I returned to Mr. Hacket's house late in the afternoon of New Year'sday. The schoolmaster was lying on a big lounge in a corner of theirfront room with the children about him. The dusk was falling.
"Welcome, my laddie buck!" he exclaimed as I entered. "We're tellingstories o' the old year an' you're just in time for the last o' them.Sit down, lad, and God give ye patience! It'll soon be over."
Little John led me into the group and the schoolmaster began:--Let uscall this bit of a story: The Guide to Paradise.
"One day in early June I was lyin' under the big apple tree in thegarden--sure I was. It was all white and sweet with the blossoms like abride in her veil--an' I heard the hum o' the bee's wing an' odors o'the upper world come down to me. I was lookin' at the little bird housethat we had hung in the tree-top. Of a sudden I saw a tiny bit o' a'warf--no longer than the thumb o' Mary--God love her!--on its wee porchan' lookin' down at me.
"'Good luck to ye!' says I. 'Who are you?'
"'Who do ye think I am?' says he.
"'Nobody,' says I.
"'That's just who I am,' says he, 'I'm Nobody from Nowhere--God save youfrom the like.'
"'Glad to see ye,' says I.
"'Glad to be seen,' says he. 'There's a mighty few people can see me.'
"'Looks to me as if ye were tellin' the truth,' says I.
"'Nobody is the only one that always tells the truth--God help ye,' sayshe. 'And here's a big chunk o' it. Not one in a thousand ever gets thefeet o' his mind in the land o' Nowhere--better luck to them!'
"'Where is it?' says I.
"'Up above the earth where the great God keeps His fiddle,' says he.
"'What fiddle?' says I.
"'The fiddle o' silence,' says he. 'Sure, I'm playin' it now. It haslong strings o' gold that reach 'way out across the land o' Nowhere--yecall 'em stars. The winds and the birds play on it. Sure, the birds aremy hens.'
"He clapped his little hands and down came a robin and sat beside him.Nobody rumpled up the feathers on her back and she queed like she wasgoin' to peck me--the hussy!
"'She's my watch hen,' says Nobody. 'Guards the house and lays eggs forme--the darlin'! Sure, I've a wonderful farm up here in theair--millions o' acres, and the flowers and the tops o' the trees andthe gold mines o' the sky are in it. The flowers are my cattle and thebees are my hired men. Do ye see 'em milkin' this big herd o'apple-blossoms? My hired men carry their milk away to the hollow treesand churn it into honey. There's towers and towers of it in the land o'Nowhere. If it wasn't for Nowhere your country would be as dark as apocket and as dry as dust--sure it would. Somewhere must be next toNowhere--or it wouldn't be anywhere, I'm thinkin'. All the light andrain and beauty o' the world come out o' Nowhere--don't they? We havethe widest ocean up here with wonderful ships. I call it God's ferry. Yesee, Nowhere is not to be looked down upon just because ye don't find itin Mary's geography. There's lots o' things ye don't know, man. I'm oneo' them. What do ye think o' me?'
"'Sure, I like ye,' says I.
"'Lucky man!' says he. 'Everybody must learn to like me an' play with meas the children do. I can get along with the little folks, but it's hardto teach men how to play with me--God pity them! They forget how tobelieve. I am the guide to paradise and unless ye become as a littlechild I can not lead ye.'
"He ran to the edge o' the tree roof and took hold o' the end of a longspider's rope hangin' down in the air. In a jiffy he swung clear o' thetree and climbed, hand over hand, until he had gone awa-a-a-a-y out o'sight in the sky."
* * * * *
"Couldn't anybody do that?" said little John.
"I didn't say they could--did I? ye unbeliever!" said the schoolmasteras he rose and led us in to the supper table. "I said Nobody did it."
We got him to tell this little tale over and over again in the days thatfollowed, and many times since then that impersonal and mysterious guideof the schoolmaster's fancy has led me to paradise.
After supper he got out his boxing-gloves and gave me a lesson in theart of self-defense, in which, I was soon to learn, he was highlyaccomplished, for we had a few rounds together every day after that. Hekeenly enjoyed this form of exercise and I soon began to. My capacityfor taking punishment without flinching grew apace and before long I gotthe knack of countering and that pleased him more even than my work inschool, I have sometimes thought.
"God bless ye, boy!" he exclaimed one day after I had landed heavily onhis cheek, "ye've a nice way o' sneakin' in with yer right. I've anotion ye may find it useful some day."
I wondered a little why he should say that, and while I was wondering hefelled me with a stinging blow on my nose.
"Ah, my lad--there's the best thing I have seen ye do--get up an' comeback with no mad in ye," he said as he gave me his hand.
One day the schoolmaster called the older boys to the front seats in hisroom and I among them.
"Now, boys, I'm going to ask ye what ye want to do in the world," hesaid. "Don't be afraid to tell me what ye may never have told before andI'll do what I can to help ye."
He asked each one to make confession and a most remarkable exhibit ofyoung ambition was the result. I remember that most of us wanted to bestatesmen--a fact due probably to the shining example of Silas Wright.Then he said that on a certain evening he would try "to show us the wayover the mountains."
For some months I had been studying a book just published, entitled,Stenographic Sound-Hand and had learned its alphabet and practised theuse of it. That evening I took down the remarks of Mr. Hacket insound-hand.
The academy chapel was crowded with the older boys and girls and thetown folk. The master never clipped his words in school as he was wontto do when talking familiarly with the children.
"Since the leaves fell our little village has occupied the center of thestage before an audience of millions in the great theater of congress.Our leading citizen--the chief actor--has been crowned with immortalfame. We who watched the play were thrilled by the query: Will Uncle Samyield to temptation or cling to honor? He has chosen the latter courseand we may still hear the applause in distant galleries beyond the sea.He has decided that the public revenues must be paid in honest money.
"My friend and classmate, George Bancroft, the historian, has writtenthis letter to me out of a full heart:
"'Your fellow townsman, Silas Wright, is now the largest figure in Washington. We were all worried by the resolution of Henry Clay until it began to crumble under the irresistible attack of Mr. Wright. On the 16th he submitted a report upon it which for lucid and accurate statements presented in the most unpretending manner, won universal admiration and will be remembered alike for its intrinsic excellence and for having achieved one of the most memorable victories ever gained in the United States Senate. After a long debate Clay himself, compelled by the irresistible force of argument in the report of Mr. Wright, was obliged to retire from his position, his resolution having been rejected by a vote of 44 to 1.'"
With what pride and joy I heard of this great thing that my friend hadaccomplished! The schoolmaster went on:
"It is a very good and proper thing, my boys, that you should beinspired by the example of the great man, whose home is here among usand whose beloved face is as familiar as my own, to try your talents inthe service of the state. There are certain things that I would have youremember.
"First--Know your subject-inside and outside and round about and frombeginning to end.
"Second--Know the opinions of wise men and your own regarding it.
"Third--Be modest in the use of your own opinions and above all behonest.
"Fourth--Remember that it is your subject and not yourself that is ofprime importance. You will be tempted to think that you are the greatpart of the business. My young friends, it will not be true. It can notbe true. It is not you but the thing you stand for that isimportant.
"Fifth--The good of all the people must be the thing you standfor--the United States of America.
"Now I wish you to observe how our great fellow townsman keeps hissubject to the fore and himself in the background.
"It was in 1834 that he addressed the Senate regarding the deposits ofpublic money. He rose to voice the wishes of the people of this state.If he had seemed to be expressing his own opinions he would have missedhis great point. Now mark how he cast himself aside when he began:
"'I must not be understood as, for one moment, entertaining the vain impression that opinions and views pronounced by me, here or elsewhere, will acquire any importance because they are my opinions and views. I know well, sir, that my name carries not with it authority anywhere, but I know, also, that so far as I may entertain and shall express opinions which are, or which shall be found, in accord with the enlightened public opinion of this country, so far they will be sustained and no further.'
"Then by overwhelming proof he set forth the opinion of our people onthe subject in hand. Studiously the Senator has hidden himself in histask and avoided in every possible way attracting attention from hispurposes to his personality.
"Invitations to accept public dinners as a compliment to himself havereceived from him this kind of reply:
"'A proper attention to the duties, on the discharge of which you so kindly desire to compliment me requires that I should decline your invitation.'"
All this was new to me, although much more was said touching his lovefor simple folk regarding which I needed no instruction. Altogether, ithelped me to feel the deep foundations on which my friend, the Senator,had been building in his public life.
Going out with the crowd that evening, I met Sally and Mr. and Mrs.Dunkelberg. The latter did not speak to me and when I asked Sally if Icould walk home with her she answered curtly, "No, thank you."
In following the schoolmaster I have got a bit ahead of my history. Soonafter the opening of the new year--ten days or so later it may havebeen--I had begun to feel myself encompassed by a new and subtle force.It was a thing as intangible as heat but as real as fire and moreterrible, it seemed to me. I felt it first in the attitude of my playfellows. They denied me the confidence and intimacy which I had enjoyedbefore. They whispered together in my presence. In all this I had notfailed to observe that Henry Wills had taken a leading part. Theinvisible, inaudible, mysterious thing wrought a great change in me. Itfollowed me through the day and lay down with me at night. I wonderedwhat I had done. I carefully surveyed my clothes. They looked all rightto me. My character was certainly no worse than it had been. How itpreyed upon my peace and rest and happiness--that mysterious hiddenthing!
One day Uncle Peabody came down to see me and I walked through thevillage with him. We met Mr. Dunkelberg, who merely nodded and hurriedalong. Mr. Bridges, the merchant, did not greet him warmly and chat withhim as he had been wont to do. I saw that The Thing--as I had come tothink of it--was following him also. How it darkened his face! Even nowI can feel the aching of the deep, bloodless wounds of that day. I couldbear it better alone. We were trying to hide our pain from each otherwhen we said good-by. How quickly my uncle turned away and walked towardthe sheds! He came rarely to the village of Canton after that.
I was going home at noon one day and while passing a crowd of boys I wasshoved rudely into the fence. Turning, I saw Henry Wills and my fistflashed to his face. He fell backward and rising called me a thief andthe son of a thief. He had not finished the words when I was upon him.The others formed a ring around us and we began a savage battle. One ofWills' friends tried to trip me. In the midst of it I saw theschoolmaster just outside the ring. He seized a boy by the collar.
"There'll be no more interference," said he. "It's goin' to be a fairfight."
I had felt another unfriendly foot but had not seen its owner. We foughtup and down, with lips and noses bleeding. At last the time had comewhen I was quicker and stronger than he. Soon Henry Wills lay on theground before me with no disposition to go on with the fight. I helpedhim up and he turned away from me. Some of the boys began to jeer him.
"He's a gentleman compared with the rest o' you," I said. "He hadcourage enough to say what he thought. There's not another one o' youwould dare do it--not a one o' you."
Then said the schoolmaster:
"If there's any more o' you boys that has any such opinion o' BartBaynes let him be man enough to step up an' say it now. If he don't heought to be man enough to change his mind on the spot."
A number of the boys and certain of the townsfolk who had gathered aboutus clapped their hands. For a long time thereafter I wondered why Henryhad called me a thief. I concluded that it was because "thief" was themeanest word he could think of in his anger. However that might be, TheThing forsook me. I felt no more its cold, mysterious shadow between meand my school fellows. It had stepped out of my path into that of HenryWills. His popularity waned and a lucky circumstance it was for him.From that day he began to take to his books and to improve his standingin the school.
I observed that he did not go about with Sally as he had done. I had hadno word with her since the night of Mr. Hacket's lecture save thebriefest greeting as we passed each other in the street. Those finewinter days I used to see her riding a chestnut pony with a long silvermane that flowed back to her yellow curls in his lope. I loved the lookof her as she went by me in the saddle and a longing came into my heartthat she should think well of me. I made an odd resolve. It was this: Iwould make it impossible for her to think ill of me.
I went home one Saturday, having thought much of my aunt and uncle sinceThe Thing had descended upon us. I found them well and as cheerful asever. For fear of disturbing their peace I said nothing of my fight withWills or the cause of it. Uncle Peabody had cut the timber for our newhouse and hauled it to the mill. I returned to school in a better mindabout them.
May had returned--a warm bright May. The roads were dry. The thorn treeshad thatched their shapely roofs with vivid green. The maple leaves werebigger than a squirrel's foot, which meant as well, I knew, that thetrout were jumping. The robins had returned. I had entered myseventeenth year and the work of the term was finished.
Having nothing to do one afternoon, I walked out on the road towardOgdensburg for a look at the woods and fields. Soon I thought that Iheard the sound of galloping hoofs behind me. Turning, I saw nothing,but imagined Sally coming and pulling up at my side. I wondered what Ishould say if she were really to come.
"Sally!" I exclaimed. "I have been looking at the violets and the greenfields and back there I saw a thorn tree turning white, but I have seenno fairer thing than you."
They surprised me a little--those fine words that came so easily. What aschool of talk was the house I lived in those days!
"I guess I'm getting Mr. Hacket's gift o' gab," I said to myself.
Again I heard the sound of galloping hoofs and as I looked back I sawSally rounding the turn by the river and coming toward me at full speed,the mane of her pony flying back to her face. She pulled up beside mejust as I had imagined she would do.
"Bart, I hate somebody terribly," said she.
"Whom?"
"A man who is coming to our house on the stage to-day. Granny Barnes istrying to get up a match between us. Father says he is rich and hopes hewill want to marry me. I got mad about it. He is four years older than Iam. Isn't that awful? I am going to be just as mean and hateful to himas I can."
"I guess they're only fooling you," I said.
"No, they mean it. I have heard them talking it over."
"He can not marry you."
"Why?"
It seemed to me that the time had come for me to speak out, and withburning cheeks I said:
"Because I think that God has married you to me already. Do you rememberwhen we kissed each other by the wheat-field one day last summer?"
"Yes." She was looking down at the mane of her pony and her cheeks werered and her voice reminded me of the echoes that fill the cavern of aviolin when a string is touched.
"Seems to me we were married that day. Seems so, every time I think ofit, God asked me all the questions an' I answered yes to 'em. Do yeremember after we had kissed each other how that little bird sang?"
"Yes."
We had faced about and were walking back toward Canton, I close by thepony's side.
"May I kiss you again?"
She stopped the pony and leaned toward me and our lips met in a kiss thethought of which makes me lay down my pen and bow my head a moment whileI think with reverence of that pure, sweet spring of memory in whosewaters I love to wash my spirit.
We walked on and a song sparrow followed us perching on the fence-railsand blessing us with his song.
"I guess God has married us again," I declared.
"I knew that you were walking on this road and I had to see you," saidshe. "People have been saying such terrible things."
"What?"
"They say your uncle found the pocketbook that was lost and kept themoney. They say he was the first man that went up the road after it waslost."
Now The Thing stood uncovered before me in all its ugliness--The Thingborn not of hate but of the mere love of excitement in people wearied bythe dull routine and the reliable, plodding respectability of thatcountryside. The crime of Amos had been a great help in its way but as atopic it was worn out and would remain so until court convened.
"It's a lie--my uncle never saw the pocketbook. Some money was left tohim by a relative in Vermont. That's how it happened that he bought afarm instead of going to the poorhouse when Grimshaw put the screws onhim."
"I knew that your uncle didn't do it," she went on. "Father and mothercouldn't tell you. So I had to."
"Why couldn't your father and mother tell me?"
"They didn't dare. Mr. Grimshaw made them promise that they would notspeak to you or to any of your family. I heard them say that you andyour uncle did right. Father told mother that he never knew a man sohonest as your Uncle Peabody."
We went on in silence for a moment.
"I guess you know now why I couldn't let you go home with me thatnight," she remarked.
"Yes, and I think I know why you wouldn't have anything more to do withHenry Wills."
"I hate him. He said such horrid things about you and your uncle."
In a moment she asked: "What time is it?"
I looked at my new watch and answered: "It wants ten minutes of five."
"The stage is in long ago. They will be coming up this road to meet me.Father was going to take him for a walk before supper."
Just then we came upon the Silent Woman sitting among the dandelions bythe roadside. She held a cup in her hand with some honey on its bottomand covered with a piece of glass.
"She is hunting bees," I said as we stopped beside her.
She rose and patted my shoulder with a smile and threw a kiss to Sally.Suddenly her face grew stern. She pointed toward the village and then atSally. Up went her arm high above her head with one finger extended inthat ominous gesture so familiar to me.
"She means that there is some danger ahead of you," I said.
The Silent Woman picked a long blade of grass and tipped its end in thehoney at the bottom of the cup. She came close to Sally with the bladeof grass between her thumb and finger.
"She is fixing a charm," I said.
She smiled and nodded as she put a drop of honey on Sally's upper lip.
She held up her hands while her lips moved as if she were blessing us.
"I suppose it will not save me if I brush it off," said Sally.
We went on and in a moment a bee lighted on the honey. Nervously shestruck at it and then cried out with pain.
"The bee has stung you," I said.
She covered her face with her handkerchief and made no answer.
"Wait a minute--I'll get some clay," I said as I ran to the river bank.
I found some clay and moistened it with the water and returned.
"There, look at me!" she groaned. "The bee hit my nose."
She uncovered her face, now deformed almost beyond recognition, her nosehaving swollen to one of great size and redness.
"You look like Rodney Barnes," I said with a laugh as I applied the clayto her afflicted nose.
"And I feel like the old boy. I think my nose is trying to jump off andrun away."
The clay having been well applied she began surveying herself with alittle hand mirror which she had carried in the pocket of her ridingcoat.
"What a fright I am!" she mused.
"But you are the best girl in the world."
"Don't waste your pretty talk on me now. I can't enjoy it--my nose achesso. I'd rather you'd tell me when--when it is easier for you to say it."
"We don't see each other very often."
"If you will come out on this road next Saturday afternoon I will rideuntil I find you and then we can have another talk."
"All right. I'll be here at four-thirty and I'll be thinking about itevery day until then."
"My nose feels better now," she said presently and added: "You mighttell me a little more if you want to."
"I love you even when you have ceased to be beautiful," I said with theardor of the young.
"That is grand! You know old age will sting us by and by, Bart," sheanswered with a sigh and in a tone of womanly wisdom.
We were nearing the village. She wiped the mud from her prodigious noseand I wet her handkerchief in a pool of water and helped her to wash it.Soon we saw two men approaching us in the road. In a moment I observedthat one was Mr. Horace Dunkelberg; the other a stranger and aremarkably handsome young man he was, about twenty-two years of age anddressed in the height of fashion. I remember so well his tall, athleticfigure, his gray eyes, his small dark mustache and his admirablemanners. Both were appalled at the look of Sally.
"Why, girl, what has happened to you?" her father asked.
Then I saw what a playful soul was Sally's. The girl was a born actress.
"Been riding in the country," said she. "Is this Mr. Latour?"
"This is Mr. Latour, Sally," said her father.
They shook hands.
"I am glad to see you," said the stranger.
"They say I am worth seeing," said Sally. "This is my friend, Mr.Baynes. When you are tired of seeing me, look at him."
I shook the hand he offered me.
"Of course, we can't all be good looking," Sally remarked with a sigh,as if her misfortune were permanent.
Mr. Horace Dunkelberg and I laughed heartily--for I had told him in awhisper what had happened to Sally--while Mr. Latour looked a littleembarrassed.
"My face is not beautiful, but they say that I have a good heart," Sallyassured the stranger.
They started on. I excused myself and took a trail through the woods toanother road. Just there, with Sally waving her hand to me as I stoodfor a moment in the edge of the woods, the curtain falls on this highlyromantic period of my life.
Uncle Peabody came for me that evening. It was about the middle of thenext week that I received this letter from Sally:
"DEAR BART--Mr. Latour gave up and drove to Potsdam in the evening. Said he had to meet Mr. Parish. I think that he had seen enough of me. I began to hope he would stay--he was so good looking, but mother is very glad that he went, and so am I, for our minister told us that he is one of the wickedest young men in the state. He is very rich and very bad, they say. I wonder if old Kate knew about him. Her charm worked well anyway--didn't it? My nose was all right in the morning. Sorry that I can't meet you Saturday. Mother and I are packing up to go away for the summer. Don't forget me. I shall be thinking every day of those lovely things you said to me. I don't know what they will try to do with me, and I don't care. I really think as you do, Bart, that God has married us to each other.
"Yours forever,
SALLY DUNKELBERG."
How often I read those words--so like all the careless words of theyoung!