"Oh, yes. That is our natural freak around this country—that and your tunnel! I know them well!"
"Well, we come out there, about two miles above this disappearing stream. It's a cinch! By the way, what becomes of that stream?"
"No one knows. Years ago we painted several pieces of wood, and hacked some logs in a certain way for identification, then let them all float down and be sucked into that hole. None ever bobbed up at our end, and, so far as we ever heard, they were never found floating on other streams. I fancy the water rushes into some vast subterranean sea."
Zack came out with the beverage, Brent bowed to the Colonel, drank it and sighed. It was an atrociously strong toddy, purposely made so by the old servant to compensate for the long day's absence; and almost at once, especially as he had eaten nothing since breakfast, its strength began to tell.
"Zack, when Doctor Meal comes tonight, I wish you'd send him up to graft a dozen mule legs on me."
"Mule legs, Marse Brent!" the old negro peered at him.
"I haven't heard from Meal," the old gentleman laughed. "But there is a young doctor named Stone who will be here; he might do it."
There were, indeed, now two doctors in Buckville: the former old man with a soft name, who wore long whiskers which served to hide the missing collar and cravat, who had for forty years ministered to the needs of the surrounding country, who rode a pacing mare and carried medicines in a saddle-bag across her back;—and he of the hard name, who had lately come as graduateof the University, who visited the sick in a gasoline runabout of uncertain age which steered with a lever and heaved prodigiously, who wrote prescriptions to be filled at the drug-store. If Doctor Meal were not among his bees, or grafting pear buds, he might be found in a tilted chair on the sidewalk, beneath the giant locust trees which shaded the town's one pharmacy. But Doctor Stone's telephone was invariably answered by a trained servant who, if he were away, knew exactly where to find him. Perhaps in no other respects was the changing life of Buckville better illustrated than by these two doctors: the old and the new; the passing and the coming. And because it was the passing, Doctor Meal had not yet gone as far as the post office for his mail; but in less than an hour after the stamp had been cancelled on Stone's invitation, the Colonel received his acceptance by telephone.
"Well," Brent sighed, "I've got to get 'em somewhere!"
"You might gallop up stairs on the four you have," the Colonel suggested. "Our guests will soon be arriving."
"And Dale will beat you down," Jane called from the library.
"Oh, Jane, I'm all in," he groaned. "I can't, honest!"
"Are you so much more tired than Dale?" she asked sweetly.
"Certainly not," he flushed.
He pushed himself slowly out of the chair and went to the French window.
"Where are you?" he began asking before stepping through. "I want some encouragment to climb those stairs!"
She was sitting, balanced lightly on the library table, with her hands clasped about one knee.
"What an old man you've suddenly become," she laughed.
"You'd be an old man, too," he said, "if you'd been paced all day by a camel!"
"I thought engineers were inured to those things;—I thought they could withstand all manner of hardships;—that, really, the elements themselves were playthings in their hands!"
He leaned against the table and looked down at her. That toddy, put into his tired and empty frame, was gripping him with surprising activity.
"No," he slowly replied. "Engineers can't master all the elements;—at least, I know one who can't. I wish he could!"
She may have flushed slightly, but her chin kept its tantalizing tip and her eyes their laughing mischief.
"One never knows what one can do until one tries," she said; and after a dangerous hesitation, added: "I believe this is the first day you've really attempted any serious work since you came."
Now, when a girl balances on the edge of a table in a softly lighted room, with her hands clasped about one of her knees, her chin tipped enticingly up, and a riot of mischief rippling through her eyes and parted lips,she has no business telling an over-toddied gentleman that he'll never know what he can do until he tries. She may add that she refers to the building of a railroad, to the conquering of a nation, to the playing of a hand of bridge—but he will see nothing beyond the seductive challenge. And Brent looked another instant at that enticing picture, then stooped down and kissed her hair.
There was no tilted chin, no laughing challenge, now as she sprang up and faced him. The change in her was like that of a limpid pool which has suddenly become roiled by a violent splash, and her eyes flashed as though all the vials of hate were about to be broken upon his head.
"I thought you were a gentleman." Her voice came slowly, with such utter contempt that he winced.
"Your thought is quite correct," he said. "I am a gentleman, and a man, and therefore vulnerable to such a temptation as you willfully threw at me."
Her cheeks flamed. "I never dreamed of such a thing!"
"Don't misunderstand me. I didn't say invitation; I said temptation."
"But you meant invitation," she hotly retorted.
"I know I did," he surprised her by admitting, "and you meant invitation, also. If you didn't, you're stupid;—and I'd rather think of you as daring than stupid."
"You will please not think of me at all, or speak to me, ever again!" she coolly said, and left the room.
Brent looked at the door through which she had disappeared. For several minutes he stood, without anysign of movement, except that his teeth were pressing rather hard upon his lower lip.
"John Barleycorn, you're a damned sneak," he muttered. "I've half a notion never to speak to you again!"
Then, with a sigh, he went up stairs to dress.
The dinner was late, because Uncle Zack, wishing to make an everlasting impression upon these neighbors of more moderate circumstances, had spurred the cook to the limit of her capacity. So family and guests were scattered about the porch, conversationally distrait as people are wont to be while momentarily expecting the servant's announcement.
Nancy, in whose toilette discerning eyes would have seen a generous share of Ann and Jane, was talking to the Colonel; who, in his turn, was making her position of honor guest less trying than she had pictured it during that long day of suspense.
Brent, terribly in the blues, sat at the extreme end of the porch, pretending to read the morning paper which had come in that afternoon's rural mail. Jane and Ann were near by, and Jane was noticeably quiet. Bob, having in mind his tobacco crop, called to the reader:
"What's the weather prediction for this section, old scout?"
The engineer sighed and let his eyes travel to Jane who was gazing in moody silence out at the tangle of trees and vines. Turning again to the paper, and with much rustling of the pages, he made a pretense of reading:
"The high barometric pressure and lovely sunshine generally spreading over central and southeastern Kentucky is showing no disposition to move in the direction of Arden. Forecast for the next twenty-four hours: great humility, and low, angry clouds, accompanied by moisture in the eyes and a crackling drought under the fourth left rib. Here," he handed the paper to Bob, and sent another questioning glance at Jane, "read it for yourself. I'm going in before the storm bursts!"
Bob looked after him, and then his surprised eyes sought Ann; but that young matron answered with a comprehensive smile, whereupon he sank comfortably behind the pages. Ann might have smiled again had she followed Brent to the dining-room, and there watched him change two place-cards.
Thus it chanced that Jane found herself seated next to him, and, having arranged the place-cards herself, understood exactly how it came about. The situation was decidedly awkward, and she came very near wishing their quarrel might have been postponed a few hours; especially as she realized that her other side was flanked by the Colonel, with Nancy on his right—a condition positively closing any hope of attention from this kind-hearted host. In a few minutes she was driven to seek refuge across the table in Dale; but Ann—having made a shrewd, though by no means accurate, diagnosis of the situation—determinedly held the mountaineer in leash. She then turned to Bob, but he had become engrossed with a neighbor on the subject of crops. Miss Liz was next sounded, but that lady, frivolously entangled withvarious occupations, proved hopeless. Finally, she tried eating, but the silence of her plate became utterly intolerable. Brent had been waiting for this.
"It's no use," he softly told her. "Suppose we make up!"
She might not have heard him.
"Don't you think it is inconsiderate to our host, and the others?" he asked. "They're sure to notice it!"
Silence.
"I didn't mean to offend you;—I was just bowled over, that's the simple truth!"
He might have been talking to an empty room.
"You've been so much like a sister to me," he ventured again, "that I didn't stop to think; and only—only acted on the very same impulse I would if you actually were my sister!" (Oh, Brent, you unconscionable liar!)
Still there was silence.
"Let's count," he suggested. "It won't be talking, and, at least, will deceive the table."
Silence.
"We might say the Lord's Prayer! That's certainly proper, and you can leave out 'as we forgive others.'"
In spite of herself the faintest shadow of a smile touched her lips, but their silence was absolute.
"Or we might try Mother Goose," again came the pleading voice. "We needn't speak after tonight—rather after this dinner. We can't, in fact, if I'm going home tomorrow! Shouldn't we make some effort to keep from spoiling the others' good time?"
Going home tomorrow? She had not heard of that! What would become of the railroad? What would become—but nothing mattered except the railroad! Was he acute enough to reason that he could move her by this threat, she wondered? And if he were, and if she yielded, would he not use it as a weapon for future forgivenesses, when he might again be taking her for his sister—something which he did not possess? This idea sealed her determination. Yet, on second thought she relented—oh, it could scarcely be called relenting—just a wee bit and, still looking steadfastly down at her plate, in a monotonous voice, said:
"Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard."
"Fine!" he laughed, but she quietly interrupted him:
"Nothing but Mother Goose—and, after this evening, nothing, ever!"
He drew a wry face, murmuring:
"Little Jack Sprite is very contrite, and wants to make up with his lady!"
She puzzled a moment over Little Jack Sprite. It did not seem quite relevant to the nursery classic which, only a few years back, she had read many times to Bip.
"That isn't Mother Goose," she finally stated. "I shan't do this any more."
"But it is," he protested, "and I'll show it to you in the book! They were reading Mother Goose to me long after you lost interest in it."
There was no rise to this, and he cautiously added:
"My poor brain, while ages older, has never developed up to yours. Do you know any rhymes, at all?"
Silence.
She looked again at Dale and found him listening to Ann. Again the Colonel proved unpromising. One slight remark was entirely lost on someone else, and Miss Liz offered more remote possibilities than before. After the situation recommenced its torture, rather wearily she said to her plate:
"Hey, diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle, the cow jumped over the moon."
"I love that one," he whispered, and, taking up her meter, continued: "The little dog howled, and the pretty girl scowled, but promised to make up soon! That's the second verse."
Another silence, but not so prolonged, when her voice reached him:
"Brent, Brent, the rich man's son, broke his word and away he run!"
"Heart," he corrected. "'Broke his heart,' is the way that goes!"
The silence was desperate now, and, after he had exhausted many forms of pleading, she simply said:
"Hark, hark, the dogs do bark, the beggars are coming to town!"
"I don't think it's nice to be so personal in our Mother Goose party," he reproved her. "However, if you insist—"
"But I don't insist!"
He shrugged his shoulders. "I was just going to repeat: 'There was a little boy and a little girl lived in an alley.' Will you finish it out?"
"I don't remember it," she said, too hurriedly to be convincing. "I'll say this one: 'Birds of a feather flock together, and so will pigs and swine; rats and mice will have their choice, and so will I have mine.'"
"You have a choice collection, at any rate," he grinned.
"Some verses," she explained, "were added to the very recent editions used in my childhood."
His grin became broader. "I hoped you might come across on that before the evening was over. Has your very recent edition the one in it about: 'Jane was saucy, Jane was pert'?"
"You're a bit shocking tonight," she said, turning to the Colonel, whose attention was still on Nancy.
Brent waited a minute, then: "Maybe you don't remember this one in your very recent edition: 'A hard-hearted Queen from Flat Rock, Whose anger came as a great shock, Said: I will not speak, sir, To you for a week, sir, So he went out and—' but I haven't had time to make the last line fit. You ought to laugh now!"
"I wish I could."
"It's original!"
"So I judge."
"Is that open window too cool for you?"
Silence.
"Here's another out of your very recent edition," he began, when she desperately turned to him.
"I wish you'd play fair!"
"Have you played fair?" he asked.
"I might have expected an evasion from you!"
"Don't muddy the water, please. Let's whittle on one stick at a time. Have you played fair?"
"Of course, I have!"
"That's all I want to know."
But this reply suggested a subtle accusation which she did not like, and she asked:
"What do you mean?"
"Only this," he leaned so that his words could not be overheard, and his voice was tense with a strange seriousness. "You knew perfectly well that I was hardly to blame—and, blamable as that defense may be, what I did was done reverently. You may not know, though I'll tell you now, that you were the most exquisite thing I have ever beheld!—absolutely the most adorable and exquisite! You literally balanced yourself before my eyes, you literally taunted me with words which were a challenge of unresisting sweetness, you literally drew me, and when I came, you flew into a rage. You call that fair? I call it grossly unfair! Take it from me, Jane, that a girl who willfully fires a man, as Almighty God fires the heavens in a tempest, and then springs behind her propriety to escape, has a serious form of pyromania that'll consume her some day, just as sure as I'm talking to you—but not before it drives a lot of decent fellows to eternal flames!"
"You're talking like a madman!" she gasped.
"Far from it. I'm talking the most rational stuff you ever heard in all your life! In fact, your very presence compels me to be rational."
"An enigmatic compliment," she could not help smiling. "What kind of deliriant have you been taking tonight?"
"You!" he whispered. "Just you, who intoxicate and torture me! And as for enigmatic compliments, I swear that you inspire me with only the highest reverence at all times. Don't think the library episode indicates a lack of respect! It was the very soul of reverence speaking—though," he slowly added, "it would not have spoken in just that way if Zack's toddy—"
"I'm beginning to hate the very word of julep and toddy," she said passionately; and the Colonel, hearing this, turned with an amused expression of surprise.
Ann had let Dale off her leash, and he now was making mental charges across the table to Jane, very much as a playful puppy would physically have done to one it wished to attract. She caught his eye and smiled, and then saw the haunted look in his face which aroused her at once to what was going on.
The table had centered in a general conversation, and Miss Liz, without suspecting the sting it carried, had launched into a tirade against the lawlessness of the mountaineers who killed and were killed with an abandon worthy of Apaches. That he should now be so frantically signalling, as though he knew in her would be found help, touched the girl's responsive nature. Brent, seeing this—as he saw much that passed about him—whispered to her:
"After all's said and done, it's a good feeling—that of being needed, isn't it?"
"Our mountaineers are not law breakers, Lizzie," the Colonel was saying with more than ordinary sharpness in defense of his guest—and of his State. "They keep the law extraordinarily well."
"How can you make such a statement!" the good lady cried. "I constantly hear of men being killed up in that wicked country!"
"It's very much exaggerated, as Brent would say," he chuckled. "At any rate," he cleared his throat, "I refer to the common law."
Bob and Brent exchanged winks. They knew the old gentleman was getting frightfully tangled, and were curious to see how he would work himself out of it.
"Then I suppose you mean," her voice rang with the challenge, "that killing people is compatible with the common law?"
"Legal hangings are," he smiled blandly. "But, what I do seriously mean is this: the common law of a country, and therefore the common law of a place, is merely—and nothing more than—a common custom plus the power to change that custom. This being the case, the mountaineer of Kentucky is within the common law of his section, providing that he kills only within that section where it is a common custom—plus the power to change that custom."
Miss Liz sighed. "It doesn't sound like good sense," she said, "but may be correct. I have always thought that law is law, everywhere."
"Law is law, my dear," he gently explained to her, "until it is changed; certainly. But it is not always goodsense. Take our waterways hereabouts! They are every one governed by the same old law of riparian rights which we took from England, whose waterways are no more like those in this country than threads are like ropes. And, moreover, England's law was construed long before the dream of artificial power, having to do merely with streams adapted to navigation. Who cared then for a falls or rapids? Who would have been mad enough to think of bridled electricity? So today, these falls and rapids, which are quite out of the question for navigable purposes, but possess as great a value in other respects to the people at large, are entirely demoralized through the application of an antiquated law framed to deal with streams of a totally different character. Don't you see, my dear, how fallible may be the thing called law if it runs counter to public good? And does it not show you that every common law must be—in order to be sensible—a consensus of public consent? Therefore, do I maintain that the mountaineers of our proud State, who in common consent prosecute their own feuds in their own domain, are within the common law of that domain. Some day, when Brent's and other railroads have poured into them a different civilization, their environment will be changed;—there will arise amongst them a giant to turn things upside down—as Jeremy Bentham threw defiance to the law of diodens."
The Colonel now, having distorted a little knowledge into a great flow of verbal pyrotechnics which hopelessly confused and downed Miss Liz, turned back to Nancy with a satisfied smile.
"Wasn't diodens a sort of old law that confiscated anything which destroyed life?" Brent, in an undertone, asked Jane.
It seemed a safe enough subject, and she nodded: "I think so."
"I was just wondering," he whispered, "that if this law prevailed now, which would the State confiscate—your eyes, your mouth, the tip of your chin, your—"
"If thoughts kill," she frowned, "my mind would be seized. I've murdered you several times with that."
"You've murdered me several times with everything about you! I wish I were the State!"
"State of Idiocy? Why carry coals to Newcastle?"
"To heap on your head," he laughed, "and scorch your uncharitable soul!"
"My poor lost soul," she murmured.
"Then take notice that, if finders are keepers, I'm heading a search party."
She looked gaily up at him, for it was hard to remember that she was angry; but quickly her face sobered.
"I forgot, and I must not forget, that you've mortally offended me."
There was something very serious in the way she said it—something totally beyond the slightest echo of banter—that affected him. She was looking back fearlessly into his face, and he saw the hurt in her eyes—and he saw in her eyes that she was anxious. A certain faint and subtle element of surprise and wonderment had passed across them, like a cloud shadow over a sunlit field of waving grain. It thrilled him to the very depth of hisnature. For the first time in his life he was being driven by an influence, by a storm, or what you will, which contained not one element of self.
"For the love of God, what have you done?" he whispered, almost accusingly in his earnestness.
"Done?" she asked, looking away from him. "You are saying queer things tonight!"
"I am experiencing queer things tonight," his voice trembled. "May I come tomorrow and apologize properly?"
"Apologies are futile; besides, I am going to church with Bip."
"Then the next Sunday!" he entreated. "I know you've a lot to forgive—but I'm so terribly sorry! It hasn't murdered our friendship, has it, Jane?"
"I—I don't know. I'm tired tonight, and maybe can't see things as I should."
"I'm coming tomorrow, anyway, and explain," he whispered.
"No. And please promise you will never refer to this evening again!"
"Very well. And there's another promise I'll make you, too—"
But Miss Liz had arisen, and the others were pushing back their chairs, so Jane did not hear this other promise he would have made; for she was moving from the table with Doctor Stone, having pinned that gentleman as they first arose with no intention of letting him leave her. He had made one or two amateurish efforts to wait for Nancy, and now in a bewildered sort of way wonderedwhy he continued with this other girl against his will. Doctor Stone's university course had not included psychodynamics in the female species. Thus it was that he walked from the dining-room to its carefully trimmed terrace with Jane, and thus it was that Nancy slowly followed with the Colonel, who had filled her arms with a gorgeous bouquet of peonies.
The honor guest's face was flushed, but it had been flushed throughout the dinner. Never had she sat down at so well appointed a table, and never had she openly been shown attention by one of the Colonel's social standing. She was excited and happy; she wanted to run and dance, as a flower-laden child might run and dance along a sun-kissed, wooded path!
June hung suspended as ripe fruit. Rains had come. The country was blossoming with a promise of abundant crops. No longer were there breaths of sultry air in shady places. The heavy foliage, fattened by reinvigorated sap and fanned by refreshing breezes, rustled as though it were sprinkling ozone to the ground; and the Colonel complained of exhaustion from the sheer indulgence of joyous deep breathing.
These last two months had brought a settled condition to those at Arden. At first pleasantly aroused by the advent of Dale, they were again comfortably back in their accustomed grooves, while he, also, found a niche which fitted his cosmos with a fair degree of ease. He was at home with them now, and natural; and—when not absorbed with study—talked freely in a slow magnetic way that compelled listeners. The early reticence had given place to the full sway of an enthusiast, and everyone within his orbit felt the influence of a peculiarly strong attraction.
More and more was he surprising them. Merging from obscurity to the light of action, he had developed into a human dynamo, generating power at a high rateof speed and storing it in the dry cells of his brain. Brent accused him of consuming so much of the atmosphere that nothing remained; he said the air seemed lifeless after this absorbing student had passed. He was perilously near done for, he confided to the Colonel, if Dale's mental instrument corralled all the energetic thought waves of Arden, and Miss Liz captured the peace and independence. And the old gentleman had laughed like a boy, because the mountaineer was so generously surpassing Jane's most sanguine hope.
The happiest laugh of all was from Dale, himself—that low, inaudible movement of the throat wherewith he expressed his gayest moods. He had been turned out in the pasture of his heart's desire, and was gathering a harvest with feverish hands. Since the first Monday morning after his arrival, when he crept to the schoolhouse at break of day and waited in the opposite thicket with his long rifle to see if Tusk would come again, the mantle of civilization wrapped quickly about him.
In the succeeding days, the mysteries of spelling and other problems flew like chaff before his irresistible energy. He had struck a gait which created wonderment in all. Hours bounded in no way his efforts. Late afternoons, evenings, and nights, had been devoted to intense study of which he could not tire. Early mornings, before breakfast, had found him poring over a book, and the day's lessons were recited with unerring accuracy while he dressed.
Since school had closed this zeal did not cease; rather did it grow more ardent as Jane gave him her undividedtime by especially directing studies apace with his rapid advancement. As she fed, he devoured—as a ravenous animal would have torn its food—and fiercely demanded more. From the blind girl he had acquired, with this thirst for knowledge, a tremendous power of concentration; but, to the regret of those about him, had failed utterly to absorb any of her power of self-sacrifice. That spiritual side—that all important lesson of unselfishness—had never reached him. He was as blind to it as she was to the light of day, and in spite of all Jane could do, or the Colonel could do, his nature closed tighter about the one idea of self-advancement.
For a week after his memorable first day upon the survey, he had rushed to Brent's room each morning at dawn to get the party started; and Brent had good-naturedly submitted. But now the engineer suddenly balked, flatly refusing to take him out again. Miss Liz arose in her wrath, but he told her that he would not risk another day of starvation should this fanatic choose to throw the lunch away—and it was too much work going every day, anyhow. But, the fact of the matter was, Dale had become a serious handicap. He was not content to act as pole-man, or carry the chain. He could have done either of these well enough, because Brent had taught two of the brighter negroes whom he regularly took along. No, Dale must be continually at the transit, looking through it, changing its direction, asking a thousand irrelevant questions, and demoralizing the entire force. So after one week of struggle, Brent told him that he should not come any more until he had at leastlearned enough to realize how little he knew. It was a disappointment to Jane, but she persuaded Miss Liz not to press the issue, deciding that it might be better in the long run for Dale to proceed more systematically in fundamental things and lay his foundation with greater care.
In the freshness of this June morning he was back again in the library, bent over the pages of a book, and the room seemed quieter for his intensity. Outside, on the shady porch, the Colonel showed indications of reading, but in reality his eyes had slyly turned to the lawn where Zack and Bip were in a heated argument over the respective merits of horseflesh.
An hour before, this sturdy six-year-old heir apparent to the house of Hart, had arrived on his Shetland pony to see Grandfather May—a usual weekly procedure. Along with him, as was also the invariable custom, ponderous Aunt Timmie drove in her buggy—"her" buggy by adoption after it had been discarded by "de white folks." Whenever she climbed into this moth-eaten vehicle, whose wheels pointed outward and inward all at the same time, she never permitted the child to forget that it was her own sweet willingness thus to risk her life which made these excursions possible. She was in the big house now, inspecting every surface and crevice for a particle of dust, contemptuously sniffing and soliloquizing:
"De place is jest nachelly gwine to rack an' ruin! Zack ain' got no moh sense 'bout takin' cyare of a house den a rag-dawl!"
The Shetland pony, meanwhile, was standing at a safe distance from Uncle Zack's mule, looking very wicked indeed with its long forelock hanging frowsily between its eyes, and seeming to have comprehended some of the slanders which this old darky—making a great pretense of being angry—had uttered. To the side, and ready to champion her little friend, stood Mesmie, daughter of Bradford, the overseer, with one bare foot pressing nervously on the instep of its mate, and her fingers twisting the end of her long, golden plait. This was apprehension, not embarrassment. The old negro's pretended anger invariably deceived this little girl—as it frequently puzzled the boy.
"Dar ain' no use talkin'," Uncle Zack stamped the ground. "I'se been waitin' on de May fam'ly fer up'ards of a hund'ed yeahs, an' dis am de fu'st time any of 'em done 'sult me!"
There was a pause while Bip looked at him with wide, serious eyes, and the Colonel from his secluded vantage point silently chuckled.
"I didn't mean to insult you, Uncle Zack," the little boy explained. "I only said that Daniel, here, couldn't have anything to do with such a mis'rable mule. Daniel's a thoroughbred!"
"Thurerbred!" Zack scornfully repeated. "Jes' heah dat! Why, he ain' big 'nough to be no kind o' bred! He ain' got 'nough blood in 'im to call it real breedin'!"
The boy's face flushed. "He's by Shadeland Wildon," he cried, "and out of Hurstbourne Trinket! I'd like to see you find any pony stock better'n that!"
Uncle Zack appeared to ponder over this. As a matter of fact, he had once told Bip this same thing in these very words. Now he temporized by squinting up at the sun.
"An' what's more," the little fellow hotly declared, "they're both registered way back to the war—an' lots before that! Grandfather says if he didn't know Daniel was Daniel, he'd think he was Shadeland Wildon every time I rode him in here—'cause he's got his sire's chestnut an' white markin's to a dot, an' his size to a hair! Now what you got to say 'bout breedin'!"
"'Pears to me," the old fellow soliloquized, still squinting upward, "'twon't be long 'foh lunch time. Didn' I heah somefin 'bout gwine down whar de Willer-de-Wispies lives at?"
"Oh, yes," Bip cried, his anger passing like a bird shadow. "But, Uncle Zack, you've got to ride a horse! I can't have Daniel learnin' laziness from that old mule!"
"Laziness!" the old man exclaimed. Then, all at once, he seemed to be watching something in the trees. "I 'member onct," he began in a ruminating fashion, "when a li'l boy come up to me an' sez: 'Unc Zack,' he sez, 'which is de oldes', ladies or gemmen?'"
He watched the boy with a downward glance from the corner of his eye, but the little fellow maintained a dignified composure. How often did he wish Uncle Zack would forget those questions which now seemed to him a hundred times more infantile by the old man's interpretation! How many times had Uncle Zack prevailed in having his own way by merely referring to them! Now he continued:
"An' onct, when I wuz settin' in mah doh, dis same li'l man come pokin' 'long an' sez, sez he: 'Unc Zack, how-cum you kin see yoh knuckles when yoh fist is shet up tight, an' cyarn' see 'em when yoh han's out straight?'"
"That's one thing you never did tell me," the boy accusingly cried. "You couldn't!"
"I couldn'?" he asked in pained surprise. "Does you mean I couldn'? Why, ain' you 'shamed of yohse'f talkin' dat a-way to ole Zack! I could a-tol' you, spry's yoh please, but it warn't good fer li'l boys jes' den."
"Then tell me now!" Bip challenged.
"How ole is you, honey?" came the irrelevant question.
"I'll be seven next time," he answered.
"Seven nex' time!" The wrinkled face became more wrinkled as he looked out over the fields and began to shake with laughter. "Seven nex' time! What you know 'bout dat!"
"What's funny, Uncle Zack?"
"Jes' dat, dat's all. Come 'long, now, an' we'll git de mule ready!"
"Ain't you going to tell me 'bout my knuckles?" the little boy asked, as they moved to the horse-block where, in deep humility, an old saddle rested.
"Shucks! Dat ain' no fun!" Zack contemptuously asserted. "Knuckles is cu'ious things, knuckles is; an'dar ain' no sense gittin' all riled up 'bout 'em, no way. Didn' I never tell you 'bout de bantam hen dat got her knuckles scyared up wid de water snake?"
"No, you didn't! But tell me first 'bout mine!" The little boy was trotting to keep up now, and the old man lengthened his strides.
"An' didn' I never tell you 'bout de chicken hawk as busted his knuckles all up tryin' to fly off wid de weather-vane down on de stable dar?"
"Oh, no, Uncle Zack! But tell me 'bout mine, first!"
The old negro stopped stock still and looked down with a frown.
"You'se de mos' pestiferistes' pusson on dis heah place!" Then, catching an inspiration, he asked: "Why does you swaller when you'se chawin' a piece of cake?"
"I don't know;—just do. I reckon!"
"Dar now, Mesmie, ain' he a smart li'l man?" the old fellow chuckled. "Dat's de ve'y reason—you jes' do! An' dat's 'zackly what de knuckles does—dey jes' do! Now, since we done relieve ourse'ves on dat pint, le's move 'long!"
Both seemed to have forgotten the discussion on thoroughbreds, but the old negro still pretended to be haughty; and now, slowly approaching the mule which narrowly watched from the corner of his eye, he casually observed:
"De ve'y idee of sayin' mah mule's lazy! Why, he kin nacherly out-run de life outen a li'l sawed-off dumplin' lak one I sees standin' 'round heah!"
This was the touch of spark to powder. The boy thrust his hand deep into his pocket, brought it forth and opened it, then stepped quickly forward:
"I'll bet you a nickel—an' here it is—that Daniel an' I can beat you to the pike an' back!"
"Keep 'way! Keep 'way, son!" the old man hastily warned. "Keep 'way from his heah whirlwind!"
Bip backed slowly off. He understood the uncertainties of this location, and carefully watched the mule's anticipative ears which were symbols of treachery.
"Git on 'way, now," Zack again warned. "I'se gwine heist up de saddle!"
"He can't kick me over here," the boy said.
"Don' you believe no sich a-thing," the negro emphatically exclaimed. "De op'rashions of dis heah telescope extends to jest whar you happen to be standin'—no moh, an' no less. All he wants to know is yoh ad-dress, an' he'll pop you suah!"
"Then I'm as safe here as I would be at home," came the logical retort.
Zack stopped what he was about to do and stood with a broad grin on his face. Slowly he looked from the sturdy little youngster to the mule, and at last back again.
"De onlies' diff'ence is," he scratched his head, "dat ef you cross de road now, mebbe you kin do it lak a li'l gemmen; but ef you keep on foolin' 'roun' dis mule's back-doh, you'se apt to git heisted crost lak a jay-bird. It's mighty good sense to press yoh luck as fur's it'll go, honey, but a oudacious sin to set right out to bust it. An' 'member what ole Zack say 'bout dat, 'caze it mought do you a heap of good some day!"
Zack's saddle was finally tied on with a piece of clothesline and, putting his foot in a rope stirrup, he mounted.
"Now I'se gwine arter dat nickel," he declared. "Scramble up on yoh dumplin' an' come 'long! Li'l Mesmie," he looked down at the girl, "you stan' right dar an' squint yoh eyes good, an' you'll see de hottes' Kentucky Derby ever run!"
Bip led his pony to the horseblock, and by much squirming managed to wriggle on; then trotted over to Uncle Zack.
"We're ready," he cried, his face alight with excitement. "How much start'll you give me?"
"Staht! I ain' gwine give younostaht! You'se wuss'n a gal!"
"Why ain' you gwine give him no staht?" an indignant voice called, and, turning, he beheld Aunt Timmie leaning against the house complacently regarding them.
"Of course you'll give him a start!" the Colonel thundered, thereby showing to what extent he had been reading during the past half hour.
"It wouldn't be sporty not to give him a start, Uncle Zack," came still another voice, this time from the shrubbery where Brent, returning from a dabble at his work, had halted in the keenest amusement.
"Well, 'pon mah word," the old fellow scratched his head. "It looks lak I'se booked to race de whole fam'ly. Marse John, how much you reckon I'd ought togive 'im? 'Foh you answers, jes' keep in mind dat dis heah keg of dynermite I'se ridin' ain' got no shoes on, an' dese heah ropes is mighty rotten; an', ef we goes our best, de mule ain' gwine be de onlies' one dat'll need a hawse-doctor! I ain' got no nickel, no-way!"
Timmie was shaking with mirth. "I wish you'd git yohse'f kilt," she affectionately laughed at him. "Go on, den, an' find de Willer-de-Wispies. De chile's done been honin' 'bout 'em in his sleep. An' mind, don' let 'im git nigh no pisen-ivy! An' Zack," she called, as they were riding away with Mesmie now up behind Bip, "git 'im back heah by twelve!"
Still chuckling, she waddled around to the front, where only she and Zack, of all the servants, were permitted to tarry, and sat upon the lowest step.
"That ought to have been a fine race, Brent," the Colonel wiped his forehead and laughed. "But I suspect it would have made Timmie a widow."
"A widow?" Brent asked, passing her with a cheery nod. "Uncle Zack told me they were twins!"
"So we is twins," the old woman asserted, "but dat don' keep me from bein' a widder, do it?"
"The fact of the matter is, Brent," Colonel May said with a twinkle about his eyes, "it requires stupendous acumen to understand this situation. Timmie and Zack were born on the same day, at precisely the same hour, and in adjoining cabins. So that makes them twins. I hope you follow me?"
"Like a hound, sir," Brent assured him.
"Then Timmie has never told you how it all came about, and how they got their names!" The Colonel looked down at her. Occasionally, when he was in a particularly gay mood, he made one or both of these old people amuse his company. It was their boast, their greatest pride, that this story of how they became twins, how they were named, and finally married, had been recited before governors and other dignitaries, each ofwhom they delighted to enumerate. She looked up saying with a shade of rebuke in her voice:
"Marse John's done tol' you 'bout de twins part an' de marr'in'—an' as for de namin', why, dat won't take no time. You see, when I wuz 'bout to be borned mah mammy wuz in a turrible state. Most cullud folks is, at dat time, an' most of 'em gits de 'ligion, 'caze it kinder ease 'em up. Well, sah, whilst mah mammy wuz havin' de 'ligion an' me, Zack's mammy wuz havin' de 'ligion an' him. Our cabins set jest lak yoh two han's togerr—dat a-way—an' dar warn't no secrets 'tween dem famblys, dat's a fac'! Well, when 'twuz all over, mah mammy's so thankful she say she gwine name me outen de Scriptires. Zack's mammy heah dat, an' she lay low an' study 'bout a name, too. De upshot wuz dat mah mammy settle on de fu'st line of de hymn: 'Timorous-is-we-poh-mortal-worms.' Dat stun 'em some, you bet; but towa'ds evenin' Zack's mammy raise up an' shout she's done foun' de name, an' when dey-alls run to her doh she say: ''Zackly-how-thankful-I-is-dat-dis-heah-trial-an'-tribulachun-am-over-de-Lawd-in-His-goodness-only-knows! An' dat's mah son's name!' Well, sah, de niggers fer miles 'round wuz jest bustin' dey jaws tryin' to say dem gran' names, but a coolness set in on mah mammy. She got mighty uppish, an' say it warn't fayh fer Zack's mammy to wait an' go her one better, dat a-way. So dey sent fer ole Aunt Moony Jorden. Ever'body stepped 'round fer Aunt Moony, 'caze she's bohn wid a cawl on her face an' could see speer'ts; so she got out a dried buzzard's foot an' whispers to it, an' den saysever'body mought as well make up, 'caze someday de li'l chillun is gwine git mahr'd, anyway. An' sho' nuff," Aunt Timmie sighed, "we did."
The Colonel gave Brent a wink.
"Well, that was most fortunate," he mused, "for Zack has been a very upright husband."
The old woman bristled. Glaring at him she said in a low voice:
"Upright ain' so diffe'nt from downright! You knows how oudacious he done treat me 'bout dat 'surance!"
"Oh, yes, you mean about that policy!"
She maintained a moody silence, and the Colonel ventured:
"You see, Brent, Timmie thought so much of Zack—"
"Now, Marse John, you's jest pesterin'! De truff is, sah," she turned to Brent, "dat 'long back yonder when Miss Ann's 'bout de size of li'l Bip, a man come down heah an' says ef I takes a policy out on Zack, when de ole nigger's daid, he say, I'll be wu'th somethin'. I turned it over an' over in mah haid, an' reckoned dat, ef Zack had to go, dar warn't no sin in ole Timmie gittin' all de comfo't outen it she could. So de man size Zack up mighty smart, an' say a twenty-yeah policy'll be plenty long 'nough to out-stretch him. De fu'st of eve'y month I sont mah good money up to Loui'ville, an' 'bout a yeah ago de day come fer dat policy to git ripe. All de evenin' befoh I treat Zack mighty gentle. I cook him a scrumptuous supper, an' dat night go down in mah trunk an' git out mah mournin' clothes an' mah funeral hat, an' crymahse'f to sleep. An' what you reckon! From dat ve'y day he's been sprier'n he ever wuz! Jest wait till I ketch some of dem 'surance men 'bout heah agin!"
With a deep sigh she rose laboriously and started back around the house.
"Where's Dale?" Brent asked, more to keep from laughing than from any particular interest in the mountaineer just then.
"In the library, as usual," answered the Colonel, "digging out analects."
Timmie, overhearing this, wheeled about.
"Mah sakes alive," she cried, a look of horror coming into her face. "You never had nuthin' lak dat in yoh house while I 'uz tendin' to it, Marse John! I'll bet dat liberry ain' fit fer a pusson to set in!"
The laughter which greeted this detracted nothing from her indignation, and she turned again toward the rear premises, shaking her head and mumbling direful things.
"That Dale, by the way," the Colonel said at last, "is a curious and remarkable chap. Positively, sir, he gives me a fresh and agreeable surprise each day!"
"I like the way he wears his clothes," Brent replied. "It isn't every fellow who can put on hand-me-downs and still look like they're made for him. Perhaps a small matter," he added, noting a smile of indulgence come into the old gentleman's face, "but you'll admit that it shows up favorably. It's probably an avatism pointing back to royalty; as Aunt Timmie would say, a sure sign of quality."
"You may be right, sir. But in other ways he showsup more extraordinarily. His mind is so retentive that nothing ever escapes from it. Any date, or fact, or figure that he has ever heard, may be instantly and accurately recalled. Why, sir, I would as soon contradict an encyclopedia! He is truthful to a fault!"
"I wouldn't condemn him for a little thing like that," Brent murmured.
"Condemn! Why, sir, I admire him for it! I was early taught to love the truth and shame the devil!"
Brent laughed softly. He got a great deal of fun out of ragging the old gentleman a bit at times.
"If shaming the devil were all," he said; "but think of your neighbors!"
"I think of no one, sir!" The Colonel was fuming now, and glaring impartially at everything about him.
"Then I wonder you've got a friend left. But, all joking aside, I wouldn't take anything for Dale, and have really grown to like him a whole lot. If he could just get over giving me the creeps! I can't describe what there is about him—his native crudity, doubtless."
"I should forgive crudities in one whose heart is right," the Colonel temporized. "It's in oysters that pearls are found, and surely oysters could not be termed finished."
"Your originality is dazzling," Brent looked across at him, "even though I can't agree with you. I've usually found oysters finished all too soon;—and much easier to swallow than your superannuated moral axioms."
The old gentleman began to laugh. "On my word,sir, you are hopeless! But, if he meets Jane's expectations, you will see him one of these days with a masterful grasp on the abstruse questions of life, and striding on to undisputed success. Jane has never been so enthusiastic about anything as this rapid development. She's planning wonders with him!"
Brent was silent, gloomily watching the smoke from his cigarette. Pointedly ignoring the personal element, at last he said:
"I was just trying to decide whether success in life depends as much on grasping its abstruse questions, as the faculty of picking out its soft snaps! But he's a poverty stricken beggar, and I wish him luck."
The old gentleman's eyes twinkled as he observed Brent's gloom. It had an effect of pleasing him, and he banteringly advanced another moral axiom:
"There are worse misfortunes than being poor!"
"That may be, Colonel," he sighed. "I'm not familiar with all the tortures. Anyway, I'll bury the issue, along with my nose, in the delectable juleps Timmie is bringing."
"You must have caught her eye," the old gentleman smiled, watching her waddle through the hall with an inviting tray.
"Or Miss Liz is taking a nap," the other suggested, raising one of the frosted goblets. "Here's to the gratification of your merest whim, sir!"
Both drank a swallow, and then sat upright staring at each other in amazement.
"God bless my soul!" the Colonel gasped, "what is this stuff?"
"It tastes like raspberry juice," Brent answered, warily taking another sip. "But it's sort of good—it's real good!"
The old gentleman gingerly sipped it now, and then once more, while his lips made the soft smacking noise of taste on an investigation.
"By Godfry, it is good," he wagged his head convincingly. "It's mighty good, sir!—er—perhaps Lizzie was not asleep, after all!"
After a few moments of contented silence—when Aunt Timmie had tiptoed back to the kitchen and was relating to Miss Liz the success of their undertaking—the Colonel asked:
"How is the road coming on?"
A month earlier Brent would have evaded this subject, but now his eyes sparkled with pleasure.
"Bully! I've been able to make speed by the fortunate possession of a hand map by Thruston—that super-accurate geologist, metallurgist and engineer who tramped every foot of these mountains twenty-five years ago—and it's making things easy. We've nothing to equal it, even today!"
"Do you know," the Colonel slapped his knee, "I have suspected you were slipping out oftener of late! I've been missing my niggers!—and was going to tell Jane about it!"
"Don't," Brent said seriously, "I want—I just hadan idea, that maybe it would be nice to finish up for—well, about the time of her birthday this summer. So, if you've noticed any especial activity, you'll have to respect my confidence."
"Why, sir, I call that handsome, sir!" he cried. "Ladies might not object to birthdays if cavaliers laid railroads at their feet! Tell me more!"
"Well," Brent flushed, "the line is short and surprisingly simple: distance from Buckville to the coal, sixteen miles. There was only one choice of locations: the valley line, where the ruling grade is about nominal. I'll come past here half a mile—or more, Colonel, if you desire it—and scoot up the North Fork of Blacksnake, through the natural tunnel, follow alongside the disappearing stream, and there you are! A few rights of way are still unsecured, but I've had Dulany out trying to gather them up. He's known hereabouts, and bargains better than I."
"Well, well, I am charmed! Dulany is a good man! I take it that things will soon begin to show in earnest?"
"It depends on what you mean by earnest," Brent laughed. "If construction work, that doesn't begin till after I've done!"
"Of course, of course! I had forgotten! Where do you cross the pike, sir?"
Brent looked at him a moment, then slowly began to smile.
"I'm going through the front parlor of my friend Tom Hewlet's house."
"Good riddance," the old gentleman chuckled.
"And," Brent continued, "I fear I'll have to go through the reception room of one of your friends."
"Why, this is serious, Brent! Whom do you mean?"
"It might be serious," the engineer laughed. "It's a chap named Potter—very much in love with you."
The Colonel looked grave. "His cabin burned down this spring; I supposed he had moved away!"
"No, he is rebuilding," Brent casually replied, and glancing slyly across at the serious face, murmured: "He doesn't think you had a right to burn him out."
Colonel May sprang to his feet: "The impudence of him, sir!" he wrathfully exclaimed. "The impudence of him! Why, sir, he grossly insulted—" and quickly remembering that this insult to Jane must not be known, added: "insulted me, sir! Of course, I had a right to burn him out!"
"I'm glad you did," Brent soothingly agreed. "I only knew the facts yesterday, when he happened to be telling about it."
"Telling about it! What do you mean, sir? What lie could that scoundrel have invented?"
For a moment Brent looked the excited man steadily in the eyes, and the Colonel realized that further dissimulation was useless. After this silent message had passed between them, he said:
"I was resting under a tree yesterday, back from the road. As a matter of fact, I was trying to write a verse. Dale and Bob came by on horseback. Potter, who it seems has returned from his long and mysterious absence with Tom Hewlet, appeared pretty well up the hill on theother side. Seeing Dale, he yelled at him, and shot his pistol in the air, and—and said a lot of things about the fire. He was too far away for them to get him."
"This is detestable," the old gentleman locked his jaws. "It's positively dangerous for that dear girl to go about! I shall not let her leave Bob's place without some of the hounds!"
"Hounds wouldn't amount to anything. If she tried to set them on anyone, they'd think it was a cast and be off!" Then quietly added: "I've wired home for an airedale terrier. With him as her friend, she can go anywhere!"
"That is most thoughtful," the old gentleman murmured. "But, Brent, that damned half-wit will take savage delight in spreading his story—" the Colonel gritted his teeth and could not finish.
"I hardly think so," Brent reassured him. "It just happens that I've placed him in a most superstitious dread of me—through a little encounter we had because of an attempt Tom Hewlet made to blackmail me. Though I mention this in confidence, sir."
"Blackmail! Why, Brent, what does this mean? I feel as though I were dreaming!" But a deeper anxiety came into his eyes as he recalled some whisperings of two months back.
"Don't let it worry you. It has been cooked by proper threats of the penitentiary—" He stopped short, becoming for the first time aware of Aunt Timmie's presence as she was taking up the goblets with more than necessary deliberation. When she left, he added:"Anyway, what I started out to say is, Tusk will keep his mouth shut forever after I get hold of him. I looked for him in town, and at his half finished cabin, but he wasn't around. So I'll try again today."
"Do you really think you can stop this?" the Colonel leaned hopefully forward.
"I know it, unless Tom has successfully disillusioned his mind about my being a devil."
"A matter which would doubtless require more eloquence than Tom possesses," the old gentleman's eyes twinkled: but he added in the former serious voice: "If you can't, sir, I—I shall have his life! I will, sir!—by God, sir. I will!"
Dale had come quietly to the French window. At his place in the library, where he had been poring over books, the conversation could have been heard, but none of it drew his attention until the Colonel's first outburst of rage. He stood now, looking calmly down at the old gentleman's flushed face, then stepped out and approached them.
"You won't have to do that," he said. "I killed 'im this mornin'."
A deadly, sickening hush came over his listeners, and gradually through it the rythmic strokes of a galloping horse fell upon their ears. Brent turned and saw Jane. In a dry voice he said:
"The hell you did."
For once the adaptable engineer seemed helpless to rise to the situation. It was the Colonel who pulled himself together, saying hurriedly:
"Here's Jane! Go out, Brent, and entertain her! I'll take Dale indoors and see what this means!"
"I haven't time," the mountaineer irritably replied. "I'm readin', and can't stop!"
"I'll bet you a cooky you can stop, sir," the old Colonel snapped. "You come and talk to me! Hurry, Brent!"
Entering the French window to the library he turned nervously to Dale.
"Now, what does this mean?"
"Brent told you," the mountaineer answered. "He told you how the varmint yelled, an' what he said. This mornin' I went 'foh sun an' laid out near his cabin. That's all."
The reproach in the Colonel's eyes fell upon Dale like a lash, and he angrily continued:
"You said you'd do it, didn't you? If I hadn't—or somebody hadn't—he'd kept on shoutin' those things, an' maybe worse, till she wouldn't have opened school next yeah! Would she? Then what would I do? I tell you, Tusk had to be kilt!"
"I was merely angry, and talking, sir," the Colonel protested, with not the same regard for truth he had formerly boasted.
"An' I was angry an' not talkin'," Dale sullenly retorted.
The silence that followed was broken by the old gentleman's brief question:
"Dead?"
"I reckon. He went down."
"We must go and see. Come!"
"I ain't got time to fool with 'im," the mountaineer looked restlessly at the open book and then back at his interrogator. "I've got to study. You go, if you think you'd ought, an' take some niggers."
The Colonel shuddered: "By God, but you're a cold one!" then hastily went out to consult the faithful Zack. But the mountaineer reseated himself at the long mahogany table, and plunged furiously into the maze of erudition.