72VIAN UNEXPECTED MEETING
Mr. Follet was a man of unique business methods. He had no idea of orderliness, though he insisted he knew where everything was, and strenuously declined his wife’s offers to go over to the store, or stores rather, and help him “straighten up.” The stock had overflowed the floor of the original building and instead of putting in shelves to dispose of the stock conveniently, he built another and still another shanty to hold the overflow. But in spite of queer methods he was making money steadily. He kept each building securely locked, for he said he wouldn’t have idle folks sitting around in his store. He went over to the station according to the railroad time schedule, though it was only a flag station and was seldom flagged, and whenever he saw a customer at the store door or on the way, he bustled over to unlock the door, stumble around in the dark, for there were no windows, and hunt out what they wanted.
Bacon, molasses, dress-goods, coffins and farm implements were on close terms of intimacy and whatever73was wanted Mr. Follet could produce with amazing promptness.
Such methods, however, consumed a great deal of time on the path between his home and the store, and Steve filled an urgent need of the combined establishment.
One morning at breakfast in early autumn Mr. Follet was in a great flutter of excitement. A travelling auditor of the railroad was to be there for the day looking over his accounts and this not frequent event was a sore trial to both the station-master and the auditor. Each time Mr. Follet said to him nervously: “Now, you know I can’t keep things like the road tells me to, and if things don’t just come out even I’ll make up whatever’s lacking.”
When the auditor, a big, broad-shouldered, kindly-faced gentleman arrived on this particular morning, and was seated for work, Mr. Follet made his usual statement.
“All right, Mr. Follet, all right,” said the genial auditor, “we know you are straight as a string. Are you sure you’ve got all the ticket stubs?” he continued as Mr. Follet brought out some bits of pasteboard from a big bushel basket.
“Oh, yes, I’m sure,” said Mr. Follet. “I don’t let nobody in here but myself and so nothing is out of place.” Then thinking a minute, he said, “Well74now I do believe I stuck a few stubs in this tin pail.” He looked, and sure enough there were a few more.
“And the bills of lading,” said the auditor, “are these all?”
Mr. Follet pondered a moment and then brightening, exclaimed: “Why no, I stuck a few of them in one of these here coffins one day for safe keeping,” and he stepped over to a grim pine coffin keeping company with a pile of gay bandanas, and brought forth another bunch of bills. But his foot caught in a coil of barbed wire as he started over to the auditor with them and it was at that moment that Steve came to the station door to get something and Mr. Follet called out, “Here, Steve, hand these over to the gentleman.” The boy started to obey, but when he turned and faced the auditor he stood rooted to the floor, his face white and eyes staring.
“What ails you?” said Mr. Follet sharply, noticing him. The auditor looked quickly up also, and the boy found his voice.
“Samuel Polk,” he said slowly.
The auditor smiled, and replied pleasantly, “That’s my name, son, and where did you ever know me?”
“Ye sent me the watch,” said the boy.
“Is that so!” exclaimed Mr. Polk. “So you are the boy I met in the woods! Well, this is marvellous, sure, that we should meet here. How did you75ever get so far away from Hollow Hut?” he went on smiling.
The boy told him briefly, while Mr. Follet listened with lively interest. When the pitiful tale of the loss of the watch was told, Steve added sturdily:
“But I got yer fox skin in spite of ’em, an’ I’ve been a-workin’ to git to the city to give it ter ye.”
“Working to take the skin to me when you have no watch,” said the auditor, gently.
“Course,” said the boy; “hit was yourn jes’ the same,” and the auditor reached out and drew the boy to him tenderly, thinking of all the hardship he had borne in the effort to be square and honest.
“You are the boy for me,” he said with a glimmer in his eyes that made Steve feel queer, and he broke away, saying, “I’ll go and brung ye the skin.”
He was back as quickly as his sturdy legs could bring him, and laid the fox skin on Mr. Polk’s knee. It was gravely accepted and admired, and then Steve returned to his work with all the earnestness he could summon after the excitement of this unexpected meeting.
When Mr. Follet and Mr. Polk came over to dinner the acquaintance of the two who had met that November day in the mountains was continued and Mr. Polk was greatly pleased to find that the boy was already “larnin’,” and astonished at the progress76which had been made during the summer. On the way back to the store he said to Mr. Follet:
“I’ve taken a great fancy to that boy; he ought to have a good education. I am all alone in the world and no good to anybody. If it’s all square with you, I’ll take that boy to the city with me this afternoon when I leave at four-thirty and put him in school somewhere.”
Mr. Follet was amazed and he hated to give up the boy who had become so useful, but after a moment’s thought, he said:
“I don’t see as I have anything to say about it. He just stopped here on his way to you, and you’ve come to him. You’ll have to take him if you want him, though I don’t see how under the canopee we’ll get along without him now.”
“That is just like you, Follet, straight always,” said the other warmly, and after a little the station-master went back to take the news to Steve. It startled them all and Mrs. Follet expressed her great regret in seeing the boy go, but she put his few little belongings in good order and prepared him to start off “clean and whole,” as she expressed it. Nancy looked on wide-eyed, and Steve got ready like one in a dream. He wrapped his small bundle of clothes in the fox skin, which Mr. Polk had asked him to take care of, and went over to the station.
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At four-thirty the train rushed up. Mr. Polk led Steve into a beautiful plush-seated car and placed the boy where he could have a last look at his friends, for Mr. and Mrs. Follet and Nancy stood on the platform.
It was Nancy who held his eyes till the last moment, little Nancy with two big tears dropping down her cheeks. Steve’s throat ached unaccountably.
78VIIA TRIP TO THE CITY
“Here we are,” said Mr. Polk, as the train thundered into the station at Louisville. The ride of four hours had been a continued kaleidoscopic delight. Steve could not understand how it was that trees and houses went racing by the car windows and Mr. Polk had rare enjoyment in the boy’s unsophisticated inquiry and comment.
Bringing this boy into the city was like giving sudden sight to a child who had lived its life in blindness. With keenest pleasure, Mr. Polk took him into a brilliantly lighted restaurant for supper and then afterwards up town by trolley into a large furnishing establishment, for it was Saturday night and the stores were open. There he fitted the little fellow out from top to toe according to his liking, the outfit including a shining German silver watch! The two attracted attention everywhere, the boy’s face a study in its swiftly changing expression and the man full of eager interest which he could not curb.
When Steve was all dressed and stood before a mirror, Mr. Polk exclaimed:
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“Now, that is something like!” And the boy turning from the transformed vision of himself, lifted a quivering face to his benefactor.
There was a delicately sensitive side to the nature of this boy of the woods. To him this experience was not simply getting new, fine clothes, but his old familiar self seemed to go with the old clothes, and like the chrysalis emerging into the butterfly, he could not pass into the new life, which the new type of clothes represented, without having his joy touched with the pain of travail.
With the tenderness of a woman Mr. Polk put his arm about the little fellow in quick contrition, knowing that it had been too much for this habitant of the quiet woods, and said in a most matter-of-fact way: “Now, son, for home and bed,” and in a few minutes more the boy was snugly tucked in bed in Mr. Polk’s comfortable bachelor quarters, and the next morning when he woke he was a new boy inwardly as well as outwardly.
He was ready for new “thrills” and they came. After a very astonishing breakfast he went with Mr. Polk to church. The beautiful building and wonderfully dressed people held his wide-eyed interest, but when the deep-toned organ poured forth its solemn melody, big tears dropped down the boy’s face and Mr. Polk drew him within a protecting arm. It was80like touching the quivering chords of a little bared soul with new, strange harmonies, and the sensitive heart of the man understood intuitively the boy’s mingled joy and pain.
In the afternoon Mr. Polk took his charge to the home of a friend to see about schools, as his friend had a boy about the same age, and also to get help as to the general problem of caring for his protégé.
Arrived at the house, the friend, Mr. Colton, his wife and Maud, the young daughter about fifteen years of age, were at home and gave the visitors a lively welcome. They were at once greatly interested in the mountain boy, but so civilized was his outfit, and intelligent his face that they could not realize his difference from themselves except when he talked. This they were delighted to get him to do, and he answered all questions unabashed, though he liked better to look and listen.
The Coltons were well-to-do people with ever-ready, easy hospitality and insisted that Mr. Polk and Steve remain to tea.
“The maids are both out as it happens, so we must get tea ourselves,” said Mrs. Colton, adding with mock graciousness, “and everybody may help!”
They all trooped out in responsive pleasantry through the hall, and Mr. Colton inquired:
“Where is Raymond?”
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“Oh, he is out,” replied Mrs. Colton. “There is no telling when he will be in.”
That they were very indulgent parents and Raymond was an exceedingly lively boy, Mr. Polk already knew.
The hostess and her daughter exchanged glances of sudden consternation when they reached the dining-room, then burst into merriest laughter.
At last Mrs. Colton said between subsiding ripples, “Father, please go down in the basement and look in the furnace and you’ll find the baker with the cold roast left from dinner! Mr. Polk, you go along too, please, and you’ll see some loose bricks between the joists right under this dining-room window, and right behind them is the bread-box which you can bring up!”
“The cake is up-stairs in the hat-box of my trunk under lock and key,” gaily put in Maud, “and you can come with me, Steve, and bring down the preserves from under the bed!”
By this time the whole family were in gales of laughter, and Steve was greatly puzzled at this new phase of civilization. Mrs. Colton finally explained that for a few Sundays past Raymond had been carrying off everything there was to eat in the house, and having “spreads” in the barn with his chums. This time they determined to outwit him.
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Mr. Polk joined heartily in all the merriment, going after and bringing in provisions, but in his heart he thought, “This is the product of too much opportunity––give me my mountain boy every time. If he doesn’t outstrip this pampered son, I miss my guess.”
A little later Raymond came in and dominated the conversation at once, after the manner of too many bright, confident children of modern city life. After tea he took Steve in charge on a lively tour of exploration, and Mr. Polk talked over his plans for his boy.
“The thing you ought to do,” said Mr. Colton who was very clear-headed concerning everything except his own son, “is to put the boy in a mountain college. He would be at a disadvantage among boys of his age in town, and then you’ve no way to take care of him, travelling as you do. My wife has a friend near here who is greatly interested in a mountain college; just go over and see her.”
This seemed good advice and Mr. Colton took Mr. Polk and Steve over at once.
The lady came in and greeted them with gracious cordiality, but when she learned their errand and knew that one of the little mountain boys, to whose welfare she had given so much thought, time and83money, was before her, her eyes grew tender and filled with tears.
“He must go to our mountain college at once; the school has just opened,” she said. So they heard all about the school and its opportunities. When she had finished Steve spoke up:
“Is all that jes’ fer mountain boys lack me?” This seemed beyond belief, but they assured him it was.
Raymond had greatly enjoyed demonstrating the mysteries of the telephone, electric lights and various contrivances of his own to so totally unenlightened and yet so appreciative an intelligence as Steve’s, while the quaint mountain speech interested and amused him exceedingly. So when Mr. Polk and the boy took leave of the Coltons for the night Raymond secured a promise that Steve might attend school with him next day. Mr. Polk would be busy making arrangements for the few days’ holiday which would be necessary to take Steve back to the mountains and place him in school.
Promptly next morning Raymond arrived at Mr. Polk’s rooms for Steve and the boys started off together like two comrades. It was Steve’s first day in a schoolroom, and eye and ear were on the alert, taking in everything.
He was well dressed and with his intelligent face84the other boys noted nothing unusual until the noon hour when Raymond introduced his new specimen with keen relish. He had no unkind intentions in the sly winks he gave chosen comrades, but these aroused the curiosity of his fellows, and when Steve began to talk the boys awoke to lively possibilities. One after another began to ask questions.
“What did you do for fun down at Hollow Hut?” asked one.
“We uns didn’t do nothin’ fer fun, ’cep’in’ hunt cotton tails, foxes an’ coons,” answered the boy.
“Didn’t you play football?” asked some one else.
“I nuver hearn tell of it,” said Steve.
“Du tell,” returned another boy, venturing to fall a little into the stranger’s vernacular.
“Didn’t you ever play tennis, shinny or baseball?” persisted some one else, and Steve replied politely “that nobody ever hearn o’ them things in Hollow Hut.”
The boys then began to venture more boldly into imitations of Steve’s speech while some got behind him and doubled up in silent laughter. Raymond looked on, feeling himself the hero of the day in having furnished such a comedy.
Suddenly Steve turned, perhaps with some intuition of what was going on, and with swift comprehension knew that he was being made fun of. His face on85the instant was electrified with wrath. He drew himself up, and clenched his hands. Then in a twinkling his coat and cap were upon the ground. Taking the first boy at hand Steve dealt him a blow from the shoulder with a lean, sinewy arm that sent him spinning across the yard, and before any one could realize what was happening three or four others followed, and the rest, frightened at his fury, took to their heels with speed.
Steve stood alone at last quivering from head to foot; then calming slowly, he took his coat on his arm, put on his cap and walked away, not knowing whither he was going. But as he grew more quiet he took his bearings, and his keen sense of direction and good recollection of things they had passed in going, led him without trouble back to Mr. Polk’s rooms.
Raymond was not a cad, and when he had time to think was thoroughly ashamed of himself. He went to the teacher and made confession; then as both were afraid the boy might get lost or come to some harm, he went at once on a search. He did not dream that Steve could so directly find his way back, and Raymond wandered about for hours in a fruitless search, doing without his dinner. At last, frightened and contrite, he went to Mr. Polk’s office. Here the confession was harder to make, but it came out in86all its humiliating details. Having eased his conscience he wound up with a burst of enthusiasm: “I tell you, Mr. Polk, Steve’s got the stuff in him. There isn’t a fellow in school but thinks he is fine. We didn’t mean a thing by our fun, but he served us just right, and every fellow wants to take his paw.”
Mr. Polk said little but sending Raymond home and promising to telephone later, he went directly to his rooms, knowing Steve’s keenly intuitive mind better than Raymond. Though anxious until it was proven true, Mr. Polk found Steve as he had expected, seated in his rooms when he got there. But he saw a most dejected little figure. The new clothes were laid aside, the old mountain things were on, and the boy’s face was drawn and white, though he fronted Mr. Polk sturdily.
“I don’t belong in no town. I ain’t got no town ways. I’ll jes’ go back to Hollow Hut and stay thar.”
Mr. Polk put his arm about the boy and gently drew him to a seat. For some moments there was silence.
“Steve,” he said at last, “did the trip over the mountains from Hollow Hut to Mr. Follet’s sometimes seem hard for you?”
“Hit shore did,” said the boy slowly.
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“But you didn’t give up the struggle, did you?”
“No,” said Steve, still slowly.
“Well, the journey of life is like that journey over the mountains: it is often hard; there are things to overcome and things to endure. You have started now up the long, hard hill of learning, and I hope you are not going to turn back at the laughter of a few boys. You thrashed them out, I understand,” he went on, and his voice held a strong hint of satisfaction; “pass right on now, putting the incident behind you just as you did each rocky summit you mounted on that difficult journey. You must climb to the top, son, understand; nothing short of that will satisfy me!” And he looked earnestly, almost vehemently into the boy’s eyes.
The penetrating gaze was returned, but with a puzzled, groping inquiry for his benefactor’s full intent.
“Yer mean I mus’ larn as much as you know?” he asked at last.
“More,––infinitely more,” said Mr. Polk with energy. “I have half-way climbed the mountain of knowledge and success in life,––I have even stopped less than half-way,” he corrected a little bitterly, “but,” rousing himself, “I want to begin life over again in you, and nothing but the very top of the mountain of success will ever satisfy me!”88He turned again to the boy with a deep, searching gaze.
“You are a boy of your word,” he went on after a moment, “that is what pleased me most about you, and now at the very outset of this business of learning and succeeding in life, I want your promise that you will not halt before obstacles, but go to the top!”
There was impelling enthusiasm as well as energy in the resonant tones, and Steve’s spirit kindled with answering enthusiasm and a glimmering vision of heights which he had not hitherto glimpsed.
“I’ll git ter the top, Mr. Polk,––ef I don’t die on the way,” he said with solemn earnestness.
It was a most unexpected, peculiarly intense moment for both, and in the silence which followed, the imagination of boy and man scaled lofty peaks, but the mountain of material success which filled Mr. Polk’s vision was not the beautiful, mystic height upon which the boy gazed, and neither dreamed of the conflict which this fact was to bring about in future years.
“God hath set eternity in the heart of man,” and the child of the woods felt the stirring of an eternal purpose, undefined though it was. The glamour of the world had long since intervened for the man.
The telephone rang noisily, having no respect for89visions, and Mr. Polk rose to answer it while Steve began at once to put on again the new clothes in unconscious ratification of his solemn life-promise to Mr. Polk.
It was Mrs. Colton at the phone and she learned with great relief that Steve had been found. She insisted that Mr. Polk and the boy must come over to supper, after which there would be a little impromptu party of Raymond’s friends for Steve.
The boy looked very sober when this announcement was made to him, but Mr. Polk smiled and said heartily, as he had already done to Mrs. Colton:
“Of course we will go!” And they went.
There was just a bit of awkwardness when the boys came into the Coltons’ that evening and met Steve once more, but Mr. Polk, with an adroit question, started him to telling them about trapping rabbits, chasing foxes and treeing coons while the boys became so interested, including Steve himself, that all unpleasantness was forgotten. Upon leaving, each boy took Steve’s hand with real respect and liking, and Raymond expressed the general sentiment when he exclaimed, “You’re a brick!”
Next day Mr. Polk and Steve started for the mountain school. As they sat together on the train Steve said: “I’ll be larnin’ to do things jes’ like mammy said fer me ter do. I wonder ef she will know.”
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“I think so,” said Mr. Polk simply, but with a gentle sympathy in his voice, which, whenever expressed by look or tone, seemed to bring the boy close to the heart of the man. Resting a moment in this embrace, Steve asked a question which had come to him several times. His father and all the mature men he had known had been married,––for bachelors are rare in the mountains,––why had Mr. Polk no wife?
“Is ye woman dead, Mr. Polk?” was the question he asked.
“No,” answered Mr. Polk, with a smile that flitted quickly, “she did not marry me at all, and so has left me lonely all my life. I would have been a far better man had she done so. As it is,” and the bitterness crept into his voice again, “I stopped half-way up the hill of success as I told you, and threw my prospects away. That is why you are to live my life over for me and bring success whether or no.”
91VIIIOPPORTUNITY
Mr. Polk and Steve made their railroad trip by night, and the sleeper with its rows of shelf-like beds was a fresh experience for the boy, but he climbed to the upper berth and slept the sleep of healthy youth. They reached L––– about seven o’clock in the morning, and the sight of mountain and valley spread out before them in purple beauty gave a strange thrill of joy to Steve. The mountaineer’s love of the mountains rushed upon him after all his new, pleasant experiences with a first consciously defined emotion.
“Well,” said Mr. Polk, “now the problem is how we can cover that forty miles which lies between us and our school.” But just at that moment he spied an old man helping a woman into a wagon, and at once he stepped up, found they were fortunately going to the same point, and would gladly take in two passengers with the ready accommodation of mountain people.
They travelled leisurely on and on, Steve seeing things of a familiar type and Mr. Polk much that was fresh and interesting. They stopped over night at a92little settlement and journeyed on again next day, reaching their destination early in the evening. When the group of school buildings came into view, the old mountaineer pointed out the main building with its tower, and told them which was the “gals’ sleepin’ place,” and which “the boys’ sleepin’ place,” as he termed the two dormitories. He drove directly to the president’s home, a little unpainted frame house. They were cordially received, entertained at supper and taken afterwards to the boys’ dormitory, where Steve was given a room with several other boys. Then they walked over to “The Hall,” as it was called, and were introduced to the teachers, who were gathering there for the study hour. They had met several when a young woman’s trim, slender figure, with a decided air of the city about it, appeared in the doorway, and the light from within lit up a pair of clear, steady brown eyes, a pleasant mouth with firmness lurking in the corners, and fluffy brown hair put back in a roll from a very attractive face.
She stood a moment there in the doorway with a casual glance for the strangers, then suddenly caught her breath and went white, but instantly recovered herself as the president, oblivious of any tragic moment for her, turned and said:
“This is Miss Grace Trowbridge; she came down here all the way from New York City to teach mountain93boys and girls,––and she knows how to do it, too.”
Miss Trowbridge bowed and passed quickly within the hall.
Mr. Polk acknowledged the introduction with a look on his face that Steve had never seen before, and the boy felt somehow that his good friend had become a stranger as they walked back to the boys’ dormitory for the night. Next morning, too, something had come between them, and when Mr. Polk said he would leave that day instead of staying several days, as he had intended, Steve could make no reply.
Before Mr. Polk left, however, in giving final instructions to his charge, the old kindly manner returned, and as he said, “I hope you will like it here, son,” the boy replied with his old freedom:
“I knows I’m a-goin’ to like it, and that thar Miss Grace Trowbridge is the nicest one of ’em all. She used ter live in New York City, the president said, whar you used ter live. Didn’t you nuver know her thar?” he asked innocently, not yet comprehending in the least city conditions.
Mr. Polk set his lips grimly and answered sternly: “Yes,” as he mounted a mule to ride back the forty miles to the nearest railroad station.
What was the matter again? The boy did not94know, and he felt as though a sudden chill had come upon him. But a moment later Mr. Polk looked down at him kindly, reached over, pressed his hand, and said: “Be a good boy,” as he rode away on the ambling mule.
So Steve began his school life. He went into the second reader class, his opportunities at the Follets’ having put him beyond the beginners. In his class were children of all ages and mature men and women, who were just getting their first opportunity to learn. Steve was bright and quick, had a good mind, and made rapid progress.
With the superior social advantages which he had found along the way from Hollow Hut to the school, the boy became a great ally of the teachers in the battle for nightgowns, combs, and brushes for the hair and teeth, also for white shirts, collars and neckties on Sunday, which most of the boys thought “plum foolishness anyways.”
“Here, fellows,” Steve would say when he found them turning in at night with soiled feet, coats and trousers, “this ain’t the way ter git ter be president.” He organized a company of “regulators” in the boys’ dormitory, and when any fellows turned in with soiled feet, coats and trousers, Steve’s shrill whistle summoned the army and a lively pillow fight ensued which was hard on the pillows but always brought95victory for nightgowns. And when a boy refused to brush his hair in the morning the regulators invariably caught him, and the penalty was a thorough brushing down of his rebellious locks by at least twenty-five sturdy young arms. Under such methods the cause of nightgowns and brushes was made to thrive.
There was another cause which was more difficult, but which enlisted all Steve’s best endeavour. Mountain children are apt to know the taste of liquor from babyhood, but Steve had never liked it and neither had his mother. Occasionally parents, especially fathers, when they visited the school would bring the children bottles of “moonshine” to hide and drink from as they pleased, and the teachers found Steve a great helper, though his corps of “regulators” could not always be relied upon.
In the midst of his interesting, new surroundings Steve’s mind often went back to the rock where Tige lay and to the grave of his “mammy.” How pleased she would be, he thought again and again,––maybe she was––that he was where he could “larn things.”
He soon began to write letters to Mr. Polk, and a steady improvement was noted all winter in these letters. There was always a great deal in them about Miss Grace, for she seemed to make him her special charge and the two were great friends. She96loved to walk in the woods and talk with Steve, hearing him tell many interesting things which he had learned from intimate association with birds and animals. Sometimes she would take his hand at the top of a hill and together they would race down, laughing and breathless to the bottom. After such a run, one day, they halted by the bank of a stream beneath one of the grand old beeches for which Kentucky is famous.
“Oh, Steve,” she exclaimed enthusiastically, “what a beautiful old beech this is. How symmetrical its giant trunk, how perfect its development of each branch and twig, while it pushes up into the sky higher than all its fellows, gets more sunshine than all the rest, has the prettiest growth of ferns and violets at its base,––and I just know the birds and squirrels love it best!”
Miss Grace had a bubbling, contagious enthusiasm, and Steve followed her expressive gestures as she pointed out each detail of perfection with answering admiration.
“Steve!” She turned suddenly and bent her eyes upon him with still more radiant emphasis. “I want you to be just such a grand specimen of a man! Big and strong and well developed,––pushing up into the sky further than all the rest about you, getting more sunshine than any one else––making little97plants to grow and blossom all about you and drawing to you the sweetest and best in life!”
He smiled back into her shining eyes, somewhat bewildered, but with an earnest:
“I shore will try, Miss Grace, but I don’t know just what you mean.”
“I mean I want you to study hard, to develop every power of mind and body you have, and then,––give your life for the uplift of the children of the mountains.”
She did not press him for a promise, nor linger upon the subject, but the first dim outline of that mystic height of the boy’s vision had been traced.
Upon another walk which they took together Steve asked Miss Grace how she happened to come from her home way up in New York down to Kentucky to teach mountain boys and girls, and she was silent a moment, a look which he could not fathom coming over her bright face. At last she said, “I was very foolish; I threw away happiness. Then I heard of this work and came here that I might redeem my life by making it useful.”
There was something about this boy of the mountains that made the telling of the simple truth the natural thing; but startled at even so vague a revealing of her bruised heart, she turned the talk quickly to other things.
98IXA STARTLING APPEARANCE
In the spring following came a great day for the mountain school when some friends and benefactors were coming. Great preparations were made. The school about three hundred strong fronted the main hall, and there was great waving of small and large handkerchiefs in a genuine salute as the visiting party drove up.
When the company had scattered a little after the greeting, Steve suddenly felt an arm about him and turning, found Mr. Polk smiling down upon him. The boy was overjoyed and could only cling to his hand, speechless for a moment. Mr. Polk had met the visiting party on the train, among whom was the lady who had told him of the school, and she would take no refusal,––he must go with them.
It was a beautiful day for Steve and in his boyish talk about his life and school he often spoke of Miss Grace, but each time came that grim setting of Mr. Polk’s lips and the boy soon instinctively dropped her name. The day was destined to be full of events, some in honour of the visitors and some that were totally unexpected.
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The speech of welcome from the school was made by Stephen Langly. Miss Grace had told him to say in his own words whatever was in his heart to say. So the boy stepped out from the gathered school, mounted a little platform and stood before the assembled crowd unabashed, for the mountaineer knows no embarrassment, while in simple good English he thanked the generous friends and teachers for what they were doing for mountain boys and girls. As he stood there well dressed, erect, manly, he bore little resemblance to the forlorn boy who had crept away from his cabin home at Hollow Hut a year before.
As the crowd dispersed a little after the speech-making, in which several took part, Mr. Polk and Steve walked away together and passed a group of teachers and students of which the visiting lady of Mr. Polk’s acquaintance was the centre.
“Come here, Mr. Polk, please, and bring Steve to see me,” she called.
Miss Grace Trowbridge was one of the group and Mr. Polk halted reluctantly, but finally joined them.
Before a word could be exchanged a tall, lank, grim mountaineer slouched forward and laid a horny hand upon Steve’s shoulder. The startled boy looked up to see his father standing beside him!
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The Kentucky mountain product, unlike any other so-called shiftless man in the world, may idle his days away with pipe and drink, but let a wrong, real or fancied, be done him or his and in his thirst for vengeance he is transformed. His energy, his perseverance, his intelligence, his fury become colossal. So, Jim Langly, convinced after months of waiting and brooding that his boy had been enticed away by the giver of the watch, had set out with a grim purpose of finding boy and man which had been undaunted by any obstacle. With slow but persistent effort he had traced the child over mountain and valley, often losing all clue, but never relaxing till at last he had reached Mr. Follet and learned that the boy was in school. From thence he easily made his way to the school of Mr. Polk’s selection, and, arriving by strange providence upon a gala day, had found the two objects of his search at the same moment.
“I’ve found ye at last,” he said grimly, “an’ when I set eyes on the man whut give ye that watch and tolled my boy away from his home, I’ll shoot him down lack a dog!”
Mr. Polk quietly walked out and said, “I am your man, Mr. Langly.”
“You,” the enraged mountaineer yelled, and jerking a pistol from his trousers pocket, he lifted101and would have cocked it, but quick as a deer Grace Trowbridge had stepped in front of Mr. Polk, protecting him with her body, while Steve threw himself on his father and screamed shrilly, dropping into the speech of the mountains:
“No, oh, pappy, pappy, don’t shoot him! He nuver got me ter leave home; I went myself, and I’ll go back with yer and stay all my life!”
Frantically the boy clung to his father, pleading pitifully, while Grace Trowbridge with all her strength pushed Mr. Polk back among a quickly gathering crowd. Others joined her, and in the excitement of the moment, both she and Mr. Polk were hurried into safety within one of the school buildings and the door locked upon them.
The town constable was on the ground, for his services were quite likely to be needed in any public gathering, and before Jim Langly realized what was happening, being wholly unfamiliar with the ways of law and order, his pistol had been wrenched from his hand (something unheard of in mountain ethics), and he was hurried from the scene like an infuriated lion made captive.
Breathless and spent, Grace Trowbridge found herself looking into the face of her old lover when the door was locked upon them. She stood an instant like a frightened bird driven to cover, her eyes102gazing into his, anxiety, relief, tragic intensity born of but one emotion in her white quivering face,––and then the warm blood surged up with returning realization of the years of estrangement between them, and she wheeled for instant flight.
But the door was locked, and baffled she faced him again, crying, “Oh, Sam, let me out!”
For answer he caught her in his arms and said, “Let you out, and away from me? Never! I shall hold you fast instead. I love you, love you, love you,” he cried vehemently, “and what is more, you love me!” He crushed her to him and the tense, spent figure relaxed in his arms while love in full tide swept over them, after six weary years of longing and restraint. Their separation had followed a misunderstanding which now did not even seem to need explanation.
“Sam,” she cried at last, moving energetically away from him, “I can never give up these blessed mountain children. You’ll have to adopt every one of them if you take me!”
“All right,” he said happily, “just as many of them as you please.”
Instantly both remembered Steve.
“Oh, Sam, where is Steve? Do you suppose his father has carried him off, and that we will never see him again?” she exclaimed in distress, and a few103moments later, when release came to them, their first anxious inquiry was for the boy.
No one had seen or thought of him in the excitement, and when the story of Jim Langly’s arrest had been told them, they searched the grounds and buildings in great anxiety before they finally found Steve in his room.
When Mr. Polk opened the door the boy stood before him dressed in a little ragged shirt and old pair of trousers he had worn for hunting and with bared feet. The hopeless expression of the lost was in his face.
“I can’t keep my promise to you, Mr. Polk,” he said brokenly. “I can’t ever climb that mountain fer yer, but it is better fer me ter die on the way than fer you to be killed.” Correct speech had no part in such despair.
Mr. Polk drew the boy to him while Miss Grace stood without, her lips tremulous and eyes full of tears. After a silent moment Mr. Polk led the boy outside and put him in her arms.
“Do you think we are going to give you up?” Mr. Polk said, striding up and down the hall. “Not by a long shot,” he went on with energy, and a conviction for which he could not at the moment see any tangible foundation. “This is all going to be fixed up,––just leave everything to Miss Grace and me.”
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The boy shook his head. “Ye don’t know pappy,” he said sadly.
“I may not,” returned Mr. Polk cheerfully, “but I know Grace Trowbridge, and I am going to trust her to keep you here. Do just as she says, son, and everything will come right.”
He left them to talk with the president of the school. They discussed what should be done with Jim Langly. Mr. Polk greatly regretted the man’s arrest, but was compelled to admit it could not have been avoided. He begged, however, that prosecution of the case be delayed until every effort could be made to make Langly see that only good was intended for his son.
“Of course I must relinquish all claim to the boy,” he said sadly, “but we must by some means win the father’s consent that Steve remain here,––that is the important thing.”
So it was decided that Mr. Polk should leave, as his presence could only infuriate the man, and the president gladly promised to do everything in his power to win the father.
For a week Jim Langly remained in the lock-up of the town. He had wrenched his back severely in the struggle with his captors; then, like a caged lion indeed, he had beaten the walls of his prison all night without food or drink, and being a man of indolent105habits, he collapsed utterly next morning. The gaunt, haggard face with deep hollows beneath the eyes, the giant figure lying helpless upon a rude couch of the lock-up touched deeply the heart of Grace Trowbridge when she went in to see him. In his blind fury he had not noticed her especially the day before; and when, without saying a word, she stepped lightly across the room and reaching through the iron bars closed a rude shutter to screen the glare of the morning sun from his eyes, then gently adjusted a pillow beneath his head and fed him a cup of hot broth, he accepted it all like a wild, sick animal which in its helplessness has lost all animosity to man.
During the day she tended him unobtrusively, but with infinite kindness, and next morning she found him better, but still willing to accept her care. He even watched her with a far-away interest as one would something unknown and yet strangely pleasing. By the third morning she talked to him a bit as she smoothed his pillow, and smiled as he ate her toast with relish.
At last he said with an effort, “Whar’s Steve?”
“He is here,” she said gladly, “just waiting outside the door for you to ask for him. He has been there every day,” she added softly.
Then she stepped to the door and motioned for106Steve. The boy came in, still dressed in mountain fashion, for no amount of persuasion could induce him to again put on the better clothes. This evidently met the father’s approval, for a look of bitter expectancy which had come into his face faded at once as he saw the old trousers and bare feet.
“Set down,” he commanded feebly, but not unkindly, though he had nothing more to say.
The two stayed with him through the day, and gradually Grace, with consummate tact, made conversation which included the three, though Langly took little part. Then she read a stirring story which compelled his attention and interest even though he had never heard anything read aloud before. It was the first time in the mountaineer’s long life that he had ever been unable to rise from his bed and go his way and the helplessness had softened his spirit like the touch of a fairy’s wand. As he listened to the sweet, cultured voice of the woman while she read and saw Steve with quickened intelligence following every word, he realized for the first time that the world held strange things in which he had no part, but for which his boy was ready.
At last Miss Grace turned to Steve and said in the most natural manner, “My throat is getting tired; won’t you read a little for us?”
The boy looked at his father in quick alarm, but107the gaunt face betrayed nothing, and the reading went on in Steve’s boyish voice.
Several days passed during which Miss Grace and Steve had been constantly with the prisoner, then his injured back was sufficiently restored to permit of his being raised in bed to a sitting posture, and Miss Grace felt it was time she tried to win his consent to Steve’s remaining at school. With woman’s intuition she divined the best method of approach. Steve was not there and she told with simple pathos of the boy’s love for his mother. Jim Langly had loved his wife with all the mountain man’s lack of expression, but the natural portrayal of the boy’s affection did not displease him. The old self in fact seemed to pass out with that day of terrible fury and the softer spirit which had taken its place seemed to linger. She went on to tell how the boy’s mother had longed for him to have a chance to learn, and that only a few minutes before her death she had made him promise to go where he could learn.
“It was this,” she ended, “which made Steve leave home and not the man who sent the watch.”
Jim Langly lay silent a long while after hearing this, and then he said:
“I was agin that in her alive, I reckon I won’t be agin her dead.”
After a little he inquired with resentment in his108voice, “How come that man whut give him the watch ter be with him here?”
“The boy happened to find the man,” she said, “and the man was good to him when he needed a friend. But we will get Steve to tell us all about it,” she ended brightly, as Steve came just then to the door. And with a glad heart the boy told all his story from the day he left Hollow Hut till his father’s appearance a few days before.
The president of the school then visited Langly, told of the boy’s progress and begged earnestly that he be allowed to stay. Nothing was said as to how the boy’s expenses were to be met, and since Jim Langly knew as little as a child about the cost of such things, he asked no questions. When strong enough at last Langly walked out a free man, the president having withdrawn all charges against him, and after looking about the buildings with strange interest he started back to Hollow Hut, with no good-bye for his boy after the manner of the mountains, but with an understanding that when school closed Steve should return to his old home for the summer.
It was some two months later when Mr. Polk carried out this promise which had been made the father, by taking the boy back to the woods where they had first met. He expected to camp there109for a few days’ fishing, and to arrange for Steve’s safe return to the school in the fall, as happy plans of his own for the autumn would probably prevent his coming in person.
When Steve left Mr. Polk he swung off down the well-remembered mountainside with strange joy in his heart. He had felt a new kinship for his father growing upon him since he could remain at school in the freedom of parental consent, and shy thought had come of reading aloud sometimes in the old Hollow Hut cabin from the pile of books under his arms while his father smoked and listened, as he had in the beautiful days when Miss Grace had tended him.
But a few hours later he came slowly back up the same path with a stricken look on his face.
“Pappy’s dead, too,” he said brokenly, when Mr. Polk stepped forward in surprise and alarm to meet him.
The boy sat down upon a log, dropping his books in a heap beside him, and his bent shoulders shook with sobs.
Mr. Polk comforted him with silent tenderness for a time, then gradually drew out the story of Jim Langly’s short illness of a week from a virulent fever and his burial two days before.
Together they went again next day to the cabin.110Mirandy had married a few weeks previous and she and her husband were beginning family life anew in the old place. She had been stirred somewhat by the events of the year, and looked with interest upon Mr. Polk and Steve, the latter showing plainly to her the touch of new surroundings, and when Mr. Polk told her he wanted to take the boy for his own and educate him, she said with a touch of bitterness:
“Tek him erlong; he won’t nuver know nothin’ here.”
So the two who had seemed bound from the first by close ties went away together, Steve to spend the summer at the school, where a few were always accommodated during the vacation, and Mr. Polk to wind up his business affairs in the South preparatory to a return to New York. He had formerly been associated with an uncle having large railroad interests in the East, who had often urged his return. He now proposed to do so, taking advantage of opportunities still open to him. These had been thrown away upon the breaking of his engagement with Grace Trowbridge, six years before, to take a position with a southern railroad and wander restlessly among new scenes.