CHAPTER XVI
THE LUCKY PIECE
True to her promise, Constance was at the Lodge early next morning.Frank, a trifle pale and solemn, waited on the veranda steps. Yet hegreeted her cheerfully enough, for the Circle of Industry, dailydwindling in numbers but still a quorum, was already in session, andMiss Carroway and the little woman in black had sharp eyes and ears.Constance went over to speak to this group. With Miss Carroway she shookhands.
Frank lingered by the steps, waiting for her, but instead of returningshe disappeared into the Lodge and was gone several minutes.
"I wanted to see Miss Morrison," she exclaimed, in a voice loud enoughfor all to hear. "She did not seem very well last night. I find she ismuch better this morning."
Frank did not make any reply, or look at her. He could not at allcomprehend. They set out in the old way, only they did not carry thebasket and book of former days, nor did the group on the veranda callafter them with warning and advice. But Miss Carroway looked over to thelittle woman in black with a smile of triumph. And Mrs. Kitcher grimlyreturned the look with another which may have meant "wait and see."
A wonderful September morning had followed the perfect September night.There was a smack of frost in the air, but now, with the floodingsunlight, the glow of early autumn and the odors of dying summer time,the world seemed filled with anodyne and glory. Frank and Constancefollowed the road a little way and then, just beyond the turn, the girlled off into a narrow wood trail to the right--the same they hadfollowed that day when they had visited the Devil's Garden.
She did not pause for that now. She pushed ahead as one who knew herground from old acquaintance, with that rapid swinging walk of herswhich seemed always to make her a part of these mountains, and theiruncertain barricaded trails. Frank followed behind, rarely speaking saveto comment upon some unusual appearance in nature--wondering at herpurpose in it all, realizing that they had never continued so far inthis direction before.
They had gone something less than a mile, perhaps, when they heard thesound of tumbling water, and a few moments later were upon the banks ofa broad stream that rushed and foamed between the bowlders. Frank said,quietly:
"This is like the stream where I caught the big trout--you remember?"
"It is the same," she said, "only that was much farther up. Come, wewill cross."
He put out his hand as if to assist her. She did not take it, butstepped lightly to a large stone, then to another and another--springinga little to one side here, just touching a bowlder all but covered withwater there, and so on, almost more rapidly than Frank could follow--asone who knew every footing of that uncertain causeway. They were on theother side presently, and took up the trail there.
"I did not know you were so handy crossing streams," said Frank. "Inever saw you do it before."
"But that was not hard. I have crossed many worse ones. Perhaps I waslighter of foot then."
They now passed through another stretch of timber, Constance stillleading the way. The trail was scarcely discernible here and there, asone not often used, but she did not pause. They had gone nearly a milefarther when a break of light appeared ahead, and presently they came toa stone wall and a traveled road. Constance did not scale the wall, butseated herself on it as if to rest. A few feet away Frank leaned againstthe barrier, looking at the road and then at his companion, curious butsilent. Presently Constance said:
"You are wondering what I have to tell you, and why I have brought youall this way to tell it. Also, how I could follow the trail soeasily--aren't you?" and she smiled up at him in the old way.
"Yes," admitted Frank; "though as for the trail, I suppose you must havebeen over it before--some of those times before I came."
She nodded.
"That is true. You were not here when I traveled this trail before. Itwas Robin who came with me the last time. But that was long ago--almostten years."
"You have a good memory."
"Yes, very good--better than yours. That is why I brought you hereto-day--to refresh your memory."
There was something of the old banter in her voice, and something in herexpression, inscrutable though it was, that for some reason set hisheart to beating. He wondered if she could be playing with him. He couldnot understand, and said as much.
"You brought me here to tell me a story," he concluded. "Isn't that whatyou said? I shall miss the Lake Placid hack if we do not start backpresently."
Again that inscrutable, disturbing look.
"Is it so necessary that you should start to-day?" she asked. "Mr.Meelie, I am sure, will appreciate your company just as much anothertime. And to-day is ours."
That look--it kept him from saying something bitter then.
"The story--you are forgetting it," he said, quietly.
"No, I am not forgetting." The banter had all gone out of her voice, andit had become gentle--almost tender. A soft, far-away look had come intoher eyes. "I am only trying to think how to tell it--how to begin. Ithought perhaps you might help me--only you don't--your memory is sopoor."
He had no idea of her meaning now, and ventured no comment.
"You do not help me," she went on. "I must tell my little story alone.After all, it is only a sequel--do you care for sequels?"
There was something in her face just then that, had it not been for allthat had come between them, might have made him take her in his arms.
"I--I care for what you are about to tell," he said.
She regarded him intently, and a great softness came into her eyes.
"It is the sequel of a story we heard together," she began, "that day onMcIntyre, in the hermit's cabin. You remember that he spoke of the otherchild--a little girl--hers. This is the story of that little girl. Youhave heard something of her already--how the brother toiled for her andhis mother--how she did not fully understand the bitterness of it all.Yet she tried to help--a little. She thought of many things. She haddreams that grew out of the fairy book her mother used to read to her,and she looked for Aladdin caves among the hills, and sometimes fanciedherself borne away by the wind and the sea to some far Eastern landwhere the people would lay their treasures at her feet. But more thanall she waited for the wonderful fairy prince who would one day come toher with some magic talisman of fortune which would make them all rich,and happy ever after.
"Yet, while she dreamed, she really tried to help in other ways--littleways of her own--and in the summer she picked berries and, standingwhere the stage went by, she held them out to the tourists who, when thestage halted, sometimes bought them for a few pennies. Oh, she was soglad when they bought them--the pennies were so precious--though itmeant even more to her to be able to look for a moment into the faces ofthose strangers from another world, and to hear the very words that werespoken somewhere beyond the hills."
She paused, and Frank, who had leaned a bit nearer, started to speak,but she held up her hand for silence.
"One day, when the summer was over and all the people were goinghome--when she had gathered her last few berries, for the bushes werenearly bare--she stood at her place on the stone in front of the littlehouse at the top of the hill, waiting for the stage. But when it came,the people only looked at her, for the horses did not stop, but gallopedpast to the bottom of the hill, while she stood looking after them,holding that last saucer of berries, which nobody would buy.
"But at the foot of the hill the stage did stop, and a boy, oh, such ahandsome boy and so finely dressed, leaped out and ran back all the wayup the hill to her, and stood before her just like the prince in thefairy tales she had read, and told her he had come to buy her berries.And then, just like the prince, he had only an enchanted coin--atalisman--his lucky piece. And this he gave to her, and he made her takeit. He took her hand and shut it on the coin, promising he would comefor it again some day, when he would give her for it anything she mightwish, asking only that she keep it safe. And then, like the prince, hewas gone, leaving her there with the enchanted coin. Oh, she hardlydared to look,
for fear it might not be there after all. But when sheopened her hand at last and saw that it had not vanished, then she wassure that all the tales were true, for her fairy prince had come to herat last."
Again Frank leaned forward to speak, a new light shining in his face,and again she raised her hand to restrain him.
"You would not help me," she said, "your memory was so poor. Now, youmust let me tell the story.
"The child took the wonderful coin to her mother. I think she was verymuch excited, for she wept and sobbed over the lucky talisman that wasto bring fortune for them all. And I know that her mother, pale, and inwant, and ill, kissed her and smiled, and said that now the good daysmust surely come.
"They did not come that winter--a wild winter of fierce cold andterrible storms. When it was over and the hills were green with summer,the tired mother went to sleep one day, and so found her good fortune inpeace and rest.
"But for the little girl there came a fortune not unlike her dreams.That year a rich man and woman had built a camp in the hills. There wasno Lodge, then; everything was wild, and supplies hard to get. Thechild's brother sold vegetables to the camp, sometimes letting hislittle sister go with him. And because she was of the same age as alittle girl of the wealthy people, now and then they asked her to spendthe day, playing, and her brother used to come all the way for her againat night. There was one spot on the hillside where they used to play--anopen, sunny place that they loved best of all--and this they named theirGarden of Delight; and it was truly that to the little girl of the hillswho had never had such companionship before.
"But then came a day when a black shadow lay on the Garden of Delight,for the little city child suddenly fell ill and died. Oh, that was aterrible time. Her mother nearly lost her mind, and was never quite thesame again. She would not confess that her child was dead, and she wastoo ill to be taken home to the city, so a little grave was made on thehillside where the children had played together, and by and by thefeeble woman crept there to sit in the sun, and had the other littlegirl brought there to play, as if both were still living. It was justthen that the mother of Robin and his little sister died, and the citywoman, when she heard of it, said to the little girl: 'You have nomother and I have no little girl. I will be your mother and you shallbe my little girl. You shall have all the dresses and toys; even thename--I will give you that.' She would have helped the boy, too, but hewas independent, even then, and would accept nothing. Then she made themboth promise that neither would ever say to any one that the little girlwas not really hers, and she made the little girl promise that she wouldnot speak of it, even to her, for she wanted to make every one, evenherself, believe that the child was really hers. She thought in time itmight take the cloud from her mind, and I believe it did, but it wasyears before she could even mention the little dead girl again. And theboy and his sister kept their promise faithfully, though this was nothard to do, for the rich parents took the little girl away. They sailedacross the ocean, just as she had expected to do some day, and she hadbeautiful toys and dresses and books, just as had always happened in thefairy tales.
"They did not come back from across the ocean. The child's foster fatherhad interests there and could remain abroad for most of the year, andthe mother cared nothing for America any more. So the little girl grewup in another land, and did not see her brother again, and nobody knewthat she was not really the child of the rich people, or, if any didknow, they forgot.
"But the child remembered. She remembered the mountains and the storms,and the little house at the top of the hill, and her mother, and thebrother who had stayed among the hills, and who wrote now and then totell them he was making his way. But more than all she remembered theprince--her knight she called him as she grew older--because it seemedto her that he had been so noble and brave to come back up the hill andgive her his lucky piece that had brought her all the fortune. Alwaysshe kept the coin for him, ready when he should call for it, and whenshe read how Elaine had embroidered a silken covering for the shield ofLauncelot, she also embroidered a little silken casing for the coin andwore it on her neck, and never a day or night did she let it go awayfrom her. Some day she would meet him again, and then she must have itready, and being a romantic schoolgirl, she wondered sometimes what shemight dare to claim for it in return. For he would be a true, braveknight, one of high purpose and noble deeds; and by day the memory ofthe handsome boy flitted across her books, and by night she dreamed ofhim as he would some day come to her, all shining with glory and highresolve."
Again she paused, this time as if waiting for him to speak. But now heonly stared at the bushes in front of him, and she thought he had growna little pale. She stepped across the wall into the road.
"Come," she said; "I will tell you the rest as we walk along."
He followed her over the wall. They were at the foot of a hill, at thetop of which there was a weather-beaten little ruin, once a home. Herecognized the spot instantly, though the hill seemed shorter to him,and less steep. He turned and looked at her.
"My memory has all come back," he said; "I know all the rest of thestory."
"But I must tell it to you. I must finish what I have begun. The girlkept the talisman all the years, as I have said, often taking it out ofthe embroidered case to study its markings, which she learned tounderstand. And she never lost faith in it, and she never failed tobelieve that one day the knight with the brave, true heart would come toclaim it and to fulfill his bond.
"And by and by her school-days were ended, and then her parents decidedto return to their native land. The years had tempered the mother'ssorrow, and brought back a measure of health. So they came back toAmerica, and for the girl's sake mingled with gay people, and by and by,one day--it was at a fine place and there were many fine folk there--shesaw him. She saw the boy who had been her fairy prince--who had becomeher knight--who had been her dream all through the years.
"She knew him instantly, for he looked just as she had known he wouldlook. He had not changed, only to grow taller, more manly and moregentle--just as she had known he would grow with the years. She thoughthe would come to her--that like every fairy prince, he must know--butwhen at last he stood before her, and she was trembling so that shecould hardly stand, he bowed and spoke only as a stranger might. He hadforgotten--his memory was so poor.
"Yet something must have drawn him to her. For he came often to whereshe was, and by and by they rode and drove and golfed together over thehills, during days that were few but golden, for the child had foundonce more her prince of the magic coin--the knight who did notremember, yet who would one day win his coin--and again she dreamed,this time of an uplifting, noble life, and of splendid ambitionsrealized together.
"But, then, little by little, she became aware that he was not truly aknight of deeds--that he was only a prince of pleasure, poor of ambitionand uncertain of purpose--that he cared for little beyond ease andpastime, and that perhaps his love-making was only a part of it all.This was a rude awakening for the girl. It made her unhappy, and it madeher act strangely. She tried to rouse him, to stimulate him to do and tobe many things. But she was foolish and ignorant and made absurdmistakes, and he only laughed at her. She knew that he was strong andcapable and could be anything he chose, if he only would. But she couldnot choose for him, and he seemed willing to drift and would not choosefor himself.
"Then, by and by, she returned to her beloved mountains. She found thelittle cottage at the hill-top a deserted ruin, the Garden of Delightwith its little grave was overgrown. There was one recompense. Thebrother she had not seen since her childhood had become a noble,handsome man, of whom she could well be proud. No one knew that he washer brother, and she could not tell them, though perhaps she could notavoid showing her affection and her pride in him, and these things weremisunderstood and caused suspicion and heartache and bitterness.
"Yet the results were not all evil, for out of it there came a momentwhen she saw, almost as a new being, him who had been so much a part ofher lif
e so long."
They were nearly at the top of the hill now. But a little more and theywould reach the spot where ten years before the child with the saucer ofberries had waited for the passing stage.
"He had awakened at last," she went on, "but the girl did not know it.She did not realize that he had renewed old hopes and ambitions; thatsome feeling in his heart for her had stirred old purposes into newresolves. He did not tell her, though unconsciously she may have known,for after a day of adventure together on the hills something of the oldromance returned, and her old ideal of knighthood little by littleseemed about to be restored. And then, all at once, it came--the hour ofreal trial, with a test of which she could not even have dreamed--and hestood before her, glorified."
They were at the hill-top. The flat stone in front of the tumbled housestill remained. As they reached it she stopped, and turning suddenlystretched out her hand to him, slowly opening it to disclose a littlesilken case. Her eyes were wet with tears.
"Oh, my dear!" she said. "Here, where you gave me the talisman, I returnit. I have kept it for you all the years. It brought me whatever theworld had to give--friends, fortune, health. You did not claim it, dear;but it is yours, and in return, oh, my fairy prince--my true knight--Iclaim the world's best treasure--a brave man's faithful love!"
EPILOGUE
It is a lonely thoroughfare, that North Elba road. Not many teams passto and fro, and the clattering stage was still a mile away. The eternalpeaks alone looked down upon these two, for it is not likely that eventhe leveled glass of any hermit of the mountain-tops saw what passedbetween them.
Only, from Algonquin and Tahawus there came a gay little wind--the firstbrisk puff of autumn--and frolicking through a yellow tree in theforsaken door-yard it sent fluttering about them a shower of driftinggold.
THE END
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