CHAPTER XXII
THE OLD MAN
The chaplain was getting uneasy. His time was up, he ought to get backto Shoreham that night, and there was no sign of Pippin. Of course hecould go back without seeing him, but--but he _wanted_ to see the boy.Lawrence Hadley was at heart as romantic as his sister, and had builthis own modest air castle for Pippin and Mary. There was amisunderstanding between them; he might be able to clear it up if hecould have a good talk with them both. Well, there was an afternoontrain; he would get back late, but still--
So the good man spent the morning at Cyrus Poor Farm, and enjoyedhimself extremely. He had an interview with Mr. Blossom, a brief one.The old man was consistent; spiritual matters did not interest him inthe least. All he cared for was the sight of Mary in her blue dress andwhite apron; he brushed the chaplain away with a feeble but definite,"Sky pilot? Nix! Lemme 'lone!" Hadley, wise and kind, said a few cheerywords, nodded to Mary, and went away. But for the other inmates thatmorning was marked with a white stone. He talked with each one; betterstill, he listened to each one, not plucking out the heart of hismystery but recognizing it with a friendly and appreciative nod andleaving it where it was. He sympathized with every individual ache inMiss Pudgkins' j'ints, prescribed hot water and red pepper for herdyspepsy, and promised a bottle of his favorite liniment. He heard allabout the Whetstones and the Flints (Aunt Mandy's mother was a Flint,and _her_ mother was a Cattermole; he probably knew what the Cattermoleswere), he heard the number of rooms in the Whetstone homestead, and thecost of the Brussels carpet laid down at the time of Aunt Mandy's AuntPetunia's wedding. She married a traveling man, and had _everything_.All this with much bridling, and drawing down of an upper lip alreadysufficiently long. Hadley reflected that this poor soul could never havebeen anything but a fright, and his manner grew even kindlier.
He received the husky confidences of Mr. Wisk, who assured him, asbetween man and man, that this was no place for a gen'leman to stay anylen'th of time. Good people in their way, good people, they meant well;but not, you understand, what a gen'leman was accustomed to. He, Mr.Wisk, was just waiting till his folks sent for him out West, that wasall. Mr. Hadley didn't happen to have a drop of anything about him? Agen'leman was used to a drop after breakfast, and it came hard--allright! all right! No offense!
All this the chaplain took with cheerful friendliness; it was all in theday's work, all interesting; everything was interesting. But the talk hereally enjoyed was one with Jacob Bailey and Brand, the blind man. Theysat in the barn doorway, wide and sunny; Brand on his stool, finishinghis two-bushel basket; Hadley on an upturned bucket beside him; Baileyleaning against the door jamb. They talked of stock and crops, of seedsand basketry and butter. Then some one said, "Pippin," and the otherthings ceased to exist. First, Jacob Bailey must tell his story, of howhe had seen that young feller steppin' out along the road, who but he!steppin' out, sir, and talkin' nineteen to the dozen, all alone byhimself; of their making acquaintance, and all it had led to. "Brand islike one of the fam'ly! I've but few secrets from Brand. Pippin saved myboy, sir; my wife's nevy, that's been a son to us both, and was goin'astray. Pippin saved him! Lemme tell you!" He told; the chaplainlistened with kindling eyes, and then in his turn told of Pippin's lifein the prison, of his influence over this man and that, of the help hehad been as a trusty this past year, of how he had been missed.
"Why, actually, the place seems darker without him!"
The blind man, who had been listening intently, spoke for the firsttime.
"Yes!" he said slowly. "He is like light!"
The others turned to him.
"How's that, Brand?" asked Bailey, kindly.
"I have never seen light," said the man who was born blind, "but whenthis young man comes in, he brings something that seems to me like whatlight must be. 'Tis warm, but more than that; 'tis--" he shook his head."I cannot put it into words!" he said. "I have never seen light!"
"You are right, sir!" the chaplain spoke with conviction. "You havedescribed it exactly. Pippin is one of the light-bringers. They are aclass by themselves, and--to judge by my own experience--Pippin is in asub-class by himself. But, Mr. Bailey, this light must be focused; to doall it can do, all it is meant to do, it must burn steadily; must be atrimmed lamp, not a wandering flame. Do you take me?"
Bailey leaned forward, almost stammering in his eagerness.
"That's right! That's right!" he cried. "That's what I've been wantin'to say! That's what I want to go over with you, before he comes, Mr.Hadley. I've been itchin' to, ever since you come. Here's the way itlooks to me!"
The other two men bent toward him; the talk went on in low, earnesttones. The sun poured in at the wide barn door; the hens and chickensclucked and scratched in the golden straw; from her loose box Polly, theblack mare, whinnied a request for sugar. Past the farmyard gate wentthe road, a white, dusty ribbon stretching far into the distance; butlook and listen as they might, the three men caught no glimpse of a gayfigure swinging along, a wheel at its back, a song on its lips.
Mary was doing her duty, thoroughly and faithfully, as she did allthings. The old man had been well taken care of before she came; thelittle room had been neat as wax, the old rag and tatter of humanity hadbeen kept clean and wholesome as might be; but Mrs. Bailey had no timefor the little touches, the scientific generalities, so to speak, thatappeared wherever Mary went. The little trays, by whose daintiness gruelwas made to appear a feast for sybarites; the tidy screen, fashionedfrom a clotheshorse and a piece of cheesecloth; the glass of flowers onthe light-stand by the bed: all these said, "Mary-in-the-kitchen," asplain as things can speak; and Mary, sad and steadfast, foundsatisfaction in them. But Old Man Blossom cared for none of thesethings; dirt was good enough for him, he said, he was made of it,anyways; let Mary stop wieldin' that duster and set down by him, she'dbeen bustlin' the entire mornin'; he wanted to look at her. Mary satdown patiently, and took out her tatting--but the nerveless hand gropedand groped till it touched hers, and clutched and held it. Then he layquiet, gazing his fill, asking nothing more of earth or Heaven; andMary sat patiently, seeing her duty plain, doing it thoroughly.
Loving it? No! She would not lie to herself. Her flesh would cringe andshrink at the touch of that other flesh, flaccid, lifeless, yet clingingso close it seemed to be sucking her clean young strength as a leechsucks blood. The visions would come, try as she might to banish them;visions of the old, dreadful days, of this face, now so peaceful on thepillow, purple and sodden, with glazed eyes and hanging mouth; of hermother, with the watchful terror in her eyes; mingled with thesevisions, inseparable from them, the smell of liquor and musty straw.
Then, as she fought with herself, striving to drive away the sight andthe smell, lo! all would change. She would see a dark face glowing witha warmth of tenderness and compassion which--she told herself--her coldheart could never know.
"Poor old mutt!" said the voice that was like a golden bell. "He's onthe blink, you see, and he wants his kid. Wouldn't that give you a pain?Honest, now!"
Then Mary would bend over the bed in an agony of self-reproach.
"Father, are you easier? Father, would you like a drink? Let me liftyour head--so!"
And through it all, something at the back of her brain knew that alongthe white ribbon of road a figure was striding, lithe, alert, a wheel atits back and a song on its lips. Yes, a song! All would come right, itcouldn't help but. The Lord was Pippin's shepherd, e'en as He wasMary's. He would make her see, make her understand. Glory be!
"Dinner's ready, Mary! Can you come?" Mrs. Bailey, opening the doorsoftly, spoke under her breath, with a glance at the still figure in thebed, at the hand clutching Mary's with feeble, clinging grasp. Marynodded and her lips shaped the words,
"Presently! He's dropping off asleep."
Five minutes passed; ten minutes. At last the fingers loosed their hold,the eyes closed, the lines faded, and the ugly old wax mask lay still onthe pillow.
Quietly Mary rose, her soft dress
making no sound. Quietly she stole tothe door, quietly opened it, so quietly that no one saw or heard her,for at that moment another door was flung wide open from outside, and agay "Hello! hello! hello!" brought every one to their feet. Pippin stoodin the doorway, laughing, glowing, his wheel at his back; in his arms--achild--a little, dark, bright-eyed child, who clung to him and gazedwide-eyed at the strange faces, for all were clustering about him nowwith greetings and questions.
"Where have you been, Pippin? We've been looking for you all day. Howare you? What you been doing? Whose child is that?"
"Easy, folks, easy!" laughed Pippin. "You're scaring the kiddy out ofhis boots--if he had any!" with a glance at the brown toes that werecurling frantically round him. "Mis' Bailey, you come--"
"Whose child is it?" asked Lucy Bailey again, as she came forward.
"Well!" Pippin laughed again, as he tried to unwind the clinging brownarms from his neck. His face was alight, there was a ring of triumph inhis voice. "He calls me Daddy. What do you know about that? I expecthe's mine, ain't he?"
Mary! Mary! Stop! Wait and listen! This child is six years old, andPippin two and twenty. Use the reason on which you pride yourself!
But Mary is gone, closing the door softly. Gone to fling herself on herknees beside the dying reprobate, to tell him--silently, be sure! Hissleep must not be broken--tell him over and over that he is all she hasin the world, that she is a wicked, wicked girl; that she will try tolove him; she will, she will!
"Mother! mother! I will try!"
No one sees; no one hears.
Pippin, after a wistful glance round the room, sat down at the table andtucked the child comfortably away under his left arm.
"Set down, please, everybody!" he said. "I'm right sorry I disturbed youall. Seemed so good to get here! No, Mis' Bailey, full as much obliged,seein' he holds so to me, I'll keep him right here. If you'd pass mesome bread and milk; he can eat by himself," proudly; "can't you, oldsport? There now! Fall afoul of that, what say? Elder, I am proper gladto see you, I sure am. I was scared to death you'd got out of patienceand gone. Mary--Miss Blossom--well? The Old Man--she got here in time?"
Reassured on this point, he drew a long sigh of relief. "That's good!That's good! I kep' on thinkin' and thinkin', what if she come too late?She comin' in soon?"
"Pretty soon, Pippin; he can't bear to have her out of his sight, soshe's waiting till he drops asleep. If you don't tell us about thatchild, Mrs. Bailey won't give you a morsel to eat, will you, Mrs.Bailey? And it's the best corned beef hash you ever tasted."
Pippin threw back his head and laughed again, the gay, triumphant laughthat rang through the kitchen.
"Got you all guessin', ain't I? Now I'll tell you all about it.Yesterday I was slammin' along the ro'd--it's been a long trip, twice aslong as gettin' there, 'cause I didn't stop any place excep' I hadto--slammin' along to beat the band, when I heard a kid hollerin',hollerin' like he was hurt. Come round the corner, and there--greengrass! there was a big Dago guy with an organ, and he was layin' intothis kid. Layin' into him, you understand, with a stick--little kid likethis! Wouldn't that give--Well! I guess I went sort of dotty. I--well,you'll excuse me, ladies! I done what appeared the right dope--in thatcase, you understand. I give him his, in good shape! And then I dumpedhis organ atop of him, and took the kid and _e_-loped. That's all thereis to it, really." He swept the table with a smile as confident as itwas appealing. "Guess you'd all done the same, wouldn't you? The gents,I would say."
There was a doubtful murmur, which might mean assent or dissent; thechaplain alone spoke out.
"I don't know, Pippin! Of course you were right to stop the man'sbeating the child; but if he was his father--"
"Father nothin'! He was one of them Pat Rooneys."
"Pat Rooneys? What do you mean?"
"That's what they call 'em!" with an assured nod. "Never knew why theygive 'em an Irish name, for they're I-talian dagoes, every man Jack of'em. _Buy_ kids, they do, or as good as buy 'em, and learn 'em--"
A light broke on the chaplain. "Oh! _padrone_, you mean!"
"That's what I say. Pat Roney or Rooney: Rooney's a more common name.There's Rooneys every place, I guess, but they're mostly Irish. Well!Now you see, Elder, this kiddo--lemme tell you! Say, kiddo! Where'sPuppa?"
"Papagondaiddo!" replied the child, burrowing his head into Pippin'sshoulder.
"Where's Mamma?"
"Mammagondaiddo!"
"Want to go back to Pat Rooney?"
The boy screamed, and clung frantically round Pippin's neck, halfchoking him.
"There! You see, Elder, and folks! And you see this!" he added gravely,pulling the ragged shirt from the little shoulders. The women cried outin pity and horror; the men grew red and muttered. Pippin pulled theshirt up again, gently as a woman. "I know the way that feels!" he saidsimply. "I've been there!"
There was a moment's silence, while he stroked the curly head absently.Then Lucy Bailey, the tears running down her cheeks, held out her arms."Come to me, little lamb!" she said. "Come and have a nice warm bath andsome clean dry clothes! Then we'll go out and see the chickabiddies andthe ducks! Come to Auntie!"
The child resisted at first, but after a long look at her, put his handin hers and trotted off obediently. Pippin drew a breath of relief, andturned eagerly to the chaplain.
"Glory!" he cried. "Glory to God! Wa'n't that a leadin', Elder? Honest,now, did ever you see a leadin' made clearer? I set out to find thatlittle gal, allowin' soon as I'd found her, to do thus and so--Youknow, to get some boys and give 'em the glad hand, help 'em up. And thevery day after I find that gal--" again that wistful glance round theroom; she was long in coming--"the _very day_, sir, the Lord sends thiskid right in my road. And--" Pippin's eyes brightened; he brought hishand down with a resounding smack on the table--"green grass! _before_that, Elder!--there's another kid, all ready to come and start right in,waitin' up there to the Orphan joint till I tip him the signal, and thenjust watch him make tracks for Cyrus! I--I guess I'll have to sing,Elder; I feel like I was bustin'. Shall we praise the Lord a spell insong?"
He was springing to his feet, but the chaplain, exchanging a glance withJacob Bailey, laid a quiet hand on his shoulder.
"Not just yet, Pippin!" he said. "You are going too fast; we must talkthis over. Come out with me--why, you foolish fellow, you haven't eatenany dinner!"
"That's right! I haven't. And I'm holler as a pail, too. Trouble you fora mite of that hash, Mr. Bailey? Gee! it _is_ good, no two ways aboutthat!"
Absurd that they should all sit and watch Pippin eating his dinner, butthey did. He drew them like a magnet. Some of them lingered because itput off a little longer the return to work; this was the case of Mr.Wisk, who did not like to dig potatoes. Others, like Brand and MissWhetstone, pricked eager ears for the scraps of gay talk that alternatedwith Pippin's mouthfuls; while Miss Pudgkins watched the mouthfulsthemselves with mournful interest, and while admiring the skill withwhich Pippin handled his knife (his formative years had not knownforks), saw with dismay the dwindling pile of savory hash. She hadcounted on a portion for her supper; she must say he was a master handat eating. The chaplain for his part watched the meal with mingledamusement and impatience. It was pleasant to see a perfectly healthycreature enjoying his food, but, with a third mountain of hash justbegun upon, and kindling glances thrown toward the custard pie anddoughnuts, what was to become of the "heart-to-hearter" which he musthave with his "wandering flame"? The moments were passing, the afternoontrain looming larger and larger.
But the chaplain was not to take the train that afternoon. Just asPippin had flung himself joyously on the pie, the inner door opened, andMary, pale and grave, appeared.
"Mr. Hadley," she said, "will you come? Father isn't so well!"