The Unknown Wrestler Part 38

"No, indeed I have not," Douglas emphatically replied. "Your trouble is truly great. But why give up in despair? Jean is still alive, and she may yet return to her former ways. She is in the depths now, but this Valley of Achor may be to her a door of hope, as it was to the woman we read of in the Bible. Suppose we visit her now, and learn how she is getting along? She may have changed as much since you saw her last as Nature has changed since yesterday."

Douglas rose to his feet and picked up his violin.

"Come," and he laid his hand affectionately upon the old man's shoulder, "let us go together. We may be able to cheer her up a bit."

Without a word Joe rose slowly to his feet and walked along by Douglas'

side. Over the hill they moved and then down into the valley below.

The path, now worn deep by the feet of cows, for this region was pasture land, wound through a swamp where they had to pick their way owing to the water which settled here. Up a steep bank they scrambled, and when they at last gained the top they came in sight of Mrs.

Dempster's house but fifty yards beyond.

The widow was sitting under the shade of an apple tree near the front door, with Empty lying full length upon the ground by her side. They were both somewhat startled and surprised at the sudden appearance of the two men from such an unexpected quarter.

"Well, bless my stars!" Mrs. Dempster exclaimed, rising quickly and giving the shoe-maker her chair. "Ye look f.a.gged out, poor man, an' no wonder fer comin' over the hills. It's not often any one travels that way now, though John always took that short-cut to the store when he was alive. He was a great man fer short-cuts, was John. I wish Empty here was more like his pa."

"I don't like short-cuts," her son replied. "Ye don't see nuthin', an'

ye don't hear nuthin'."

"An' ye can't tell nuthin'," his mother retorted. "That's why ye don't like short-cuts."

"I believe you sent for me, Mrs. Dempster," Douglas remarked. "I was sorry I could not come sooner."

"Oh, there was no special hurry. A day or two doesn't make much difference. But I thought if ye brought ye'r fiddle an' played a little it might cheer the poor la.s.sie up a bit."

"How is she?" Joe eagerly asked, leaning forward so as not to miss a word.

"Doin' as well as kin be expected. She's alone now," and the widow's voice became low. "But I guess it's all fer the best. I wasn't in the least surprised, considerin' what she's gone through. It'll be as much as she kin do to make her own way in life, an' I told her so jist as soon as she was willin' to listen to reason."

"Is she much depressed?" Douglas asked.

"All the time, sir, an' that's what worries me. She broods an' broods, an' sighs an' sighs, poor thing, till my heart aches fer her."

"And nothing will cheer her up?"

"Nuthin' that me an' Empty kin do an' say, so that's the reason why I sent fer you. I thought mebbe a little music might have some effect.

I've heard read from the Bible in church that when old King Saul was down in the dumps, an' dear knows he deserved to be, the cloud pa.s.sed from his mind when David, the shepherd lad, brought his harp an' played before him. Now, 'sez I to meself, sez I, 'if that old feller with all his cussedness could be cured in that way, why can't a poor, dear, troubled la.s.sie like Jean Benton?' An' so sez I to Empty, 'Go an' see if that wrestler won't come,' sez I. We've always called ye 'the wrestler,' sir, since ye put Jake Jukes on his back. 'Mebbe he'll bring his fiddle an' play a few old-fashioned tunes to chase the shadder from the poor thing's brain. I hope ye won't mind."

"Not at all," Douglas replied. "I shall be only too pleased to do anything I can. Shall I go into the house?"

"I've been thinkin' that mebbe it would be better to play out of doors.

Her winder is open, so if ye'd jist go under the shade of that tree there, she'd hear ye quite plain, but won't be able to see ye. I don't want her to think that the music is fer her special benefit."

Following Mrs. Dempster's directions, Douglas went to the tree and leaning his back against the bole began to play a number of old familiar hymns. It was a peculiar situation in which he thus found himself, and he wondered what the result would be. He had entered enthusiastically into the widow's little plan, and he never played so effectively as he did this morning. He felt that a great deal was at stake, and he must do his best. He recalled how a certain woman had taken him to task when she learned that he played the violin, which she called the "devil's snare" for luring people to destruction. He had tried to reason with the woman, but to no avail. He believed if she knew what a blessing his playing had been to so many people she would really change her mind.

Douglas had been playing for some time when his attention was attracted by the shoe-maker, who had risen from the chair and was walking toward the house. No sooner had he entered by the back door than Mrs.

Dempster followed. Douglas went on with his music, at the same time wondering what was in their minds.

He had not long to wait, however, for presently the widow came to the door and beckoned him to come. He at once obeyed, and crossed over to where she was standing.

"Don't make any noise," she warned, "but foller me. I want to show ye something."

Tiptoeing across the floor, Mrs. Dempster led him to the door of the little room where the invalid was lying. Pausing just at the entrance and looking in, the sight which met his eyes was most impressive.

Bending over the bed was Joe with his face close to Jean's, whose arms were clasped about her father's neck. They were both sobbing, though neither uttered a word. Douglas grasped the whole situation in an instant, and turning, he quietly retreated through the kitchen and out of doors. He was at once joined by Mrs. Dempster. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and Douglas' own eyes were moist.

"What d'ye think of that, now?" the good woman questioned.

"We have no business to be there," was the solemn reply. "That is too sacred a scene for inquisitive eyes. We must leave them alone."

"It was the music which done it, sir; I knew it would."

"Not altogether, Mrs. Dempster. Not altogether."

"Ye think the Good Lord had a hand in it, too?"

"Yes, I have no doubt about it."

CHAPTER XXIV

EMPTY HEARS SOMETHING

It was past mid-day, and Douglas was about to leave for home when Mrs.

Dempster detained him.

"Don't go yit, sir," she told him. "Stop an' have a bite with us.

Empty'll feel mighty pleased if ye will. We haven't much for dinner, but ye'r welcome to what we have, an' we'll eat it right under the shade of that big apple tree. We ginerally do that on bright Sundays, fer dear knows we eat often enough in the house."

The widow was greatly pleased when Douglas consented to stay, and at once roused her son to action.

"Hi, thar, Empty," she called, "wake up an' git a hustle on. I want a pail of water, an' then ye kin carry out the dishes. I do believe that boy'd sleep all the time," she grumbled. Nevertheless, she watched him with motherly pride as he slowly rose from the ground, stretched himself and looked around.

"Ain't dinner ready yit, ma?" he asked. "I'm most starved t' death."

"No, it ain't, an' it won't be to-day if ye don't hurry. We've special company fer dinner an' I want ye to behave yerself. If ye do, I'll give ye an extry piece of strawberry shortcake."

Douglas was greatly amused at the conversation and candour of the mother and son. They understood each other perfectly, and were not the least bit abashed at the presence of strangers. There was no polished veneer about the widow's hospitality. She did not pretend to be what she was not. She knew that she was poor and was not ashamed of it.

She was perfectly natural, and indulged in no high-flown airs.

But Mrs. Dempster was a good manager, a capable housekeeper and an excellent cook. The table-cloth she spread upon the gra.s.s under the tree was spotless.

"We used this on our weddin' day," she informed Douglas who was watching her. "Dear old Parson Winstead married us in the church, an'

then he came over an' had dinner with us. Me an' John had the house all fixed up, an' some of the neighbours helped with the dinner. My, them was great days," and she gave a deep sigh as she stood for a moment looking off across the field. "We was all equal then, jist like one big, happy family, an' good Parson Winstead was to us like a father. But, goodness me! if I keep ga.s.sin' this way, dinner'll never be ready," and she hurried off to the kitchen.

When Mrs. Dempster brought Joe from the house he was a greatly changed man. His step was elastic, his head erect and his eyes shone with a new hope. He ate well, too, almost the first he had eaten in several days, so he informed his companions.

It was a pleasant company which gathered under the shade of the old apple tree. Empty had received his second piece of strawberry shortcake, and was satisfied. When dinner was over, he once more stretched himself out upon the ground and resumed the sleep which his mother had disturbed.

During the meal Mrs. Dempster had been flitting to and fro between the house and the apple tree. There was always something she had to attend to, so she explained when Douglas remonstrated, telling her that she should eat something herself, and never mind the rest. But she would not listen, as she had to look after the fire, get a plateful of doughnuts, and most important of all, to see how the invalid was making out with her dinner.