A Maid of the Kentucky Hills Part 6

"'Tain't wuth worryin' 'bout. I'll go on to th' P'int d'reckly."

I twisted my head in his direction with a swift movement.

"The Point?... Lizard Point?"

"Lizard P'int."

He evinced no surprise that I knew the name.

"Who do you know there?" I demanded.

"All on 'em. Granny, Granf'er, Lessie. They's my folks."

So her name was Lessie.

"Your folks! What do you mean?"

"Granny's my aunt."

That would make the Dryad and the Satyr cousins! Heavens! Could this be true? I sank back on my elbow, and slowly dragged the pipe stem over my lower lip into my mouth. Somehow I did not relish this news.

"Then you are some sort of cousin to Lessie," I murmured, confusedly, and I doubt if he heard. At least, he did not reply, and I lay and looked at the sky and the somber bulk of the forest below, pondering this strange news which I could not comprehend. Was it possible that bright creature's blood could flow in the veins of this derelict? The idea did not suit me, and yet I had no reason to doubt it. My interest flagged; I no longer felt the inclination to question, and a long silence fell. I could not order my guest away, especially after he had broken my bread, but I would not be sorry when he went. The minutes pa.s.sed; the fire sank low. My pipe burned out: I could feel it cooling under my hand. A drowsiness stole over me. I must have been on the borderland of sleep when I became dreamily conscious of a strange, pervading harmony. Ethereal echoes seemed to wake within my brain, and the hushed night was suddenly tuned for a fairies' dance.

In stupefied amazement I swung my head around, and my mouth fell ajar and my brows knit when I saw from whence these heavenly strains proceeded. Jeff Angel was back against the stump. His knees were sticking up like the broken frame of a bicycle, and he had a violin under his chin. The goat-tuft was spread thinly out over the tail of the instrument. His peaked slouch hat was a dirt-colored cone on the ground at his side, and by it lay a crumpled piece of oilcloth. His eyes were closed, and there was an expression of deep peace upon his homely countenance. His long, big-knuckled, claw-like fingers moved over the strings with the apparent aimlessness of a daddy-long-legs in its perambulations, and they thrilled to the caress of his frayed bow as the lips of a chaste lover to the lips of his beloved. I did not speak, nor move, for I was dumfounded, and the night had been transformed into an elfin carnival of dulcet sounds. My imagination was aroused, and I could almost see nymphs and naiads uprising from the dense growth all around, crooning as they came of woodland delights, and chanting the stories the low wind told them when the world was asleep. The quiet ravine was peopled with a ghostly company which made sad, eerie, but entrancingly sweet music, such as might have been heard in heaven when the morning stars sang together. The notes were liquid, living, colorful. Sometimes there were brief silences between them, which were filled with palpitating echoes. Suddenly a trembling flood of impa.s.sioned sound rushed forth on swallow wings into the star-filled night, and I sat up with a gasp.

"_Jeff Angel!_"

A downward crash of the bow which set all the strings to jangling horribly; then silence.

The man was abashed, confused, for he hastily reached for the cloth bag and thrust both violin and bow therein. He spoke as he fumbled nervously at the drawstring.

"I didn't know you'd keer!" he said, contritely.

He had misinterpreted my exclamation.

"Care? Care!" I burst forth, leaning forward with my palms on the ground. "I never heard such music in all my life, and I have heard men play who receive a thousand dollars a night! Where did you get it?...

How do you do it?"

The satyr secured his worn coat across his chest with one b.u.t.ton, then bent toward me and replied earnestly.

"I guess it's bornd with me. I've never ben no 'count frum a kid. Wuzn't wuth shucks--never. Jis' wouldn't work--I couldn't. They's no work in me. When they tried to make me I'd run off. I'd run fur off in th' woods 'n' lay 'roun' all day, a-lis'n'n'. I heerd thin's." He stretched out one gaunt arm and waved it with an uncertain, twisty motion. "I heerd thin's. More 'n' th' birds a-cheepin' 'n' a-twitt'r'n' 'n' th' squir'ls a-barkin' 'n' a-yappin' 'n' th' bees a-junin' in th' flowers. They's other thin's--lots o' thin's I heerd. Th' crick's got a song--it's _sich_ a song--'bout th' purties' 't is' I reck'n, 'cus it's changeabler. 'N' they ain't no en' to th' chune th' win' sings.

Sometimes it's lazy 'n' sleepy, 'n' yo' wan' to duck yo' head 'n'

snooze, 'n' ag'n it's pow'ful strong 'n' loud 'n' almos' skeers yo' with its shoutin'. 'N' they's other thin's--thin's I can't tell yo' 'bout 'cus I don't know whut they air--but I hears 'em. I c'n jis' shet my eyes any day out in th' deep woods whur they ain't nothin' but woods, 'n' fus' thin' I know I'm a-floatin' on a cloud with music ever-whurs.

When I's a kid I went hongry fur some 'n' to play on, so one day I foun'

me a big reed, 'n' I made me a w'is'le with holes in it. I jes' mus'

play."

He rose to his feet, put his pipe away without knocking the ashes out, and carefully tucked his oilcloth bundle under his arm.

"Pow'ful good supper, 'n' I wuz hongry _right_! 'Blige' to yo', sho.

Good-by!"

He swung around and started across the plateau.

I leaped up quickly.

"Come back again soon, Satyr!" I called. "A supper any time for ten minutes fiddling!"

He waved his hand, but made no reply.

A few moments later, from down the road, growing fainter and fainter, I again heard that fantastic rhyme:

"Rabbit in th' log, Ain't got no rabbit dog."

CHAPTER EIGHT

IN WHICH I PITCH MY TENT TOWARD HEBRON FOR THE s.p.a.cE OF AN AFTERNOON

I have been to Lizard Point.

Before sunrise this morning I was up, and out. I sleep with both windows open and the shutters up, so the first daybeams rouse me. Thereafter I do not attempt to sleep, but rise at once. This is another of 'Crombie's commands. He said the air was fresher and sweeter, and the distillations from the earth and vegetation purer and more efficacious. He said all this would do me good, and I am trying to follow out his wishes to the letter, because life is sweet to me, and I want to get well. (I must say that I never felt more vigorous than I do to-night.) It went hard with me at first--this rising with the lark--for, in common with most bookish folk, it had been my custom to sit up into the small hours, and sleep late the next morning. Now I am growing used to it, and I love it. I find that I feel better; stronger, more active and alert. There must be some tonic properties in the early morning air to affect me in this way.

The world is never so lovely as when she wakes from sleep. Not even when her old tirewoman, the sun, flings her golden coverlet over her just before nightfall, does she appear so bewitchingly beautiful. This morning, for instance, when I stepped without my door, I felt as if I had been transported by magic into some new and mystical land. Like a maiden whose virginal slumbers have been filled with peaceful dreams of her beloved, the earth was waking. Gently--so gently--she pushed the fleecy fog-billows from her breast. Afar the folds of night seemed yet to cling about her, as though loath to leave her form. Nearer, but way up the valley, grayish, shifting mists writhed slowly, uncoiling vaporous lengths before the ever increasing light. Nearhand, trees, bushes and stones showed dew-sweet and clean. And when, at length, the day had triumphed, and I beheld the rim of a gold ball topping the far eastern range, my breast throbbed with a quick elation, and a song burst from my lips.

I spent the morning working on my garden. It is my peculiarity that when I begin a thing I find no rest until it is finished. By ten o'clock I had cleared the surface of all the available area, and felt much pleased with my efforts. I had worked hard, for there were loose rocks to be got rid of, some of them large and difficult to handle, in addition to the leaves and sticks. But prospects seemed excellent for a fine crop. There was no doubt that this was virgin soil, and as it lay in sun for several hours each day, there was no valid reason why it should not produce abundantly. I must now let it dry out for a few days, then spade it up and plant my seed. Seed! Why, I hadn't so much as a pea or a bean on the place, except in cans! I had several sacks of potatoes, but I wanted a diversified garden. Almost immediately the solution came. I would go to Hebron and buy all the seed I wanted. Comforted by this thought, I set about an early dinner. I hummed contentedly as I bustled around in my small kitchen. It was not until I sat down to eat that I realized the song I had been persistently repeating was the absurd tune which had heralded Jeff Angel's coming and farewelled his departure.

Later, with the sun swinging exactly at meridian, I took my staff and headed down the road, intending for the Dryad's Glade. Ever since my brief talk with the girl there had been a slow, steady pulling within me toward that creek which flowed south. It didn't worry me especially; in fact, it didn't worry me at all--why should it? But it was there. When I was employed I was not aware of it, but whenever my mind rested there flowed into it, like the resurgence of a low, moon-touched wave, the picture of one standing on the brook's bank, with copper-red curls crowned with white stars. It was a pleasant picture, and I did not try to banish it.

Now, fairly started on my way, I wondered that I had not gone before. I moved with restive eagerness, and presently reached the spot where I had encountered the girl--Lessie. I did not like the name. It was empty, vapid, meaningless, ugly; just a sound by which one was known. She could not help it, of course. It might have been Mandy, or Seliny. Lessie did not seem so terrible when I thought of others much worse, but it did not fit her.

I tarried for a moment under the dogwood tree. Its blossoms were fading now. I saw the jagged ends of several low branches where she had broken off her coronal. But there was no sign of squirrel or bird. Pa.s.sing on, I plunged into the undergrowth which lined the creek bank as far as I could see, and made my way along. There was something of a valley here, and it would have been easier going nearer the base of the k.n.o.b several rods away, but the stream's course was erratic, so I clung to the bank and fought my way forward. It was a toilsome journey, and the half-mile was beginning to seem interminable when all at once I burst, perspiring, into an open, and found I had arrived.

Just before me the creek split on a tongue or wedge of land, which came sweeping gradually down from a vast spur in the background. Shaping itself to a sharp point represented by an enormous, deeply imbedded bowlder, the formation broadened backward rapidly and generously, widely deflecting the halved stream. A quarter of a mile away I could see a house--or cabin--surrounded by a dilapidated rail fence, with sundry pens and outbuildings in miniature cl.u.s.tered in the rear. In the foreground, to the left, was an acre or two of tilled soil. Paralleling the left fork of the cloven creek, looping the point and fording the right fork, was a mountain road. In front of me, spanning the left fork, was the trunk of a huge beech tree, lopped of its branches, and that this was a bridge which some far-gone storm had placed I knew at once, for a crude ladder led up to its root-wadded b.u.t.t.

For several minutes I stood, panting from my exertions, and conscious of a slight pain in my right side. This did not alarm me, for I was convinced it was nothing but what old people call a "st.i.tch," caused by my recent strenuous walk. I had reached Lizard Point--a most insignificant name for such an impressive portion of country. There was but one dwelling visible; therefore there could be but one place for me to seek for Lessie. I came to the ladder, and had placed my foot upon the bottom-most cross-piece when I halted, and in secret manner, although there was no need of secrecy, drew the jar from my pocket and hid it under the tree's lowest roots. I had promised Lessie I would tell her why I carried it with me the next time I saw her, and this I did not want to do, for she would fail to understand, and I would only appear ridiculous. Queer how a man shuns being made ridiculous, but after all it is only natural, especially if one is inclined to sensitiveness.

I mounted to the tree, and saw that the bark along its top surface had been completely worn away. The tree had evidently been in use as a means of pa.s.sage for a long time. I walked across, sure-footed and steady, and found a slight path winding up the easy ascent toward the house. This I followed, keeping my eyes on the log dwelling ahead. As I drew nearer, I made out a small porch, or stoop, and on this some one was sitting.

There was no other sign of life, if I expect a bony, yellow dog which came slowly into sight from around the corner, and a string of white ducks filing sedately down to the creek. I pa.s.sed through a gap in the crazy fence and traversed the yard. I now saw that it was an old woman who sat on the porch. She was very fat, and she sat in a low rocking-chair with her knees apart. A ball of yarn lay in her lap, and she was knitting and rocking, knitting and rocking. Her great bulk completely hid her support, but I knew it was a rocking-chair from her motions.

As I stopped at the edge of the stoop and respectfully took my cap off, the dog gave a low growl, then lay down, keeping one topaz eye fastened upon me suspiciously. The fat old lady paid no more attention to me than if I had been a hen or a duck, but sent her needles flying the faster. I regarded her in silent wonder for a moment. Her dress was a plain one-piece garment of some dark, cheap stuff, utterly unrelieved from somberness except for a row of shiny white horn b.u.t.tons down the front.

Her feet were large and flat, and were encased in carpet slippers with a gaudy pattern of alternate crimson and green. She wore iron rimmed spectacles which rested so near the tip of her pudgy nose I wondered they didn't fall off. Her gray hair was parted very precisely in the middle and slicked back close to her head. Her mouth was thin and hard, and her face acrid looking.

"Uh-h-h--good morning," I said, hitching at my trousers; an unconsciously nervous action.