II.
A school-house set beneath the shelter of great oaks was the center ofmotion and sound. On one side of it the teams stood shaking their bellsunder their insufficient blankets, making a soft chorus of fitful trillsheard in the pauses of the merry shrieks of the boys playing "pom-pompullaway" across the road before the house, which radiated light andlaughter. A group of young men stood on the porch as Milton drove up.
"Hello, Milt," said a familiar voice as he reined Marc close to thestep.
"That you, Shep?"
"Chuss, it's me," replied Shep.
"How'd you know me so far off?"
"Puh! Don't y' s'pose I know that horse an' those bells--Miss Moss,allow me"---- He helped her out with elaborate courtesy. "The supper andthe old folks are _here_, and the girls and boys and the fun is over toDudley's," he explained as he helped Bettie out.
"I'll be back soon's I put my horse up," said Milton to Bettie. "You goin and get good 'n' warm, and then we'll go over to the house."
"I saved a place in the barn for you, Milt. I knew you'd never let Marcstand out in the snow," said Shephard as he sprang in beside Milton.
"I knew you would. What's the news? Is Ed here t'night?"
"Yeh-up. On deck with S'fye Kinney. It'll make him _swear_ when he findsout who Bettie come with."
"Let him. Are the Yohe boys here?"
"Yep. They're alwiss on hand, like a sore thumb. Bill's been drinking,and is likely to give Ed trouble. He never'll give Bettie up without afight. Look out he don't jump onto _your_ neck."
"No danger o' that," said Milton coolly.
The Yohe boys were strangers in the neighborhood. They had come in withthe wave of harvest help from the South and had stayed on into thewinter, making few friends and a large number of enemies among the youngmen of "the crick." Everybody admitted that they had metal in them, forthey instantly paid court to the prettiest girls in the neighborhood,without regard to any prior claims.
And the girls were attracted by these Missourians, their air ofmysterious wickedness and their muscular swagger, precisely as a flockof barnyard fowl are interested in the strange bird thrust among them.
But the Southerners had muscles like wild-cats, and their feats of broiland battle commanded a certain respectful consideration. In fact, mostof the young men of the district were afraid of the red-faced, bold-eyedstrangers, one of the few exceptions being Milton, and another ShephardWatson, his friend and room-mate at the Rock River Seminary. Neither ofthese boys being at all athletic, it was rather curious that Bill andJoe Yohe should treat them with so much consideration.
Bill was standing before the huge cannon stove, talking with Bettie,when Milton and Shephard returned to the school-house. The man's hard,black eyes were filled with a baleful fire, and his wolfish teeth shonethrough his long red mustache. It made Milton mutter under his breathto see how innocently Bettie laughed with him. She never dreamed andcould not have comprehended the vileness of the man's whole life andthought. No lizard reveled in the mud more hideously than he. Hisconversation reeked with obscenity. His tongue dropped poison eachmoment when among his own sex, and his eye blazed it forth when in thepresence of women.
"Hello, Bill," said Milton, with easy indifference. "How goes it?"
"Oh, 'bout so-so. You rather got ahead o' me t'night, didn't yeh?"
"Well, rather. The man that gets ahead o' me has got t' drive a goodteam, eh?" He looked at Bettie.
"I'd like to try it," said Bill.
"Well, let's go across the road," said Milton to Bettie, anxious to gether out of the way of Bill.
They had to run the gauntlet of the whooping boys outside, but Bettieproved too fleet of foot for them all.
When they entered the Dudley house opposite, her cheeks were hot withcolor, but the roguish gleam in her eyes changed to a curiously haughtyand disdainful look as she passed Blackler, who stood desolately besidethe door, looking awkward and sullen.
Milton was a great favorite, and he had no time to say anything more toBettie as peace-maker. He reached Ed as soon as possible.
"Ed, what's up between you and Bettie?"
"Oh, I don't know. I can't find out," Blackler replied, and he spurredhimself desperately into the fun.
III.
"It'll make Ed Blackler squirm t' see Betsey come in on Milt Jennings'arm," said Bill to Shephard after Milton went out.
"Wal, chuss. I denk it will." Shephard was looking round the room, wherethe old people were noisily eating supper, and the steaming oysters andthe cold chicken's savory smell went to his heart. One of the motherlymanagers of the feast bustled up to him.
"Shephard, you c'n run over t' the house an' tell the young folks thatthey can come over t' supper about eight o'clock; that'll be in a halfan hour. You understand?"
"Oh, I'm so hungry! Can't y' give me a hunk o' chicken t' stay m'stomach?"
Mrs. Councill laughed. "I'll fish you out a drumstick," she said. And hewent away, gnawing upon it hungrily. Bill went with him, still belchingforth against Blackler.
"Jim said he heard _he_ said he'd slap my face f'r a cent. I wish hewould. I'd lick the life out of 'im in a minnit."
"Why don't you pitch into Milt? He's got her now. He's the one y'd ortobe dammin'."
"Oh, he don't mean nothin' by it. He don't care for her. I saw him downto town at the show with the girl he's after. He's jest makin' Ed mad."
A game of "Copenhagen" was going on as they entered. Bettie was in themidst of it, but Milton, in the corner, was looking on and talking witha group of those who had outgrown such games.
The ring of noisy, flushed and laughter-intoxicated young people filledthe room nearly to the wall, and round and round the ring flew Bettie,pursued by Joe Yohe.
"Go it, Joe!" yelled Bill.
"You're good f'r'im," yelled Shephard.
Milton laughed and clapped his hands. "Hot foot, Bettie!"
Like another Atalanta, the superb young girl sped, now dodging throughthe ring, now doubling as her pursuer tried to catch her by turningback. At last she made the third circuit, and, breathless and laughing,took her place in the line. But Joe rushed upon her, determined to steala kiss anyhow.
"H'yare! H'yare! None o' that."
"That's no fair," cried the rest, and he was caught by a dozen hands.
"She didn't go round three times," he said.
"Yes, she did," cried a dozen voices.
"You shut up," he retorted, brutally, looking at Ed Blackler, who hadnot spoken at all. Ed glared back, but said nothing. Bettie ignored Ed,and the game went on.
"There's going to be trouble here to-night," said Milton to Shephard.
Shephard, as the ring dissolved, stepped into the middle of the room andflourished his chicken-leg as if it were a baton. After the burst oflaughter, his sonorous voice made itself heard.
"Come to supper! Everybody take his girl if he can, and if he can't--getthe other feller's girl."
Bill Yohe sprang toward Bettie, but Milton had touched her on the arm.
"Not t'night, Bill," he grinned.
Bill grinned in reply and made off toward another well-known belle, EllaPratt, who accepted his escort. Ed Blackler, with gloomy desperation,took Maud Buttles, the most depressingly plain girl in the room, anaction that did not escape Bettie's eyes, and which softened her hearttoward him; but she did not let him see it.
Supper was served on the desks, each couple seated in the drab-coloredwooden seats as if they were at school. A very comfortable arrangementfor those who occupied the back seats, but torture to the adults whowere obliged to cramp their legs inside the desk where the primer classsat on school-days.
Bettie saw with tenderness how devotedly poor Ed served Maud. He couldnot have taken a better method of heaping coals of fire on her head.
Ed was entirely unconscious of her softening, however, for he could notlook around from where he sat. He heard her laughing and believed shewas happy. He had not taken poor Maud for the purpose of showing hispenitenc
e, for he had no such feeling in his heart; he was, on thecontrary, rather gloomy and reckless. He was not in a mood to show afront of indifference.
The oysters steamed; the heels of the boys' boots thumped in wilddelight; the women bustled about; the girls giggled, and the men roaredwith laughter. Everybody ate as if he and she had never tastedoyster-soup and chicken before, and the cakes and pies went the way ofthe oyster-soup like corn before a troup of winter turkeys.
Bill Yohe, by way of a joke, put some frosting down the back of Cy Hurd,and, by way of delicate attention to Ella, alternately shoved her out ofthe seat and pulled her back again, while Joe hurled a chicken-leg atCad Hines as she stood in the entry-way. Will Kinney told Sary Hinesfor the fourth time how his team had run away, interrupted by his fearthat some kind of pie would get away untasted.
"An' so I laid the lines down--H'yare! Gimme another handful ofcrackers, Merry--an' I laid the lines down while I went t' fine--nary anoyster I can hold any more. Mrs. Moss, I'm ready f'r pie now--an' so Inoticed ole Frank's eye kind o' roll, but thinksi, I c'n git holt o' thelines if he--Yes'm, I alwiss eat mince; won't you try some,Sary?--an'--an'--so, jest as I gut my ax--You bet! I'm goin' t' try apiece of every kind if it busts my stummick. Gutta git my money'sworth."
Milton was in his best mood and was very attractive in his mirth. Hisfine teeth shone and his yellow curls shook under the stress of hislaughter. He wrestled with Bettie for the choice bits of cake,delighting in the touch of her firm, sweet flesh; and, as for Bettie,she was almost charmed to oblivion of Ed by the superior attractions ofMilton's town-bred gallantry. Ed looked singularly awkward and lonesomeas he sat sprawled out in one of the low seats, and curiously enough hisuncouthness and disconsolateness of attitude won her heart back again.
Everybody, with the usual rustic freedom, had remarks to make upon thesituation.
"Wal, Bettie, made a swop, hev yeh?" said Councill.
"Hello, Milt; thought you had a girl down town."
"Oh, I keep one at each end of the line," Milton replied, with his readylaugh.
"Wal, I swan t' gudgeon! I can't keep track o' you town fellers. You'retoo many f'r me!" said Mrs. Councill.
Carrie Hines came up behind Milton and Bettie and put her arms aroundtheir necks, bringing their cheeks together. Bettie grew purple withanger and embarrassment, but Milton, with his usual readiness, said,"Thank you," and reached for the tittering malefactor's waist. Nobodynoticed it, for the room was full of such romping.
The men were standing around the stove discussing political outlooks,and the matrons were busy with the serving of the supper. Out of doorsthe indefatigable boys were beginning again on "pom-pom pullaway."
Supper over, the young folks all returned to the house across the way,leaving the men of elderly blood to talk on the Grange and theuselessness of the middlemen. Sport began again in the Dudley farm-houseby a dozen or so of the young people "forming on" for "Weevily Wheat."
"Weevily Wheat" was a "donation dance." As it would have been wicked tohave a fiddle to play the music, singers were substituted with stirringeffect, and a song was sung, while the couples bowed and balanced andswung in rhythm to it:
"Come _hither_, my love, and _trip_ together In the morning early. I'll give to _you_ the parting hand, Although I love you dearly. But I _won't_ have none of y'r weevily wheat, An' I _won't_ have _none_ of y'r barley, But have some flour in a half an hour To bake a cake for Charley.
"Oh, Charley, _he_ is a fine young man; Charley, he is a dandy. Oh, Charley, _he's_ a fine young man, F'r he buys the girls some candy. Oh, I _won't_ have none o' y'r weevily wheat, I won't have _none_ o' y'r barley, But have some flour in a half an hour To bake a cake for Charley.
"Oh, Charley, he's," etc.
Milton was soon in the thick of this most charming old-fashioned dance,which probably dates back to dances on the green in England or Norway.Bettie was a good dancer, and as she grew excited with the rhythm andswing of the quaint, plaintive music her form grew supple at the waistand her large limbs light. The pair moved up and back between the tworanks of singers, then down the outside, and laughed in glee when theyaccelerated the pace at the time when they were swinging down thecenter. All faces were aglow and eyes shining.
Bill's red face and bullet eyes were not beautiful, but the grace andpower of his body were unmistakable. He was excited by the music, thealcohol he had been drinking, and by the presence of the girls, andthrew himself into the play with dangerous abandon.
Under his ill-fitting coat his muscles rolled swift and silent. His tallboots were brilliantly blue and starred with gold at the top, and hispantaloons were tucked inside the tops to let their glory strike theeye. His physical strength and grace and variety of "steps" called forthmany smiles and admiring exclamations from the girls, and caused theyoung men to lose interest in "Weevily Wheat."
When a new set was called for, Bill made a determined assault on Bettieand secured her, for she did not have the firmness to refuse. But thesingers grew weary, and the set soon broke up. A game of forfeit wassubstituted. This also dwindled down to a mere excuse for lovers to kisseach other, and the whole company soon separated into little groups tochatter and romp. Some few sat at the table in the parlor and played"authors."
Bettie was becoming annoyed by the attentions of Bill, and, to get ridof him, went with Miss Lytle, Milton and two or three others intoanother room and shut the door. This was not very unusual, but poorBlackler seemed to feel it a direct affront to him and was embittered.He was sitting by Ella Pratt when Bill Yohe swaggered up to him.
"Say! Do you know where your girl is?"
"No, an' I don't care."
"Wal! It's _time_ y'cared. She's in the other room there. Milt Jenningshas cut you out."
"You're a liar," cried the loyal lover, leaping to his feet.
_Spat!_ Yohe's open palm resounded upon the pale face of Blackler, whoseeyes had a wild glare in them, and the next moment they were rolling onthe floor like a couple of dogs, the stronger and older man above, thevaliant lover below. The house resounded with sudden screams, and thencame the hurry of feet, then a hush, in the midst of which was heard theunsubdued voice of Blackler as he rose to his feet. "You're a"----
Another dull stroke with the knotted fist, and the young fellow went tothe floor again, while Joe Yohe, like a wild beast roused at the sightof blood, stood above the form of his brother (who had leaped upon thefallen man), shouting with the hoarse, raucous note of a tiger:
"Give 'im hell! I'll back yeh."
Bettie pushed through the ring of men and women who were looking on indelicious horror--pushed through quickly and yet with dignity. Her headwas thrown back, and the strange look on her face was thrilling. Facingthe angry men with a gesture of superb scorn and fearlessness, shespoke, and in the deep hush her quiet words were strangely impressive:
"Bill Yohe, what do you think you're doing?"
For a moment the men were abashed, and, starting back, they allowedBlackler, dazed, bleeding and half strangled, to rise to his feet. Hewould have sprung against them both, for he had not heard or realizedwho was speaking, but Bettie laid her hand on his arm, and the haughtydroop of her eyelids changed as she said in a tender voice:
"Never mind, Ed; they ain't worth mindin'!"
Her usual self came back quickly as she led him away. Friends began tomutter now, and the swagger of the brothers threatened further trouble.Their eyes rolled, their knotted hands swung about like bludgeons.Threats, horrible snarls and oaths poured from their lips. But therewere heard at this critical moment rapid footsteps--a round, jovialvoice--and bursting through the door came the great form and golden headof Lime Gilman."
"Hold on here! What's all this?" he said, leaping with an ominouslygood-natured smile into the open space before the two men, whoserestless pacing stopped at the sound of his voice. His sunny, laughingblue eyes swept around him, taking in the situation at a glance. Hecontinued to smile, but his teeth cam
e together.
"Git out o' this, you hounds! Git!" he said, in the same jovial tone."You! _You_," he said to Bill, slapping him lightly on the breast withthe back of his lax fingers. Bill struck at him ferociously, but theslope-shouldered giant sent it by with his left wrist, kicking the feetof the striker from under him with a frightful swing of his rightfoot--a trick which appalled Joe.
"Clear the track there," ordered Lime. "It's against the law t' fight ata donation; so out y' go."
Bill crawled painfully to his feet.
"I'll pay you for this yet."
"_Any_ time but now. Git out, 'r I'll kick you out." Lime's voicechanged now. The silent crowd made way for them, and, seizing Joe by theshoulder and pushing Bill before him, the giant passed out into the openair. There he pushed Bill off the porch into the snow, and kicked hisbrother over him with this parting word:
"You infernal hyenies! Kickin's too good f'r you. If you ever want me,look around an' you'll find me."
Then, to the spectators who thronged after, he apologized:
"I hate t' fight, and especially to kick a man; but they's times when aman's _got_ t' do it. Now, jest go back and have a good time. Don't letthem hyenies spoil all y'r fun."
That ended it. All knew Lime. Everybody had heard how he could lift oneend of the separator and toss a two-bushel sack filled with wheat overthe hind wheel of a wagon, and the terror of his kick was not unknown tothem. They all felt sure that the Yohes would not return, and all wentback into the house and attempted to go on with the games. But it wasimpossible; such exciting events must be discussed, and the story wastold and retold by each one.
When Milton returned to the parlor, he saw Bettie, tender, dignified andgrave, bending over Blackler, bathing his bruised face. Milton had neveradmired her more than at that moment; she looked so womanly. She nolonger cared what people thought.
The other girls, pale and tearful and a little hysterical, stood about,close to their sweethearts. They enjoyed the excitement, however, andthe fight appealed to something organic in them.
The donation party was at an end, that was clear, and the people beganto get ready to go home. Bettie started to thank Lyman for his help.
"Don't say anything. I'd 'a' done it jest the same f'r anybody. It ain'tthe thing to come to a donation and git up a row."
Milton hardly knew whether to ask Bettie to go back with him or not, butBlackler relieved him from embarrassment by rousing up and saying:
"Oh, I'm all right now, Bettie. Hyere's yer girl, Milt. See the eye I'vegot on me? She says she won't ride home with any such"----
"Ed, what in the world do you mean?" Bettie could hardly understand herlover's sudden exultation; it was still a very serious matter to her, inspite of the complete reconciliation which had come with the assault.She felt in a degree guilty, and that feeling kept her still tearful andsubdued, but Ed leered and winked with his good eye in uncontrollabledelight. Milton turned to Bettie at last, and said:
"Well! I'll get Marc around to the door in a few minutes. Get yourthings on."
Bettie and Ed stood close together by the door. She was saying:
"You'll forgive me, won't you, Ed?"
"Why, course I will, Bettie. I was as much to blame as you was. I nobusiness to git mad till I knew what I was gittin' mad _at_."
They were very tender now.
"I'll--I'll go home with you, if you want me to, 'stead of with Milt,"she quavered.
"No, I've got to take S'fye home. It's the square thing."
"All right, Ed, but come an' let me talk it all straight."
"It's all straight now; let's let it all go, whaddy y'say?"
"All right, Ed."
There was a kiss that the rest pretended not to hear. And bidding themall good-night, Bettie ran out to the fence, where Milton sat waiting.
The moon was riding high in the clear, cold sky, but falling toward thewest, as they swung into the wood-road. Through the branches of the oaksthe stars, set in the deep-blue, fathomless night, peered cold andbright. There was no wind save the rush of air caused by the motion ofthe sleigh. Neither of the young people spoke for some time. They layback in the sleigh under the thick robes, listening to the chime of thebells, the squeal of the runners, and the weirdly-sweet distant singingof another sleigh-load of young people far ahead.
Milton pulled Marc down to a slow trot, and, tightening his arm aroundBettie's shoulders in a very brotherly hug, said:
"Well, I'm glad you and Ed have fixed things up again. You'd always havebeen sorry."
"It was all my fault anyway," replied the girl, with a little tremor inher voice, "and it was all my fault to-night, too. I no business to 'a'gone off an' left him that way."
"Well, it's all over now anyway, and so I wouldn't worry any more aboutit," said Milton, soothingly, and then they fell into silence again.
The sagacious Marc Antony strode steadily away, and the two young loverswent on with their dreaming. Bettie was silent mainly, and Milton wastrying to fancy that she was Eileen, and was remembering the long ridesthey had had together. And the horse's hoofs beat a steady rhythm, themoon fell to the west, and the bells kept cheery chime. The breath ofthe horse rose into the air like steam. The house-dogs sent forthwarning howls as they went by. Once or twice they passed houses wherethe windows were still lighted and where lanterns were flashing aroundthe barn, where the horses were being put in for the night.
The lights were out at the home of Bettie when they drove up, for theyoung people, however rapidly they might go to the sociable, alwaysreturned much slower than the old folks. Milton leaped out and held uphis arms to help his companion out. As she shook the robes down, stoodup and reached out for his arms, he seized her round the waist, and,holding her clear of the ground, kissed her in spite of her struggles.
"Milton!"
"The las' time, Bettie; the las' time," he said, in extenuation. Withthis mournful word on his lips he leaped into the sleigh and was offlike the wind. But the listening girl heard his merry voice ringing outon the still air. Suddenly something sweet and majestic swept upon thegirl. Something that made her look up into the glittering sky with vastyearning. In the awful hush of the sky and the plain she heard the beatof her own blood in her ears. She longed for song to express theswelling of her throat and the wistful ache of her heart.
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AN AFTERWORD: OF WINDS, SNOWS AND THE STARS....
O witchery of the winter night (With broad moon shouldering to the west)!
In city streets the west wind sweeps Before my feet in rustling flight; The midnight snows in untracked heaps Lie cold and desolate and white. I stand and wait with upturned eyes, Awed with the splendor of the skies And star-trained progress of the moon.
The city walls dissolve like smoke Beneath the magic of the moon, And age falls from me like a cloak; I hear sweet girlish voices ring, Clear as some softly stricken string-- (The moon is sailing to the west.) The sleigh-bells clash in homeward flight; With frost each horse's breast is white-- (The big moon sinking to the west.)
* * * * *
"Good night, Lettie!" "Good night, Ben!" (The moon is sinking at the west.) "Good night, my sweetheart," Once again The parting kiss while comrades wait Impatient at the roadside gate, And the red moon sinks beyond the west.
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