The Unknown Wrestler Part 12

"Ah, but she's coming not as I expected. She's coming home for repairs."

"For repairs! I do not understand."

"Read that, then," and Joe handed him a letter, all soiled with tears.

"It's from Jean herself."

It took Douglas but a few minutes to read the scrawl, and grasp the meaning. It told of failure in the city, and that she was coming home to the care of her parents. It was easy for Douglas to read between the lines, and he knew that more was contained there than appeared on the surface.

"She's coming to-morrow," the old man moaned. "My Jean coming home for repairs!" His body shook from the vehemence of his emotion, and tears rolled down his cheeks.

"Perhaps she is only sick, and needs home care," Douglas soothed, though in his heart he well knew it was worse than that.

Joe made no reply, but sat very still looking straight before him. His eyes were fixed upon the picture of the Good Shepherd saving the wandering lamb. A struggle was evidently going on in his mind, and it seemed that he needed that scene to help him. At length he rose slowly from the bench, and turned toward a door on the right.

"We will have service now," he quietly remarked. "We would consider it an honour to have you join us."

Douglas followed him through the kitchen into a little room beyond, where Mrs. Benton was sitting rocking herself in a splint-bottom chair.

She arose as they entered, and held out her hand to the visitor. She was a small woman, dressed in plain clothes. But Douglas had eyes only for her face which, though wrinkled and care-worn, bore an expression of great sweetness, and her eyes shone with loving sympathy. She had been weeping, but she hastily brushed away her tears with the corner of her ap.r.o.n, as she bade the stranger welcome and offered him a chair.

On a little table rested two well-worn volumes, a Bible and a Prayer Book. Here the shoe-maker took his stand and reverently began to read the service. His voice was low, though distinct, and he seemed to feel deeply every word he uttered. Never had Douglas been so impressed by any service. He knew how the hearts of these two people were bleeding, and yet here they were taking their sorrow to the Master and laying it at His feet.

"Would you mind reading the lesson?" Joe asked, handing Douglas the opened Bible. "That is the chapter," and he placed his finger upon the page. "My eyes seem a bit dim of late."

A feeling of compunction smote Douglas' heart as he took the Book and began to read. What a deceiver he was, and what would these two sincere people think if they knew who he really was? Was he right in coming to Rixton in such a guise? he asked himself. Would it not have been better and more manly to have come in his official capacity instead of as a spy? But the thought of the failure of his predecessors somewhat soothed his troubled conscience. If the majority of the people were like the Bentons, it would be different. There was a disease of some kind in the parish, and as a physician of souls he felt that it was necessary for him to understand what it was before he could expect to effect a cure.

When the service was over, Douglas rose to go.

"Won't you stay and have a bite with us?" Joe asked.

"Please do stay," Mrs. Benton pleaded. "We are lonely to-day, and it is so nice to have you with us."

Knowing that they were sincere in their request, Douglas remained, and joined them in their humble repast. They sat and talked for a long time when the meal was finished, and Douglas learned much about the history of the Benton family, especially Jean. Being the youngest, and the last to leave home, she was very dear to them. No further reference was made to the letter they had received, nor of her home-coming. They dwelt upon her life as a child, and the part she had taken in the Sunday school, and other Church work in the parish. But it was quite easy for Douglas to see that their hearts were almost broken, and the pathetic look in their eyes told more than many words of the thoughts the lips could not express.

CHAPTER IX

EVENING GLOW

It was the middle of the afternoon when Douglas bade the Bentons good-by and walked slowly down the road. He had many things to consider, and he wished to be off somewhere by himself. His visit to the shoe-maker's had been like a benediction, and the wonderful faith he had witnessed there, combined with the words of brave courage to which he had listened, rebuked his doubts and fears. He had been strongly tempted to give up and run away from what he knew to be his duty. He had planned to live only for himself, and wander wherever his spirit might lead. But now a longing came upon him to stay and help those two old lonely people, and comfort them in their time of need.

It was the first link which was to bind him to this parish, the golden link of divine sympathy. Little did he realise that afternoon what the next link would be in his life's mystic chain.

It was a hot day and the river looked alluring and refreshing. He thought of the big tree down by the sh.o.r.e, and of its cooling shade.

He decided to spend the rest of the afternoon there, alone with his thoughts and his violin. There was something in his soul which he could express only upon his beloved instrument. He had played very little since coming to Rixton. Twice he had amazed the Jukes' children with lively airs, and one evening he had played for their parents. He smiled to himself as he thought of its soothing effect upon Jake who had fallen asleep in his chair.

There was no sign of life in the house as he entered. Mrs. Jukes and the children had gone to visit a neighbour, and Jake was sound asleep upon the sofa in the sitting-room. Going at once to his little room, Douglas took his violin out of its case, and, carrying it under his arm, he slipped quietly out of the house and made his way swiftly down over the fields toward the river.

He was very hot and it was refreshing to sit under the shade of the tree with his back against the big ice-scarred trunk. In fact, he was so comfortable that he had no inclination to play upon his violin which was lying by his side. It was good to sit there and think. Again the old lure of the freedom of a wandering life swept upon him, and the impression the Bentons had made gradually diminished. His eyes followed several swallows as they darted here and there. What a happy free-from-care life they must lead, he mused. They come and go at will, and in a few weeks they will be speeding away to the sunny southland. Why should the birds have privileges greater than human beings?

And as he sat there a drowsiness stole over him which he made no effort to resist. In a few minutes the world of sight and sound was blotted out, and he slept. He awakened with a start and looked around. Then he glanced at his watch and found that it was four o'clock, and that he must have been asleep for about half an hour. What was it that aroused him? he wondered. No one was in sight, and he could hear nothing. A sense of loneliness suddenly took possession of him. Almost mechanically, he picked up his violin and drew the bow across the strings. At first, he played several old familiar hymns, but ere long he drifted off into dreamland to the varying fancies of heart and mind.

On and on he played, unheeding time and place. The music varied, now soft and low, and again rising to grand triumphant strains.

At length he paused, and looked quickly around. A feeling possessed him that he was being watched. Neither was he mistaken, for a girl at once stepped forth from behind a clump of bushes and advanced toward him. He felt sure he had seen her before, but just where he could not at the moment remember. She was very beautiful, and her face glowed with animation, and her eyes sparkled with delight.

"Oh, I heard you," she laughingly began. "You thought you were alone, did you?"

"I certainly did," Douglas replied. "But I am delighted to see you, as I was getting tired of my own company. Do you like music?"

"I like yours, oh, so much! I can never forget the first time I heard you play."

"Heard me play!" Douglas repeated in surprise. "When was that?"

"Why, don't you remember?" and the girl's eyes opened wide in astonishment. "It was that awful night in the city when my father was playing, and you came and took the violin from him, and----"

"You don't mean to tell me that you are that girl?" Douglas interrupted, as he leaped to his feet. "Why, yes, you are the very same though not so pale and frightened. I knew I had seen you somewhere before, but could not remember just where."

"Isn't it funny!" and the girl's silvery laugh rang out. "How in the world did you happen to come here?"

"Oh, I'm working for Jake Jukes, that's all."

"I know that. You're the man who put him on his back. My, you must be a great wrestler!"

"Why, who told you about that?" Douglas smilingly questioned.

"Empty, of course. He knows everything that goes on in this place."

"And tells it, too?"

"Why, yes. He's as good as a newspaper. Nell says we wouldn't know what is going on but for Empty."

"Who is Nell?"

"She's my sister, and she's reading to daddy now, in front of the house. You must come with me at once and see her, for I've told her about you a thousand times."

"About me!"

"Yes. How you played on the street, and were so good to us. And daddy will be so glad to meet you, too, for he has been feeling so badly ever since that night that he didn't thank you for your kindness."

The girl's face was flushed with excitement, and she was anxious to rush off to tell of the great discovery she had made. But she wished to take her prize with her, and Douglas was nothing loath to go, as he longed to meet the old man he had seen in the city. He believed that he was Andy Strong, of whom Jake had spoken, and who had "a great deal to say about churches, 'ligion an' parsons," and who was "down on 'em all." He felt that he must be prepared for another wrestling match far different from his bout with Jake. He might find in this blind musician an able opponent, and it would be well for him to be on his guard.

The girl was delighted when Douglas, tucking his violin under his arm, walked along by her side. She was an excellent companion and chatted incessantly.

"This is where we skate in the winter," she told him, pointing to the river. "Oh, it is such fun when the ice is good. The boys come at night and build great fires and we skate around them."

"Do you go to school?" Douglas asked when the girl paused an instant.

"Not now. You see, I have to help Nell, and that takes much of my time. But daddy teaches me. He is a great scholar, and knows most everything. He was a college professor before he became blind."