Old Ebenezer Part 14

"Tired of yourself?"

"Yes, I am."

"Why don't you do something? Did you ever think of that?"

"What would be the use of thinking of it? There's nothing for me to do."

"There is something for everyone to do. Why don't you take up some line of study?"

"I hate study. I can't put my mind on it."

"But you could read good books."

"I do, but I get tired. I must have been petted too much."

"Ah! A girl is beginning to be strong when she feels that way. I suppose you have been flattered all your life."

"Do I show it?"

"Yes. But not so much as you did."

"And do you know the reason?"

"I don't know, unless it is that you have been sobered by a joke."

"That has something to do with it. You have made me think. You don't regard me as a spoiled child; you seem to believe that I have a mind.

And that, even if you were a field hand, would cause me to be interested in you. I would like to talk with you seriously, but you joke with me."

"To hear you in a serious mood would be as sweet as an anthem."

"You must not talk that way. I want your friendship."

"You shall have it."

"I need your help."

"You shall have it."

"I don't want to be wicked," she said, looking up at him, "but I beg of you not to sign that pet.i.tion to the Court, until--"

"Until when?"

"Until Zeb Sawyer is--is--out of the way. People flatter me and praise me, but they don't know what I have suffered. And my father doesn't understand me. When you called Sawyer a coward I wanted to shout in the street."

"Still you consented to marry him."

"Yes, to live for a little longer in peace. But I know a tall rock over on the creek, and from the top of it is a long way to the cruel boulders below. They call it 'Lover's Leap,' and I have thought after awhile the name might be changed to 'Despair's Leap.' At night I have dreamed of that rock, and sometimes my dream would continue after I opened my eyes. Our engagement was for one year, and often I said to myself that I had but one year longer to live. At church I would pray, and I could hear the words, 'Children, obey your parents.' And then I would go home and pretend to be happy in that obedience."

"But you signed the pet.i.tion."

"Yes, with a prayer that you would not sign it."

"And I won't."

"Not even if they should come with pistols?"

"Not if they should come with a mob and a rope."

She looked up at him, with her hands clasped in her lap. The light fell upon her face, and in its human loveliness was the divine spirit of sadness. Lyman looked upward at the fleece among the stars, the lace curtain of the night.

"With the strength accidentally dedicated to me by a body of men a.s.sembled to break the customs of a cla.s.s opposed to them, I will hold you a prisoner, free from the grasp of a feelingless clown," he said.

"I will protect you. And when you have really fallen in love, and believe that your happiness depends upon a man, I will sign the pet.i.tion."

With the frankness of a child she sprung from the seat and grasped his hand: "Oh, you stand between me and the tall rock," she said.

"Good night--G.o.d bless you."

She ran away. Lyman looked after her, with dim vision--her white gown spectral in the misty light.

CHAPTER XII.

WANTED TO DREAM.

Lyman walked slowly down the tree-darkened lane that led to the main street of the village. Beneath a forest oak, where the desolate town cow and the stray sheep had come to seek freedom from the annoyances of the day, he halted and looked back. The few remaining lanterns were like fire-flies in a growth of giant gra.s.s. The members of the "string-band" were singing a negro melody. The notes came floating with the mirth-shriek of a maiden, and the hoa.r.s.e laugh of the boy who aspired to be a man. Far away on a hillside a dog was barking at the mystery of night. Near by a mocking-bird, in a cage, was singing out of the melodious fullness of his heart. The muser felt two distinct senses, one that a sweet voice had touched the quick of his nature, the other that he had been grandiloquent in his talk while looking at the stars. She had threatened to destroy herself. No, she would not do that. She could but shrink from it if the time should come. But to resolve upon it, driven by a father who could not understand her, was so girlishly natural, so complete a bit of romantic despair, that she must have found it a source of great consolation.

Warren was waiting. "I'll bet you didn't bring a cigar," he said, tossing a cob pipe on the table.

"You've lost," Lyman replied, rolling out a handful of cigars upon a pile of newspapers.

Warren reached over, his eyes snapping. "Gold bands," he said. "Oh, I knew you would bring them if they were to be had. You are all right, Samuel," he added, striking a match. "Yes, sir, but I have been sitting up here, almost envious of the good time you were having.

However, I was not sorry that I had not faced the Hon. S. Boyd. He frowned at me the last time we met. I can stand to be dunned once in awhile, but I don't like to be frowned at. Did he say anything about the money I owe him?"

"Well," said Lyman, leaning back in his chair, "the subject was mentioned."

"What, the old skinflint! Did he blurt it out before everybody?"

"No. He talked to me privately."

"Well, I am glad he had that much consideration. But why did he want to speak of it at all? I suppose you told him I'd pay it as soon as I could, didn't you?"

"Yes, I told him so."

"Well, then, what more does he want? No man can pay a debt before he can. There are in this town some of the queerest people I ever saw.

They expect a man to pay a debt whether he's got the money or not.

I'll pay that fellow and tire him to death with meeting him afterward.