CHAPTER XXXVIDeforrest Decides
Deforrest Young sat alone in his bachelor apartments, which he'd obtained after the quarrel with Waldstricker over the churching of Tessibel Skinner. He was in Ithaca in response to a letter from Mrs. Waldstricker, stating that she would meet him in his rooms this afternoon.
His mind was busily at work with many problems. For the past week he had had no word from Tessibel Skinner. Her silence was significant. Mischief-making anxiety, which always pictures the worst side of a situation, tormented him cruelly. He hoped Helen might have news from the shanty by the lakeside.
When Mrs. Waldstricker finally appeared, his first impulse was to ask about the squatter girl, but the troubled expression of his sister's face checked the question on his lips. He drew her tenderly into his arms, and attempted to comfort her with reassuring pats and caresses.
"You shouldn't have ventured out, dear," he chided. "Sit down here!... There! Now tell me what's the matter."
"I'm so miserable, Forrie," she wept. "I can't do a thing with Ebenezer.... He's in such a state of temper all the time!"
"Don't try to talk for a moment, dearest," soothed the lawyer, much moved.
"But I must—I want to! It seems as if my whole life has been upset in some unaccountable manner. And it isn't any better since Frederick and Madelene went away. I was in hopes after they'd gone, I might have some peace."
"Is it still—" Young's inquiry was broken off by his auditor's exclamation.
"Yes, it's Tessibel Skinner! He seems perfectlypossessed about her. I can't understand why, either. I always tell him she's nothing to us. He has even gone so far—Oh, Forrie, dear, tell me it isn't so!"
"What isn't so?" asked Deforrest, puzzled.
"Ebenezer says—he says you'd marry—" The inquisitor's courage oozed away before she finished her sentence. Her brother turned and strode up and down the room, while Mrs. Waldstricker's eyes, full of questioning anguish, followed his tall figure.
"I suppose he said I'd marry Tessibel Skinner. Is that it?" His voice was low, deep and intense. Wheeling about he looked across at his sister.
She got up from her chair and went to him. Her desire to placate her brother supported her determination to know his precise attitude toward her husband. She placed her hand on his arm and replied hurriedly,
"Yes, that's what he said. I told him it was no such thing; that you did what you could for the lonely child without a thought—"
Deforrest's hand closed over the speaker's.
"You were mistaken, then," he asserted quietly. "I'd have married Tessibel Skinner long ago, if she'd consented."
"Forrie, dear, you wouldn't! You couldn't! Especially now! Oh, darling, you're all I've got in the world.... Can't you see it would break my heart?"
"You needn't worry about it, sister mine." A sad shake of his head emphasized his reply. "Tess won't marry me. She knows I love her and want to care for her, but she won't let me. She sticks there in that wretched shanty, alone with her trouble and refuses every offer I make. Her courage is splendid. I love her for it, although I'm torn to pieces with anxiety."
"And I never knew," Helen mused. "I thought—I thought it was—just you were charitable and kind."
"No, it wasn't that. I've loved her since the first, but she couldn't love me, that's all. Then this awful thing happened." The deepening lines in his face and his twitching lips revealed the intensity of his solicitude. "Have you heard anything about her?"
"Yes. A man by the name of Brewer, one of the squatters, brought me a message."
"Yes, yes!" interrupted the man, very impatiently.
Helen pressed her face against his arm. She divined the pain he was suffering. How was she to soften the hurt her answer would inflict, even her loving heart couldn't imagine.
"She has a baby boy," she whispered.
"God!" groaned Deforrest.
"The baby was born a few days ago, and every day the squatter's been at our house, ostensibly to sell something, but really to tell me about her.... I saw him this morning, and he says they are both doing nicely. Forrie, don't you think—" There was something in her brother's stricken face that broke off her question.
"Don't I think what, dear?" He got up and resumed his restless pacing up and down.
"Oh, I want you to be happy. Couldn't you possibly—forget you've loved her?"
"No, I can't," and he came to a standstill in front of her. "I might as well be truthful, dear, as long as you know this much.... If Tessibel will marry me, I'll take her and the boy—" he choked, paused a few seconds and went on. "I'll take them both away from Ithaca. It's the only happiness in store for me, and I believe I could make her happy, too."
"I can't bear the thought of it," cried Helen, desperately. "Please don't think I'm meddling, but has she told you anything?"
"No. Some one has mistreated the child shamefully, but she won't tell anything about it."
"Poor little girl!" sighed Mrs. Waldstricker. "How I wish now I'd done more for her! I might have, you know."
The lawyer raised his hand deprecatingly.
"What's past, is done with," he answered gloomily. "I don't know how much she'll let me do, but I am going to help her in spite of herself. That shack by the lake is an awful place. I swear I'll give her decent surroundings and a chance to live.... I'm going down today."
"But, Forrie," his sister objected, "I want you to come home with me to dinner. You haven't been to ourhouse in a long time, not since the night you came from Binghamton and went off to Skinner's in the storm."
"Helen, dear," Young explained, apologetically, "I can't come to your house as long as Ebenezer feels toward me the way he does. You see, don't you?"
"Oh, I suppose I do, but I just can't stand it. Eb has acted badly and tried to shoulder it all off on you. But can't you overlook it, honey?"
"Why, Helen, how can I? I don't feel any too pleasant toward him, and he doesn't want to be friends, either. He pays no attention to my wishes but tries to ride rough shod over me. He regards my interest in Tess as a personal affront. He persecutes her because he thinks he's annoying me. But there, don't cry any more. You'll only make yourself ill! I think you ought to go home and lie down. You've some one else besides yourself and Eb to think of, dear girl."
"I know it," she sobbed, "and I've tried to show Ebenezer how happy we'd be if he'd forget those people down the lake and let you do what you want to. Sometimes I think he's lost his mind. I really don't know what to do."
Helen rose from her chair.
"Nor do I," replied Young.
"But, Deforrest, don't you think if you talked to Ebenezer, he'd see things differently?"
"I'm afraid not," said he, adjusting Mrs. Waldstricker's furs. "You see, Eb's always had his own way in most things, and I can't take any other position about Tess, and I won't."
"I wish you would come home with me," sighed Mrs. Waldstricker, when her brother was tucking the sleigh robe about her.
"I'm sorry I can't, Helen. You'll hear from me soon," he promised, as the sleigh moved away.
Half an hour later found the lawyer astride his horse, his fine face clouded in sorrowful thought.
He cantered along the hard packed road. Here he noted the shimmering veil of ice over some brooklet waterfall in a cleft of the hill side. There the precise punctures of a rabbit track dotted the level snow of the woods. Beyond a herd of cattle standing placidlyaround a straw-stack blew clouds of vapor from their steaming nostrils. The silent beauty of the hills, glistening in their frosty covering, set off to advantage the silvery sheen of the ice-laden lake. Through the trees, he caught occasional glimpses of East Hill winter-wrapped in its white mantle. Just north of the city shone the resplendence of the ice-cloaked rocks and waterfalls of Fall Creek Gorge, like a massive garniture emblazoned on the mantle's skirt. The unbroken calm of the quiet winter afternoon touched the rider's overwrought heart and awoke in him a sense of the peace and the dignity of the visible creation. The untroubled serenity and repose which all nature presented, soothed his troubled spirit. Something of the unruffled confidence expressed by Tessibel, when he'd last left her, penetrated his revery. Her words, "I know Love's everywhere the hull time," had comforted him many times, and now they came again upon their healing mission.
Tessibel's baby was one week old. This afternoon she lay partially dressed on the cot while Andy was plying his noiseless way about the kitchen. He stopped a moment on the journey to the stove and smiled at the young mother.
"I bet he comes today," said he. "You'd better be gettin' that sorrow offen yer face, brat."
"I ain't right sorryful, Andy," she answered. "I was jest thinkin' of all the good things Mr. Young air done for me, an' hopin' he'd get you free, too. Mebbe when Spring comes, Andy, you can run in the woods with me!"
"I air prayin' for it every day, kid."
"When you ain't afeered of Auburn any more," said the girl, after a moment's silence, "we'll go away from this shanty, an' mebbe we can both work. That'd be nice, eh, Andy?"
"Anything'd be nice if I air with you, an' the baby, brat," he choked.
"Oh, you'll stay with us all right," smiled Tessibel. "Daddy left me to take care of you an' I air goin' to do it!"
Conversation lagged for a time. The dwarf poured out a cup of tea, and placed a large slice of bread on a plate with some potatoes and meat. These he took to the bedside.
"I don't know what we'd a done without Jake," he observed, drawing his chair to the table.
Tess was beginning to eat a late dinner. Between bites she smilingly assented.
"Jake air a awful good man.... Andy, ain't the baby stirrin' on the chair?"
The dwarf went to the improvised cradle and carefully drew away the blanket.
"He wants turnin' on 'is other side, that air all." With deft fingers he rolled the baby boy over, placed the sugar rag between the twisting lips, and went back to his dinner.
"Jake was tellin' me this morning," she continued, "Sandy Letts got three years and a half in Auburn."
"That'll be dreadful for him," the little man responded, thinking of his lonely years in prison. "But body-snatchin' air an awful thing. Reckon he won't try it again when he gets out.... Eh, kid?"
"At any rate, he won't be after us for a while," she replied, sighing contentedly.
"Well, I must slick up a bit," Andy announced presently. "I want to get the shanty fixed. Young'd think I weren't doin' right by ye, if 'tain't red up, brat."
"When I tell him all ye've done," she smiled affectionately, "I bet he'll be praisin' ye."
Then they were silent until the little man'd gathered and washed the few dishes.
CHAPTER XXXVIIThe New Home
WhenProfessor Young arrived at the end of the lane near the Skinner's shack, he dismounted, blanketed the horse and hitched him to the fence. The approach to the hut had been shovelled recently and the snow was banked high on either side. He hurried along the path and knocked at the door.
A stir in the shanty told the lawyer the dwarf was seeking the attic. After an instant of quiet, he heard Tessibel's voice.
"Who air there?"
The man's nerves throbbed quick response to the clear young tones that came sure and strong through the shack boards.
"It's I, Tessibel," he answered.
And at his answer the bar raised from its holder and Young opened the door and stepped in. The change from the brilliant glare of the almost horizontal beams of the declining sun on the sparkling snow to the half-light of the closely curtained room, obscured his vision for a moment. But by the time he'd removed his cap and rebarred the door, he could discern the familiar outlines of the shanty kitchen. He saw Tess, half-risen on the cot. She rested on one elbow and stretched the other arm out to him. Her face, wreathed in smiles, shone a cordial welcome. When he'd gone to her and snatched the extended hand in both his own, she bent moist lips and touched the back of the fingers.
Her spontaneous joy brought him a sudden hope that tingled through his blood and warmed it. To see her so well, so sparkling and joyous, lifted his burden of anxiety and warmed in him a glow of profound thanksgiving.
"Tessibel!" he greeted her, relief and yearning compressed into the one word.
It was some time before either spoke. In Tessibel's heart swelled an affection such as she held for no other person. In Young's, in spite of his self-communion on the way, surged the insistent call of the man for his mate, a hopeless longing which might never be satisfied.
"I'm glad it's over, child," he said softly. "My sister told me—"
"I got my baby!" she broke in. "He air over there. Take a peep at 'im."
There was no embarrassment in the bright smile she sent him, no sense of shame in showing her friend the dear little being who had come to her out of the Infinite to be worked for and loved. Young smothered a groan but he turned obediently and went to the chair in which the baby was cradled.
Folding back the blanket, he gazed at the sleeping infant. Manlike, he was experiencing the passionate wish that this small boy were his own. Jealousy, sudden and violent, assailed him. Hardly could he restrain the words of interrogation and denunciation that demanded utterance.
The mother's question brought him back to the cot.
"He air beautiful, ain't he?" she breathed, a misty gleam on her lashes.
"Yes," said Young, and he sat down in Daddy Skinner's big rocker.
"Wouldn't ye like to hold him?" Tess hoped he would.
"Not yet," replied the lawyer. "I want to know more about him. You must tell me now whose son he is, and let me help you decide what to do about it.... Won't you trust me a little, Tess, dear?"
He hitched his chair nearer the cot and looked earnestly into the dear, brown eyes she turned fearlessly and unashamed up to his own.
"He air mine," Tessibel told him, and a tender smile played about her lips, "but I can't tell ye any more.... There ain't nothin' to do about it. It air all right—huh?"
"Oh, my dear," sighed the man. "I hoped you'd relieve my mind a little. But—but I'll not speakabout it again till you come of your own accord and tell me.... I've been thinking about something else, though—"
"Air it about Andy?" interrupted Tessibel.
Young looked up and discovered a boyish face smiling down upon him from the attic.
"Come down," he said to the dwarf.
Andy descended the ladder and trudged across the floor.
The lawyer stood up and extended his hand. "How are you, Andy?" he enquired pleasantly. "Pretty well, I hope?"
Andy shook hands gravely.
"Yep, thank ye, professor, I air that," he assented. "Hope ye're the same."
"Andy's been more'n good to me," Tess confided. "Please sit down again, Mr. Young.... Set on the floor, Andy!"
Obediently the dwarf curled up on the floor and turned eagerly to Young who had resumed his chair.
"Ain't Tess got the fine baby?" he queried, and as though not expecting an answer, added, "And she air awful happy."
A fugitive smile trembled on Young's face.
Awful happy! Awful happy! Was it possible? He looked into Tessibel's joyous eyes and pondered. Yes, she was happy. He could see that! Happy in a squatter's hut! Happy in the companionship of a condemned murderer, and happy with a nameless child! His eyes went to the little one on the chair. Yes, the three of them were happy. Tessibel's love was bound up in Andy and the baby, and the dwarf had forgotten his own danger to serve the other two. To help in the same loyal and unselfish way would be his future work. At that moment Deforrest Young buried deep in his heart the passion which hurt like nothing else hurts on earth, and something very like happiness took its place.
He leaned back and crossed his legs. Then he reached into his coat pocket and produced his cigar case. He bent forward and offered it to Andy.
"Smoke, Andy?" he queried.
"Nope, thank ye, sir. Hain't smoked since Pal Skinner got sick. Couldn't smell up the shanty with a pipe, ye see, eh?"
When the cigar was glowing and the fragrant smoke drifted in eddying clouds through the kitchen, the smoker rocked a few minutes contemplatively.
"I've seen Owen Bennet," he began presently. "He sticks to the story that you did the shooting, Bishop, but I knew all the time he was lying."
"Yep, he lied," interpolated Andy, bobbing his head.
"But as long as he won't tell the truth," Young stated "you're liable to be taken back to Auburn."
The dwarf cringed as from a blow. Fear of going back to prison killed the joy in his face instantly, but the speaker's quick assurance straightened the bent shoulders.
"But no one knows where you are, and perhaps something can be done to bring a confession from Bennet. Just at this time, though," looking from the little man to the girl on the cot, "I'm more concerned about your futures."
Tess didn't speak. She knew wherein her confidence lay and was willing to await her friend's suggestion. She sat up, punched the pillow, turned it over, and lay down again.
"It's perfectly evident you can't stay here, either one of you," said Young, after a pause, "and if you'll be guided by me—"
"We'll do what ye want," murmured Tess, "if ye'll let us stay together an' keep the baby."
"Yes, that is my plan," he replied.
Andy folded his short legs under him nervously.
"We want to stay together, me an' Tess does," he echoed, "an' the baby's awful glad to live with us."
Young's lips curled an instant into a smile responsive to the quaint statement.
"You remember, Tess," he resumed, "I have a lease of the house where Graves used to live."
She answered only by a little forward bend of her head.
"My idea is this: I'll open the house, and you,Tess, can come there with the baby. You can keep house in a little way for us all."
"Ye said Andy could live with—"
"Wait," interrupted the lawyer. "There're two nice rooms on the top floor. You can arrange them for Bishop and he will be as snug as a bug in a rug."
A sharp cry of joy broke from the young mother. She sat up straight. She threw back the tangled curls, and leaning forward grasped the hand the speaker thrust out to support her.
"Oh, what a good, good man!" she rejoiced. "An' me an' the baby'll love ye forever, me an' the baby will."
Tessibel didn't remember she'd made the same promise to another man when she'd begged him in vain to help her. She only knew that Deforrest Young was offering herself and her little child a home, and a safe refuge for Andy Bishop.
"It won't be all for you, you understand, child," said Deforrest. "Think! I'll have a home, too, and you can study and work."
"An' some day when I'm earnin' money, and Andy's free, we'll pay you all back," the girl interjected.
"Well, we won't worry about that now!... As soon as you're well enough, I'll move you all up to the house. Tomorrow I'll see that coal and things're sent down from town!"
The reply to his offer was a tighter squeeze from the squatter girl's hand, and a sob from the dwarf. Unable to restrain his joy, the wee man bounded from the floor and fled up the ladder into the garret. For a time the man and girl in the room below sat silent, and all was quiet in the shanty save the voice of Andy Bishop giving forth a thanksgiving such as he had never expressed before.
Two weeks later a light filtered through the closed shutters of Young's residence on the hill. The old Graves house creaked in the blustery March gale. The hurtling snow-particles rattled upon the blinds and against the clapboards like small shot. Deforrest Young came out of the house and fought his wayagainst the blizzard's buffeting down the hill to the Skinner shack.
Stumbling, he fell against the door.
"It's I, Tess," he shouted.
The girl lifted the bar and admitted him. Dressed in her outer wraps, she stood in the kitchen, anxious and expectant. This minute to Tess was the changing point of her life. Young as she was, she understood what it would mean to the three of them to leave the shanty, to take up their abode in a real home.
"Ye said we was to take the baby first," she greeted him, reaching for the shawl on a peg in the door post.
"Yes, but it's so bad I'll have to take you first, child," the lawyer replied. "Come down, Andy, and after we're gone, bar the door and stand by the boy.... I'll come back after you in a few minutes."
Then he flung an arm about Tess and drew her into the winter night. Wind-blown and snow-covered, Young almost carried the shivering girl up the steps into her new home. How luxurious the comfortable furnishings seemed compared to the poverty of the shack! Young helped her off with her coat and rubbers.
"Get the baby and Andy, quick," she panted.
Left alone her imagination followed her champion out under the frost-laden trees into the drifted lane. She knew his call would raise the bar and let him into the shanty. She could see the dwarf's beautiful face smiling his welcome. The thought that Deforrest would wrap up her baby, protect him from the keen blasts, thrilled her.
She went to the window in the north room and pressed her face to the pane. Ah, yes, there in the little path were two figures, one little and one big, struggling through the drifts. Her two friends! Presently, in the arms of the tall figure, she could discern a bundle, a small bundle. She watched them until she heard their steps on the porch. When Deforrest placed the baby in her arms, and she noted Andy's happy face, Tessibel's joy was complete.
CHAPTER XXXVIIIDinner at Waldstricker's
Threeyears and a half had passed since the birth of Tessibel's baby, a period of growth and security for the squatter girl and Andy Bishop.
Just before Boy Skinner's birth, Frederick and Madelene had gone to San Francisco. A place had been made for him in Waldstricker's office there and Madelene felt the continent none too wide to put between her husband and the Skinner girl, but her efforts to win his affection had been a complete failure.
Lysander Letts, convicted of grave robbing, had been sentenced to prison and was still confined at Auburn.
During the weeks after Frederick's departure, Ebenezer Waldstricker had been unusually busy. In May, just as the tardy promises of the Storm Country spring, were beginning to be fulfilled by the full leaved glories of early summer, little Elsie Waldstricker was born. A few weeks later, the three of them had left Ithaca for a long period of travel. Mr. Waldstricker had visited all his business friends and correspondents and established many new connections. Proceeding leisurely around the world, they'd returned to Ithaca not long after Elsie's third birthday.
During their absence abroad, except for the caretaker, the great house above Hayt's had been closed. Affairs at the lake side had run along in their usual way. Tessibel had been able to ameliorate the conditions of her squatter neighbors and was regarded by the inhabitants of that end of the Silent City, as their lady bountiful. They put her in a niche by herself. None prouder than they of the evidences of culture and refinement she showed, while with characteristic independence, they called her "Brat" just as in the days, when she ran bare-legged and dirty on the lake side.
Andy Bishop had occupied the room on the top floor of Young's home. He'd devoted himself to the same studies Tess pursued and by greater application had been able to overcome the handicap of the girl's quickness and greater natural ability. Not so readily had he learned to speak correctly. The idioms of his boyhood days still slipped out of his mouth. But no suspicion of uncouth English marred the girl's speech.
Forlorn and abandoned, the Skinner shanty lay moldering under the weeping willows. Summer heat and winter storms had worked their will upon it. Thick grasses and tall weeds had driven out the squatter girl's flowers and the hedge had grown into a tangled thicket.
The brilliant sun of a hot June morning found no more home-like place than the old Graves house, where Deforrest Young lived with his squatter friends. On the porch stood Tessibel Skinner. The girl's ruddy curls fell in the same profusion as of old and shrouded a smiling, happy face. Professor Young had caught her one day doing up the red hair in a great ball on her head.
"Tess, it's a sacrilege," he protested sharply, "like wadding up the petals of a rose or the leaves of a fern. Keep the curls, won't you?"
Below, from the pear orchard, came a joyous shout, the free, careless, laughing response to the girl's call.
"I'm coming mummy," cried a child's voice.
Tess leaned forward, the better to watch the small boy lightly climb the terrace. Her face evinced the joy which she found in her baby, and in the quiet, happy life under Professor Young's care. She held out her hand to the little one. He danced to her side and she bent and kissed him.
"Mummy's boy, oh, mummy's little boy! Didn't I tell you, darling, not to soil your blouse? Uncle Deforrest'll be here soon."
"Boy rolled down the hill," pouted the child. "Boy loves to roll down the hill, mummy."
His mother kissed him again, diverted by his words, which recalled her own girlhood frolics. Hadn't she many times tumbled the length of the lane, while DaddySkinner had stood and watched her indulgently? Her arms about the boy, she allowed her eyes to rest for a moment on the hut at the lake side. Tessibel loved the shanty and always would love it, but more did she love the home in which she now lived. Her fingers played idly with the child's dark curls. All that Deforrest Young had done for her in the past years swept before her mind like a panorama.
How safe he'd made it for Andy! How the little man had improved! How delightful their studies together! They constantly looked forward to that day when they should be able to return to their friend some of the generosity he had shown them.
Now he was coming home after an absence of many weeks, and the three were awaiting his arrival.
"Run up to Andy, darling," Tess said to the child, "and let him wash your face and hands, and put on another blouse, my pet. Oh, there 're grass stains on this one, too."
A trembling, rosy mouth turned up to the speaker. She kissed it quickly and passionately.
"Never mind, honey, just run along. Mummy doesn't care.... There, kiss me again."
Two loving arms went quickly around the mother's neck.
"Boy loves his pretty mummy," was whispered in her ear.
"And mummy loves her pretty boy. There! Run along to Andy. I want to gather some flowers for Uncle Forrie."
Andy was studying at a table, when the door opened and the dark-faced boy popped into the room.
"Mummy says wash Boy's face and put on clean blouse," said he. "Please, Andy. I forgot to say 'please'!"
Andy pushed back his chair and waddled to the child. The dwarf was the same ungainly figure that had moved about the hut four years before. His face had lost all its tightly strung misery and his expression was more thoughtful and he seemed more manly.
Boy was a continual joy to him. The little fellow supplied an outlet for his overflowing love. True, headored Tessibel, but his care of the little one had drawn them together so intimately that he and the baby boy thoroughly understood each other.
He'd have liked to romp with the child under the trees and to row him up and down the quiet span of blue water, but grateful for the love and protection he'd found in Young's home, he seldom permitted his mind to dwell upon the hardships necessarily incident to his secluded life. Just now a little sense of discouragement touched his thought and clouded his face. While he was washing Boy's chubby fingers, the little one observed him closely.
"There's tears in your eyes," he burst out suddenly. "What for, Andy?"
"I was just thinkin,' pet."
The child thrust his feet apart and flung up an entreating face.
"I don't want you to think if it makes you cry."
"All right, sir!" Andy replied promptly, tickling the youngster till he laughed and shouted, "I won't think any more if you don't like it."
When Deforrest Young came around the corner of the house, Tessibel was standing on the lower step of the porch, her hands full of flowers. To his adoring eyes, the girl typified the unfolding life of the spring. Strong was she, like the sturdy trees, dainty as the flowers she held in her hands. To his passionate desire as unresponsive as the sullen lake on dark days, yet grateful for his kindness as the field flowers to the sun after a hard rain. She was a child with a woman's heart, but the woman's heart closed to him by the secret of Boy's paternity. Her smiling lips greeted him. She dropped the flowers and two arms stole around his neck. Young drew her very close. How dear, how very dear, she had grown in these last studious years!
"It seems ages since you went away," she said, and pointing to the flowers, "I hoped to get these all on the table."
"My dear," interjected Young, "you're the rarest blossom of them all."
Tess was used to his compliments, and she lovedthem, as she loved the birds and the friendly sunshine.
"For that, sir," she laughed, "you'll have to help me pick 'em up."
While they were gathering together the scattered bouquet, they heard a stamping down the stairs.
"Boy couldn't hardly stand it till you came," smiled Tess, opening the hall door.
A small avalanche of concentrated eagerness piled out of the house.
"Uncle Forrie! Uncle Forrie!" cried Boy, swarming upon him. "I'm awful glad you're home."
"Now, then," said the lawyer after dinner, "I think our little mister here ought to crawl into bed.... Well, one more romp, then bye-bye. Eh?"
"One more romp!" screamed the child.
His mother carried him away half an hour later, and when she went to Andy's room, she found Young there talking to the dwarf.
"I've such a lot to tell you two," said he. "Now we're all comfy, I'll begin."
"Will it please Andy?" asked Tess.
Deforrest shook his head.
"I'm afraid not!... Bennet won't have to stay long in prison and he still insists he didn't do the shooting and that Andy did."
The latter groaned, and a shadow fell over Tessibel's face.
"I wish something could be done," said she.
The lawyer considered the end of his cigar.
"Well, I can't think of anything right now," he sighed.... "I suppose you've heard Lysander Letts is out of prison?"
Young asked the question as though it amounted to little, but he knew by the sharp cry from the girl and the upward lift of the dwarf's head that they both dreaded Sandy's return to Ithaca.
"But I don't want you to worry. I'll send him back if he comes around here."
Tess shook her head despondently.
"Oh, I hope he'll let me alone!"
"I'll see that he does," said the professor, rising andstraightening up. "Well, I'm going down to write some letters. Cheer up, Andy! Maybe something'll turn up."
"Kid," began Andy, when the lawyer had gone. "I been thinking, we don't have to worry 'bout Sandy Letts. Ye know the lots of times when we didn't have Boy's Uncle Forrie to do things for us, how we prayed for a helpin' hand and got it?"
"Yes, Andy dear," Tess answered, thoughtfully.
"Then let's do it now. Let's get busy prayin' so Sandy can't hurt ye an' I get out of my pickle.... Huh?"
CHAPTER XXXIXFather and Son
After an absence from his native city of three years and a half, Frederick Graves was returning to Ithaca, a very sick man. He had learned from Helen's letters to Madelene that Tessibel Skinner had a small son. His brother-in-law's exasperation at Young for giving the squatter girl and her little son a home at the lake had also been reflected in the correspondence. He had been able to glean but the bare outlines of the story, because Ebenezer and Helen had been abroad most of the time, and his impatient spirit chafed to know the intimate particulars of Tessibel's life. Jealousy of Young tormented him. Hopeless brooding over his situation, and Madelene's continual nagging had made him a neurasthenic wreck. Worn by insomnia and almost starved by a nervous dyspepsia, he could no longer maintain even a pretense of usefulness in the business. Madelene, thoroughly disillusioned, herself worn out by his sullen and savage temper, had brought him back to Ithaca, hoping the familiar sights and sounds of the home-land might help him.
They arrived one rainy night at the station, where Ebenezer met them with the carriage. He greeted both effusively, and his manner perhaps was more cordial because of his brother-in-law's death-stricken face.
"You'll buck up now you're home, Fred," he said, after he had kissed his sister and helped them into the carriage.
"Maybe, but I doubt it," the invalid replied wearily.
"Nonsense, Fred," his wife broke out. "You make me tired. You're always whining. Of course, you're going to get well."
Too fatigued to argue, Frederick leaned back upon the cushions. Except for an occasional word, they were silent during the long drive through the rain.
Home at last, they found Helen waiting in the great hall. To Madelene, who preceded the men into the house, she looked much older, more dignified. Lines of worry around her eyes and mouth told the girl that her sister-in-law's life with Ebenezer had not been entirely easy.
After kissing Madelene, Helen extended her hand to Frederick.
"I hope you'll be better soon, Fred," she encouraged. "Our country fare'll put some flesh on your bones.... You look after the invalid, Ebenezer, and I'll take Madelene upstairs."
The two women walked upstairs together. Waldstricker gazed after them, pride and joy in his eyes. His wife and his sister reunited brought him a feeling of content. Frederick, fussing with his coat and rubbers, seemed hardly aware of their going.
"I'm glad to have you back, Fred," began Waldstricker, anxious to express the gratification he felt.
"We're glad to get back, of course," Frederick responded coldly. He followed the elder into the library and threw himself on a lounge to rest until dinner.
In the room above, Helen helped Madelene off with her things and listened to her chatter about the journey. She could detect a sullen dissatisfaction with Frederick running like a dark thread through the current of her talk. It was clear to Helen that Madelene had lost her regard for her husband. Apparently, she cared so little that she didn't feel it necessary to hide or explain her feelings.
"And, now I want to see little Elsie," gushed Madelene. "I've been crazy to see her ever since she was born."
"She's such a darling," smiled Helen, "and is the very joy of her father's heart.... Come on in the nursery."
For a few seconds Madelene leaned over the sleeping child, a rosy child with thick blonde curls. A keen sense of the emptiness of her own arms stirred in her an envy of the complacent young matron standing at the foot of the little white bed. Perhaps Fred would've been different if they'd had a little one.
"I'd love to have a baby," she breathed discontentedly. "But—"
During the significant pause, Helen linked her arm through the speaker's.
"Let's go down to dinner," she suggested. "You must be famished after your long ride."
At the table, the conversation touched many matters relating to the happenings in the lives of the long separated families. Madelene plied her knife and fork industriously, and jumped from topic to topic, expressing a lively interest in all the events in Ithaca.
"And your brother, dear?" she asked her hostess. "Is he still at the lake place?"
Helen threw a quick glance at her husband, whose lips sank at the corners, his face coloring to a deep red.
When his sister asked the question, the glass from which the elder had been drinking struck the table sharply, as though he wished to emphasize his displeasure.
"Yes, he lives there," he broke in. "In your father's old place, Fred. His lease is not up for almost a year."
"Helen wrote me he had the Skinner girl and her baby with him," said Mrs. Graves. "Wasn't that a funny thing for him to do, Ebbie?"
Waldstricker pushed back angrily.
"Funny! Funny!" he ejaculated. "It isn't decent, and I've told him so, too."
Frederick's face flushed, and he toyed nervously with the silver at the side of his plate.
"But, Ebenezer, you don't mean she's living with him, do you?" he faltered, leaning forward.
"They live there together, Young and the girl and her—" Ebenezer's anger almost made him forget the conventional respect he owed his wife and sister, "—her son," he concluded lamely. "That's all I know, and it's enough. He's had the best houses in Ithaca closed to him on her account."
Indignation at her husband's injustice burnt a red spot in Helen's cheeks and kindled a flame of unusual animation in her placid blue eyes.
"You know better, Ebenezer," she retorted. "Forrie'sgiven her a father's care, and every one worth while honors him for it."
Frederick, kept in his attitude of tense attention by a sudden revival of his jealousy of Young, sighed audibly and settled back in his chair.
"I'm glad to hear you say that, Helen," he said earnestly.
"Oh, are you, Fred?" cried Madelene. "So your old interest in that girl isn't dead, yet? Well, all I can say is, I am sorry she didn't get you, but I'll bet she's glad, now, she didn't."
Waldstricker looked keenly from the speaker to her husband. But Frederick had again put on his mask of apathetic indifference and answered his wife's gibe only by a shrug of his shoulders. Noting her brother's scowling face, she went on maliciously.
"You'd better keep away from the lake place, my dear husband, or you'll have both Ebbie and Forrie after you."
"Will you have your tea now, Madelene?" Helen was alarmed at the threatened tempest, and hoped to change the subject.
"Yes, thanks, dear," and to her brother, "After all, Ebbie, Forrie probably knows his own business best. You know he's quite partial to the squatters and always did things for 'em."
Mrs. Waldstricker summoned the servant, and while the dishes were being removed, Ebenezer sat and glowered from Frederick, white and distrait, to his wife, who was explaining to Madelene the way she'd made the salad dressing. When the servant had gone, Waldstricker began again.
"I'm out of patience with Deforrest! If he'd let me alone, I'd had all the squatters off the lake side before this and probably would have located Bishop."
"You've heard nothing of him, Ebbie, I suppose?" asked Madelene. "It does seem queer a dwarf could disappear like that and not a word about him from any part of the world."
Waldstricker's powerful hand clenched the teaspoon in his fingers so violently as to bend the handle.
"No, I haven't," he growled. "I've a notion he'sbeing harbored by some of the squatters. But I want Deforrest to understand this—"
"Oh, let's talk of something else besides squatters," cried Madelene. "Helen, your salad was divine.... Tell me, Ebbie, how you enjoy little Elsie. I think she's lovely."
"Lovely!" he repeated in a very different tone. "Lovely is no word for that child. She's an angel, isn't she, Helen?"
Helen smiled dubiously.
"An angel, very much spoiled, I fear."
"No such thing," argued Waldstricker, glad of an opportunity to air his favorite theory. "Now Helen thinks the child's spoiled because she drops on the floor and kicks and cries until she gets what she wants. I tell her it's human nature, and perfectly right for my child to have her own way. Thank God, there's nothing in the world she can't have."
Then looking from Frederick to his sister, he made a heavy attempt to be humorous.
"What's the matter of you two? You've been married longer than Helen and I. When are you going to start your family?"
Frederick maintained his pose of bored unconcern and an angry flush mounted to Madelene's face.
"You think you're smart, Eb," she retorted. "Fred's all the baby I can look after, and goodness knows he's trouble enough!"
"But, now, you're here, dear," Mrs. Waldstricker extended the olive branch again, "we'll help you look after him.... I do hope the weather'll clear so we can get out. The lake's been simply beautiful this summer."
"Just after I returned from Europe, I tried to dispossess Deforrest," Ebenezer told Fred, "but he beat me in court. I wanted to clean up the scandalous mess. I felt he was breaking God's law in harboring a woman of that kind. But I'm only biding my time." His voice sank as he cast his eyes slowly from one to another, at last, fixing them ominously upon his wife. "Biding my time," he growled deeply, laying his napkin on the table.
The gloom of his manner spread over the diners like a cloud. Helen's face expressed consternation; Frederick's discouragement, and Madelene's impatience.
"I must say this is pleasant," snapped Mrs. Graves. "Ebbie, I forbid you to speak of those people again tonight."
Helen made a little move as though to rise. In her capacity as peacemaker, it seemed advisable to change the scene of hostilities.
"Let's go to the drawing room," she invited.... "Fred, don't you think you'd better go to bed?"
"Yes, I'm all tired out. I think I will."
At the drawing room door, he turned to the stairs.
"Good-night, all," he added, and went slowly up to his room.
Reclining in a big chair, Frederick recalled the talk at the supper table and let his fancy rove in dreams of Tessibel and his son.
What a cruel persecutor Ebenezer was! How Helen had suffered during his outrageous harangue! The young man ground his teeth. So Ebenezer was but biding his time to do some terrible harm to Tessibel and her little boy, his boy! Frederick breathed deeply, and pressed his hand upon his heart. Would the thing never stop beating that way! Would it never in this world quit that awful hurt when he thought of the squatter country! He undressed hastily and went to bed, nor did he speak when Madelene crept softly in beside him.