind-wafted down the creek from Asher Brock's. They rode to the house and asked to share the meal. The maintainer is like the Arab; he never refuses to entertain a guest.
The old man sat at the end of the table, with Duffield on his right and his daughter, a girl about seventeen, and barefooted, next beyond. The family circle was large and, with the four guests, the table was crowded.
In the midst of the meal they were startled by the girl who, crying "Ouch!" jumped up from the table.
Her father, looking at Duffield with murder in his eye, said: "What's the matter, Cinthy?"
"The cat scratched my foot."
The old man looked under the table for confirmation; and there sat the old, black cat, looking as innocent as a Madonna. And the family resumed the meal.
That afternoon, as they were running one of the lines, Cornwall said to Duffield: "That cat saved your life."
"Heck! That cat scared me to death."
"Oh, I'm on to you; I have heard of your tricks when you were surveying in Clay and Leslie."
"You mean that time over on Red Bird; that is the greatest fishing stream in Kentucky, and most appropriately named, as each papaw bush and hazel and blackberry thicket is the home of a family of red birds.
"From Big to Bear Creek it is a succession of riffles and smooth pools. These pools are the favored haunts and playgrounds of bass, perch and soft-shell turtles. A single drag with a minnow seine in one of the feeding brooks will give you an ample supply of bait. Whencarefully keeping behind the overhanging shore brush and exercising caution not to knock brush or clod into the stream, an hour's mediocre effort is rewarded by a dozen bass of uniform size, weighing about a pound each. Should you make an unusual noise, break a twig or cause the sandy bank to cave and ripple the water, you must pass on to the next pool and use more caution.
"We were stopping at old man White's. The house had three rooms in the front. It was in the spring, and at night we sat in the big middle room around the open fireplace and joined in the family conversation. This was the bedroom of the old folks. Their grown daughter, who attended school, sat by the table worrying over her lessons in compound interest, the practical application of which in after years would be as needful as a mariner's compass to steer her father's log canoe, tied to the root of a sycamore. I went over and helped her a bit and she became quite cordial in manner.
"When I handed back her slate, I wrote upon it: 'By moonlight, when all is still, I will play Romeo under your window.' I saw that she read it when, with a half-blush, half-smile, she applied the rag with vigor to her slate. I knew she understood. All the girls in this broad land, though they may not know the sum of seven times eight, are familiar with the story of Romeo and Juliet and the balcony scene in ancient Verona.
"Coleman Reid was with me. You know he is always butting in when there is a girl around. He came over and began drawing cartoons on the slate and, satisfied with prospective arrangements, I gave him my seat, taking his by the fire.
"In a short while the girl and her sister went to their room on the right end of the house and Reid and I to ours on the left.
"Reid wore his hair long and roached back; mine I have always worn short. We undressed and went to bed, both pretending to be sleepy.
"After an hour I got up, dressed, and started out, when my friend, who had been playing possum all the time, said: 'Where are you going?'
"'I'm not sleepy; I think I will take a little walk.'
"'Don't you want your hat?'
"'No.'
"And so I walked around to the north end of the house, where our host's daughter sat at the open window.
"I said something about it being a pleasant night, to which she replied:
"'Ayr you the long-haired or the short-haired one?'
"'The short-haired one.'
"'Bend over so I can feel and see.'
"So I bent over, happy to have my clipped locks caressed by her capable hands, when she gave me a crack with a rolling pin or some other delicate instrument. And, without a word, half staggering, I walked out from the shadow of the house into the moonlight and sat down on the stile blocks until I could distinguish the real from the artificial stars. Then I went in and to bed.
"Reid was half-dressed when I came in and, about the time I climbed into bed, he went out the door for a walk, blaming me for waking him up.
"In a little while he came back, looking the worse for wear. A few drops of blood discolored his cheek near the ear. He never told me what happened. I only know that after that night he was not so restless and took no moonlight strolls.
"The next night I helped the girl again with her compound interest, but Reid talked to the old man about running logs down the river on the June tide."
Thursday morning, Cornwall and his party, having completed the surveys, returned to Harlan.
A week later Mrs. Saylor met him by appointment in Pineville. They went to the jail with a notary, when she and her husband executed a deed to the Pittsburgh Coal & Coke Company for the Straight Creek place, and were given a check for the purchase price, thirty-five thousand dollars.
In November the Court of Appeals reversed the case of Saylor against the Commonwealth and remanded it for retrial. Saylor gave bail in the sum of three thousand dollars and was discharged from custody.
He passed the first two or three days of his freedom at the old place on Straight Creek; then he and his wife took the train at Pineville for Richmond and spent more than a week driving through the country examining farms on the market in Garrard, Madison and Clark counties. They finally purchased one in Madison County, between Silver Creek and Paint Lick.
Then they returned home and, after preparations were completed for their departure, loaded their household goods into a two-horse wagon and drove through, nearly a hundred miles, to the new home. The women folks rode in the wagon. The old man and the boys preceded them on horseback, driving their small bunch of cattle and sheep.
Before the move, Cornwall received a letter from Mary asking that he write Wellesley, making inquiries as to the cost of the course and the preparation necessary to matriculate. This he did and forwarded the reply to her on Straight Creek. A few days later he received a short note of thanks for that and the many other services he had rendered them. She also asked that he come and see them before their removal and gave the new home address.
He intended riding over to Straight Creek before they moved, but court was in session and he was very busy.When he did make the trip, he found the house deserted.
He saw no member of the family until the February term of the Bell Circuit Court, which Saylor and his wife attended for his retrial.
He received a Christmas card from Mary, mailed at Wellesley, and wrote her a note of thanks for the remembrance, of congratulation at the realization of her desire, and a wish that the New Year might prove one of happiness and further realization.
Old man Saylor, dispensing with the services of Squire Putman, insisted that Cornwall try his case alone and fix his own fee; but not being acquainted in the county, he asked Judge Hurst to help, particularly in selecting the jury, and paid him $150.00 of the $500.00 fee charged Saylor for services in the Court of Appeals and the retrial of his case.
All new residents of the county on the panel, if not excused for cause, were peremptorily challenged. The case was tried by a native jury that had respect for Saylor's plea of self-defense and apparent necessity and who understood what Simpson's threat meant. They were out about twenty minutes and returned a verdict of "not guilty."
Cornwall, knowing with what anxiety Mary would await news of the trial, telegraphed her: "All court matters concluded and to your entire satisfaction"; so wording it that she might not be embarrassed.
Saylor and his wife after the trial exhibited no haste to return to the Bluegrass or to re-establish social relations with their new neighbors. They spent several days visiting up the creek and in old Pineville.
One night they called at Cornwall's hotel. Little was said about the trial, though Mrs. Saylor shed a few tearsand called Cornwall a good boy. As usual, the old man did most of the talking.
"Well, young man, how are you coming on up to Harlan Town. I shore do miss old Pine Mountain and the rocks and trees; the jingle of the bells as the cows at evening hasten homeward from the timbered hills; the big, open fireplace with its light and glow of burning oak and chestnut where we huddled in happy talk and kinship; the darkness of the night where even the moon came slowly over the mountain and peeped timidly through the trees; the stillness of the night when all in the house might hear Susie whispering her prayers and the whippoorwills calling in the thickets.
"The first thing in the morning I used ter go by the friendly, old well and drink a gourdful of the soft, cool water, then feed Tom and Jerry and bring in an armload of wood. As I came in the door the frosty air was sweet with the smell of home-cured bacon which the old woman was fixing fer breakfast and when I sat down there it was jest right, a streak of lean and of fat showing in thin layers. And the big pones of cornbread hot from the Dutch oven; of meal fresh from the old water mill and sweet to the taste; a big dish of fried apples, a jug of sorghum and a glass of milk. It was a nice place to live. I would not care to pass the old house now. The door might be shut, the fireplace cold; I would find no welcoming face."
"Mr. Saylor, what about the new home?"
"Oh, it does pretty good; the cattle are picking up, but Tray sits in the open o' nights and howls at the moon. We have three hundred acres, mostly pasture, with a few oak, walnut and wild cherry trees and a muddy pond or two and a thimble spring. There's one little thicket in a draw big enough to hide a cotton tail. The world istoo big down there and I can see too far all ways at once; too many homes and men and too few hills and trees. The house is of brick with a porch and big pillars three feet through that reach to the roof. We sleep upstairs; there are ten rooms; but there is no place to sit and toast your shins. Can't see a fire in the house and it is as hot and stuffy as hell; got one of them hot-air things down in the cellar; she shore eats up the coal. There are no whippoorwills and no hoot owls, but lots of crows and jay birds and meadow larks. I like to hear that little, yaller-chested feller whistle from the pasture gatepost. Far off to the south, when the air is keen and the sun shines bright, you can see the blue mountains. The window of the barn loft looks that way. When I ain't feeling right peart, I go out to the barn and climb up to the loft. I used to keep a joint of stove pipe up there. When I held that tight to my face I could look through and see nothing but them hills. Last month down at Richmond town I bought me a spy glass. It's a good one and she brings them close.
"One day a young feller who lives on yan side of Silver Creek rid up in a side bar buggy. I thought he was kinder expecting to git acquainted with Mary. He tied at the gate and come in. I met him in the front yard where we keep the calves and let the sheep run. He walked up and shook hands and says: 'I'm Bradley Clay.' I says: 'Dang it, I can't help it.' He kinder stiffened his back, then he laffed and says: 'Mr. Saylor, there is a stock sale down at Paint Lick Saturday; come down; you might get some good cattle and sheep cheap for your fine pasture lands.' I says: 'All right, young feller, I'll be thar. Will you come in the house and have a cheer?' He says, 'No,' and rides off. I went over and bought some right good stock pretty cheap.
"The men were right friendly, specially Jack Gallagher, the auctioneer, and we passed a few jokes. There was a whole bunch of wimen folks there, but I didn't meet none of them and they don't seem to visit round much, at least they don't come much to our house. I sometimes think the old woman is most as lonesome as I be.
"Caleb went over to the Paint Lick school house after Christmas; kept it up three days and had a fight every day, then he had the mumps. That boy is young yet, jest ten, so we let him quit the school, 'cause the teacher called him a mountain wildcat. He traded a feller out of a fox hound; now he and his houn' dog hunt rabbits and 'possums nigh 'bout all day long.
"Mary went east to school about Thanksgiving. It cost me nine hundred dollars, but she's a good girl and helped you git me off. She writes her mother nearly every day. I do hope you git down to see us soon. They tell me there are some nice-looking gals 'round our settlement. You can have the big boy's buggy which he bought ter take Clay's terbaccy tenant's darter buggy riding. Do you dance? So do I, but not their kind down there. They hug each other tight and slip erlong, while we shuffle our feet and swing.
"Before I go back I am going up to Berry Howard's and try to buy a hundred-weight of home-cured bacon. Well, old woman, I think you and this here young lawyer have talked erbout enough. Let's go on up to Aunt Mandy's and go to bed. Come down soon; good luck and, as Caleb learned from that Dago, 'boney sarah.'"
About eight months after Cornwall settled in Harlan, an old brick house fronting the principal residence street, with a large yard of forest trees and behind it a garden extending back to the river, about three acres, was offered for sale. Cornwall, who was present as a spectator, became suddenly and irresistibly possessed with a desire to purchase it, and did so for fifty-eight hundred dollars, paying one-third of the purchase price down, which was all the money he had, borrowing the remainder from the local bank.
After a careful examination of the house and grounds, which he had not done in advance of the purchase, he became convinced he had made a bargain and was confirmed in that idea when, two months later, Mr. Neal, the owner of some coal properties on Clover Fork, who had brought his family from Louisville to Harlan, offered seventy-five hundred dollars for it.
This offer he declined, because he had already written his mother of the purchase, telling her the place was to be their home, and how well satisfied he was with his work, and of the prospect for better things the little mountain city offered. She had answered that it was her intention to visit him as soon as the railroad was completed, when, if he was as well satisfied and she found the place one-half as nice as he declared it to be, she would remain and they would try to make the old place a comfortable home.
He answered at once that: "Several Louisville and Lexington families have recently moved here, quite nicepeople, and you will find sufficient social entertainment for one of your quiet disposition. When we can afford to repair and remodel the house and furnish it, using your handsome, old furniture, we will be very comfortable. Personally, I can conceive of no more satisfactory arrangement. The railroad from Pineville will be completed in less than a month, which will give connection by rail with Louisville. Then you can ship our household effects through and find the trip a reasonably comfortable one."
Upon the completion of the railroad the little mountain city assumed quite a metropolitan air. Many strangers came to town. This made business; and Cornwall had as much to do as he could comfortably handle and retain his position with the company.
While at breakfast on the 6th of July, he was handed a telegram announcing his mother's arrival on the morning train. The hotel was crowded, but he procured a comfortable room and made arrangements to meet her with a carriage. Then he went to the office and worked until it was time to drive to the station.
As he came out upon the platform the train pulled in; and his mother, whom he had not seen for a year, waved to him from the rear platform. He caught her in his arms and lifted her down, while she shed a few happy tears and responded to his caresses. Then taking her hand baggage in one hand and her arm with the other, he started towards the carriage.
"One moment, John; I beg your pardon, Dorothy. This is my son, John Cornwall; and John, this is Miss Dorothy Durrett, a niece of Mrs. Neal's. She is making her a visit and expects to remain during the summer. We came all the way together. I met her just after the trainleft the Louisville station; we had opposite berths last night and breakfast in Pineville at the same table, so we are fairly well acquainted."
"Miss Durrett I know your uncle very well and have met your aunt. I do not see either of them here."
"I should have telegraphed, but am careless about such matters."
"I have a carriage at the door and lots of room; mother and I will be glad to drive you to your uncle's."
"I have found your mother such agreeable company, I would like to continue the journey with her, even to uncle's door."
The three walked to the street together, entered the carriage and drove first to the Neal residence, where they left Miss Durrett, then to the hotel.
Mrs. Cornwall liked the town. Its location on the river bank and the sloping foothills of Pine Mountain, the murmur of the river, and the quiet, practical lives of her neighbors, all fit into her idea of a place to live. The yard and garden of the place her son had purchased she found charming and in sweet concord with the river and the hills. She was not a critical woman, but all she could say in favor of the house was; "It is substantial and seemingly built to withstand the incursions of time." Though it had been built before the Civil War, the foundation of stone, the wails of red brick and the roof of steel gray slate, were as sound as when first constructed. The arched front door, bordered with a transom and small panes of glass, was the one artistic thing; and she declared must not be altered. But the small iron porch, little longer than the width of the doorway, must be supplanted by a broad veranda, the roof of which should be supported by massive colonial pillars, inkeeping with the grounds, and curative of the barrenness of the house.
The interior, she said, was a desecration of architecture as an ornamental science, a waste of room and a destruction of grace and beauty. Though John would not concede the waste of room, since every thing was built on a right angle plan and nothing appropriated room but the partition walls and a narrow stairway. The interior looked as though it were fashioned by artisans who were zealous disciples of a carpenter's square and who carried it about for insistent and perpetual use. She pointed out where many new windows must be cut or old ones enlarged and considerably modified in form.
"John, you and I must save our money for the next year, then we will have an architect give our modifications the sanction of his approval. We must not be too precipitate with alterations; living in the old house as it is a year, will settle just what we desire. In the meantime we can find plenty to do in the yard and garden.
"I have four thousand dollars in bank which I have been saving for you. We will use it to pay off the balance of the purchase price and to supplement my furniture, which is not more than half enough for the house.
"How happy we shall be planning and changing the house and grounds to suit our mutual fancy. It will be the second time for me. When your father was thirty we had saved three thousand dollars, just enough to buy a little home. Then we changed our plan and built one fresh and new. He died before the newness wore away and the place really looked like home. I believe your plan the better one; to buy an old home with a large front yard of great forest trees and a garden back of the kitchen, a house of substantial wall and foundation andliving in it, as fancy dictates or need requires or purse affords, make your alterations; then the place grows from strangeness to sympathy and takes on individuality.
"These old cherry and pear trees we will make room for in our plans. But you must cut out the dead tops and spray the trees. We want even these old trees to look comfortable and happy. Oh, they are sickle pears and nearly ripe. Just such ones as grew on father's place near Middletown; and I, a girl in sun bonnet and gingham apron, climbed the trees or picked them from a ladder. I must have a sun bonnet again and some gingham aprons. When you come home in the evening I will stand erect or walk with a sprightly step as a young girl and the sun bonnet will hide my gray hair and pale face and you will say; 'I wonder who that slender country girl is out under the trees? I suppose mother has gone to the house for something.' When I turn round you will say; 'Why, it is little mother; the mountain air and sunshine and the garden are doing wonders for her.' John you are a good boy and you are helping too.
"Look, John, there's a whole row of snowball and lilac bushes, and here are some early yellow roses, and over there a border of golden glow and a bed of lilies of the valley, and yet further on some hardy lilies and peonies, and beyond the walk a strawberry bed and sage, and gooseberries and red raspberries and an arbor of grape vines and a rustic bench.
"We are at home, John. The garden makes me young again and I see your father's face in your own. It is as though God had given me the two in the one body. John, brush off the bench and let us sit here and watch the shadows lengthen and fade and the coming darkness addzest and brilliance to the full moon. Then we'll go to the house hand in hand and you can help with the supper. You are not too hungry to wait a bit, John?"
"No, mother."
They sat for some time in silence as the twilight deepened.
"Mrs. Neal and her niece, Dorothy Durrett, called today. You must take me over some evening to see them. I must not forget that you are a man and that some time you will be looking for a wife. You must go out occasionally, else you will appear awkward in the presence of young ladies or be considered a crank."
"I like to go, mother, but I have not much time since I've been up here. Everything was new and I had to work hard and, even with that, have got many a knock I might have dodged; and lost once or twice because of inexperience. Experience in the practice is the best professor in law, but rather hard on the client. * * * I met one nice girl. Though her family were homely mountain people, she was making the best of her opportunities. Last winter she took a preliminary course at Wellesley and this fall enters the college as a freshman. I believe you would like Mary; I did, anyway. This is Thursday; suppose we go over to the Neals' Sunday afternoon or Monday evening."
"I will go with you Sunday afternoon at four o'clock."
The Neal home was within easy walking distance of the Cornwall place. John and his mother made their visit as planned. Their reception was cordial; Dorothy showed that she was glad of the diversion.
She was quite popular with the boys of her set at home; and it was an unusual experience when she was not called upon to entertain one or more young men Sunday afternoon and evening.
She and Cornwall sat upon the porch, joining in the general conversation. After a time Dorothy suggested that he carry the chairs out in the side yard, where they sat under the shade of two wide spreading elms.
They talked of several recently published romances; of mutual friends in Louisville; of their amusements, coming out parties; engagements and of the marriage of two of their friends, which had proven a disappointment to each party.
"Well, Miss Durrett, what about the mountains; do you like them?"
"They are all right for the summer if you could have a big house party, bringing your friends with you. I must confess that I have done little but read the week I have been here."
"Oh, make new friends; adapt yourself to your environment; I can do so with the men. There are some fine young fellows here; though they are usually at work, except when they are hunting, or swimming or fishing. I believe girls are scarce; at least I know very few. I will bring Duffield and Reid around from our office and ask young Cornett to come with us. How will it do for Wednesday evening. If you feel unequal to entertaining the four, your aunt might ask a couple of girls in. We'll be very glad to go for them and take them home again. Give me their names and I will arrange with the boys."
"How very kind; you are just the sort of friend one needs. Let's go at once and speak to Mrs Neal."
"Aunt, Mr. Cornwall and I are planning a little party for Wednesday evening. He is to be responsible for the young men and you are to ask three of the girls who have called;—and serve some light refreshments, else Mr. Cornwall will have to take us to the drug store. Does Wednesday evening suit you?"
"Yes, indeed; what girls would you suggest Mr. Cornwall?"
"They've hardly been in my line since I have been up here. I only know one or two. It's nice to come not knowing who you will meet;—besides I am not as deeply interested as the other three men. I shall speak for Miss Durrett in advance and have the pick of all possible prospects."
They returned to their seats under the elms and completed their plans; Mrs. Neal having announced that she would ask Bessie Hall, Mary Norwood and Helen Creech.
Dorothy said; "The young men suggested shall go for them while you come ahead and make yourself generally useful. This is the penalty for being so presumptuous as to demand me as a partner before I have seen the other gentlemen."
Mrs. Neal and Dorothy were both experienced entertainers and the little party was a complete success.
From Wednesday evening the Neal home became the center of gaiety for more than a dozen young persons. At night when Dorothy was at home each window seat and rustic bench was the stage of a scene from the first act of a seemingly serious love affair, had not the actors changed partners and rehearsed the same scenes.
By day there were picnics to the mountain tops, fishing and bathing parties, horseback rides up Clover Forkand down the river and at night card parties, informal dances, hay rides and suppers.
Cornwall, who for more than a year had been very studious and unduly sedate, went everywhere; making repeated apologies to his mother for leaving her so much alone all the while declaring that he thought a thousand times more of her than any girl in the world.
She and Mrs. Neal became great friends. Mr. Neal said, when his wife was not at home he knew she was over at the Cornwalls', and John, who heard the remark, replied; "I am always coming over to your house hunting mother," at which the young crowd on the porch roared with laughter.
Dorothy was the most popular of the girls and in her bird-like way a beautiful little creature. A blonde of the purest type, of petite and perfect form, weighing about a hundred pounds.
Every boy that came to the house, at one time or another, gave her a great bouquet of roses or mountain laurel or a box of chocolates. Among themselves, they called her Dolly Dimples Durrett. All the household and the girls called her Dolly; even Cornwall unconsciously called her Dolly several times; once in Mrs. Neal's presence. After he left the house Mrs. Neal asked Dorothy when he began doing that. "Oh! He did it unconsciously; he is around and hears it so much; I am expecting every day to call him John and probably have. It doesn't mean anything. I'm almost sorry to say."
She seemed not to care in the least who of the boys was her cavalier, making it a point rather to keep the whole company entertained and in the best of spirits though Cornwall was most with her and they were such good friends as to feel privileged not to weary each other with forced conversation, taking time to think a little.
She was as vivacious and light of heart as a feathery summer cloud; and, I was about to say, reminding one of a butterfly; but there was nothing of the sedate, slow, hovery movement of that beautiful insect. Her's was an extremely animated, aggressive daintiness. She always seemed to be hovering near or peeping into a bunch of flowers or carefully selecting a piece of candy for her dainty little mouth.
Her costumes were filmy creations of silk or other soft fluffy stuffs that gave forth the iridescence and sheen of a perfect opal; a coal of unquenchable, oscillating ruby fire in the heart of a milky diamond. She was a gorgeous little humming bird. So John described her to his mother and she knew he had not found the girl he wished for his wife.
One Sunday Dorothy and Mr. and Mrs Neal came from church to dine with them.
After dinner, while the others sat in the cool, darkened library, Dorothy and John wandered about the yard and garden.
They passed a bed of flowers in full bloom, over which darted and poised a pair of humming birds. The flowers were not attractive to the eye or of pleasant odor; but the long corollas held a pungent, honeyed sweetness that attracted the birds and many insects. Its technical name was Agave Americana. The seed had been brought from Mexico by the former owner of the place who, after making a great fortune in mining, had first settled in Harlan, but moved away, as the place offered very limited opportunities for spending his income.
When Dorothy passed the flower bed she gathered a handful and held them to her face with evident relish as they walked through the garden and found seats on the bench under the arbor.
They had been seated a few minutes when a messenger came from the public telephone office calling for John to answer a call from Pittsburgh. Knowing it was urgent, he excused himself, asking Dorothy to wait in the arbor, expecting to be gone five minutes. He was delayed at least twenty. When he returned she was peacefully sleeping on the bench. To awaken her he held the bunch of flowers to her face.
She smiled, sat up and stretching out her arms moved them up and down more rapidly than he thought humanly possible; the vibration or arc described, being one eighth of a complete circle. She bent forward, placing her lips above first one corolla then another. Her actions were unmistakable imitations of a humming bird. During the whole time she kept up an incessant humming or a chirpy little chatter, when John, almost in tears, taking her by the arm, awoke her.
"Oh! Oh! While you were away I slept and had the funniest dream. Come with me to the hammock under the oaks in the yard and I will tell it. Tell me the name of those strangely familiar flowers? Why they are the very ones I saw in my dream!"