Flower of the Dusk

by Myrtle Reed

  XV

  The Song of the Pines

  Upon the couch in the sitting-room, though it was not yet noon, MissMattie slept peacefully. She had the repose, not merely of one dead, butof one who had been dead long and was very weary at the time of dying.

  As Doctor Conrad had expected, her back was entirely well the morningfollowing his visit, and when she awoke, free from pain, she had dinnedhis praises into Roger's ears until that long-suffering young man waswell-nigh fatigued. The subject was not exhausted, however, even thoughRoger was.

  [Sidenote: A Wonder-Worker]

  "I'll tell you what it is, Roger," Miss Mattie had said, drawing a longbreath, and taking a fresh start; "a young man that can cure a pain likemine, with pills that size, has got a great future ahead of him as wellas a brilliant past behind. He's a wonder-worker, that's what he is, notto mention bein' a mind-reader as well."

  She had taken but a half dozen of the capsules the first day, havingfallen asleep after taking the third dose. When Roger went to theoffice, very weary of Doctor Conrad's amazing skill, Miss Mattie hadresumed her capsules and, shortly thereafter, fallen asleep.

  She had slept for the better part of three days, caring little for foodand not in the least for domestic tasks. At the fourth day, Roger becamealarmed, but Doctor Conrad had gone back to the city, and there was noone within his reach in whom he had confidence.

  [Sidenote: The Sleeping Woman]

  At last it seemed that it was time for him to act, and he shook thesleeping woman vigorously. "What's the matter, Roger?" she asked,drowsily; "is it time for my medicine?"

  "No, it isn't time for medicine, but it's time to get up. Your backdoesn't hurt you, does it?"

  "No," murmured Miss Mattie, "my back is as good as it ever was. Whattime is it?"

  "Almost four o'clock and you've been asleep ever since ten this morning.Wake up."

  "Eight--ten--twelve--two--four," breathed Miss Mattie, counting on herfingers. Then, to his astonishment, she sat up straight and rubbed hereyes. "If it's four, it's time for my medicine." She went over to thecupboard in which the precious box of capsules was kept, took two more,and returned to the couch. She still had the box in her hand.

  "Mother," gasped Roger, horrified. "What are you taking that medicinefor?"

  "For my back," she responded, sleepily.

  "I thought your back was well."

  "So 'tis."

  "Then what in thunder do you keep on taking dope for?"

  Miss Mattie sat up. She was very weary and greatly desired her sleep,but it was evident that Roger must be soothed first.

  [Sidenote: Getting her Money's Worth]

  "You don't seem to understand me," she sighed, with a yawn. "Afterpayin' a dollar and twenty cents for that medicine, do you reckon I'mgoin' to let it go to waste? I'm goin' to keep right on takin' it, everyfour hours, as he said, until it's used up."

  "Mother!"

  "Don't you worry none, Roger," said Miss Mattie, kindly, with a drowsysmile. "Your mother is bein' took care of by a wonderful doctor. Hemakes the lame walk and the blind see and cures large pains with smallpills. I am goin' to stick to my medicine. He didn't say to stop takin'it."

  "But, Mother, you mustn't take it when there is no need for it. He nevermeant for you to take it after you were cured. Besides, you might havethe same trouble again when we couldn't get hold of him."

  "How'm I to have it again?" demanded Miss Mattie, pricking up her ears,"when I'm cured? If I take all the medicine, I'll stay cured, won't I?You ain't got no logic, Roger, no more'n your pa had."

  "I wish you wouldn't, Mother," pleaded the boy, genuinely distressed."It's the medicine that makes you sleep so."

  "I reckon," responded Miss Mattie, settling herself comfortably backamong the pillows, "that he wanted me to have some sleep. In all my lifeI ain't never had such sleep as I'm havin' now. You go away, Roger, andstudy law. You ain't cut out for medicine."

  The last words died away in an incoherent whisper. Miss Mattie sleptagain, with the box tightly clutched in her hand. As her fingersgradually loosened their hold, Roger managed to gain possession of itwithout waking her. He did not dare dispose of it, for he well knew thatthe maternal resentment would make the remainder of his life a burden.Besides, she might have another attack, when the ministering mind-readerwas not accessible. If it were possible to give her some harmlesssubstitute, and at the same time keep the "searching medicine" for atime of need.

  [Sidenote: A Bright Idea]

  A bright idea came to Roger, which he hastened to put into execution. Hewent to the druggist and secured a number of empty capsules of the samesize. At home, he laboriously filled them with flour and replaced thosein the box with an equal number of them. He put the "searchingmedicine" safely away in his desk at the office, and went to work, hisheart warmed by the pleasant consciousness that he had done a good deed.

  When he went home at night, Miss Mattie was partially awake and inclinedto be fretful. "The strength is gone out of my medicine," she grumbled,"and it ain't time to take more. I've got to set here and be deprived ofmy sleep until eight o'clock."

  Roger prepared his own supper and induced his mother to eat a little.When the clock began to strike eight, she took two of the flour-filledcapsules, confidently climbed upstairs, and--such is the power ofsuggestion--was shortly asleep.

  [Sidenote: Favourable Opportunity]

  Having an unusually favourable opportunity, Roger went over to seeBarbara. He had not seen her since the night before the operation, butDoctor Conrad had told him that in a few days he might be allowed totalk to her or read to her for a little while at a time.

  Miriam opened the door for him, and, he thought, looked at him withunusual sharpness. "I guess you can see her," she said, shortly. "I'llask her."

  In the pathetically dingy room, out of which Barbara had tried so hardto make a home, he waited until Miriam returned. "They said to come up,"she said, and disappeared.

  Roger climbed the creaking stairs and made his way through the dark,narrow hall to the open door from whence a faint light came. "Come in,"called Barbara, as he paused.

  Ambrose North sat by her bedside holding her hand, but she laughinglyoffered the other to Roger. "Bad boy," she said; "why haven't you comebefore? I've lain here in the window and watched you go back and forthfor days."

  "I didn't dare," returned Roger. "I was afraid I might do you harm bycoming and so I stayed away."

  "Everybody has been so kind," Barbara went on. "People I never saw norheard of have come to inquire and to give me things. You're absolutelythe last one to come."

  [Sidenote: Last but Not Least]

  "Last--and least?"

  "Not quite," she said, with a smile. "But I haven't been lonely. Fatherhas been right beside me all the time except when I've been asleep,haven't you, Daddy?"

  "I've wanted to be," smiled the old man, "but sometimes they made me goaway."

  "Tell me about the Judge's liver," suggested Barbara, "and Fido. I'vebeen thinking a good deal about Fido. Did his legal document hurt him?"

  [Sidenote: Fido]

  "Not in the least. On the contrary, he thrived on it. He liked it sowell that he's eaten others as opportunity offered. The Judge is used toit now, and doesn't mind. I've been thinking that it might save time andtrouble if, when I copied papers, I took an extra carbon copy for Fido.That pup literally eats everything. He's cut some of his teeth on a pairof rubbers that a client left in the office, and this noon he ate nearlyhalf a box of matches."

  "I suppose," remarked Barbara, "that he was hungry and wanted a lightlunch."

  "That'll be about all from you just now," laughed Roger. "You're goingto get well all right--I can see that."

  "Of course I'm going to get well. Who dared to say I wasn't?"

  "Nobody that I know of. Do you want me to bring Fido to see you?"

  "Some day," said Barbara, thoughtfully, "I would like to have you leadFido up and down in front of the house, but I do not believe I would
care to have him come inside."

  So they talked for half an hour or more. The blind man sat silently,holding Barbara's hand, too happy to feel neglected or in any wayslighted. From time to time her fingers tightened upon his in areassuring clasp that took the place of words.

  Acutely self-conscious, Roger's memory harked back continually to thelast evening he and Barbara had spent together. In a way, he wasgrateful for North's presence. It measurably lessened his constraint,and the subtle antagonism that he had hitherto felt in the house seemedwholly to have vanished.

  At last the blind man rose, still holding Barbara's hand. "It is latefor old folks to be sitting up," he said.

  "Don't go, Daddy. Make a song first, won't you? A little song for Rogerand me?"

  He sat down again, smiling. "What about?" he asked.

  "About the pines," suggested Barbara--"the tallest pines on the hills."

  There was a long pause, then, clearing his throat, the old man began.

  [Sidenote: Small Beginnings]

  "Even the tall and stately pines," he said, "were once the tiniest ofseeds like everything else, for everything in the world, either good orevil, has a very small beginning.

  "They grow slowly, and in Summer, when you look at the dark, bendingboughs, you can see the year's growth in paler green at the tips. No onepays much attention to them, for they are very dark and quiet comparedwith the other trees. But the air is balmy around them, they scatter athick, fragrant carpet underneath, and there is no music in the world,I think, like a sea-wind blowing through the pines.

  "When the brown cones fall, the seeds drop out from between the smooth,satin-like scales, and so, in the years to come, a dreaming mother pinebroods over a whole forest of smaller trees. A pine is lonely anddesolate, if there are no smaller trees around it. A single one,towering against the sky, always means loneliness, but where you see alittle clump of evergreens huddled together, braving the sleet and snow,it warms your heart.

  "In Summer they give fragrant shade, and in Winter a shelter from thecoldest blast. The birds sleep among the thick branches, finding seedsfor food in the cones, and, on some trees, blue, waxen berries.

  [Sidenote: A Love Story]

  "Before the darkness came to me, I saw a love story in a forest ofpines. One tree was very straight and tall, and close beside it wasanother, not quite so high. The taller tree leaned protectingly over theother, as if listening to the music the wind made on its way from thehills to the sea. As time went on, their branches became so thicklyinterlaced that you could scarcely tell one from the other.

  "Around them sprang up half a dozen or more smaller trees, sheltered,brooded over, and faithfully watched by these two with the interlacedbranches. The young trees grew straight and tall, but when they were notquite half grown, a man came and cut them all down for Christmas trees.

  "When he took them away, the forest was strangely desolate to these two,who now stood alone. When the Daughters of Dawn opened wide the gates ofdarkness, and the Lord of Light fared forth upon the sea, they saw itnot. When it was high noon, and there were no shadows, even upon thehill, it seemed that they might lift up their heads, but they onlytwined their branches more closely together. When all the flamingtapestry of heaven was spread in the West, they leaned nearer to eachother, and sighed.

  [Sidenote: Bereft]

  "When the night wind stirred their boughs to faint music, it was likethe moan of a heart that refuses to be comforted. When Spring dancedthrough the forest, leaving flowers upon her way, while all the silenceswere filled with life and joy, these two knew it not, for they werebereft.

  "Mating calls echoed through the woods, and silver sounds dripped likerain from the maples, but there was no love-song in the boughs of thepines. The birds went by, on hushed wings, and built their nests faraway.

  "When the maples put on the splendid robes of Autumn, the pines, moregaunt and desolate than ever, covered the ground with a dense fabric ofneedles, lacking in fragrance. When the winds grew cool, and the LittlePeople of the Forest pattered swiftly through the dead and scurryingleaves, there was no sound from the pines. They only waited for the end.

  "When storm swept through the forest and the other trees bowed theirheads in fear, these two straightened themselves to meet it, for theywere not afraid. Frightened birds took refuge there, and the LittlePeople, with wild-beating hearts, crept under the spreading boughs to besheltered.

  "Vast, reverberating thunders sounded from hill to hill, and the seaanswered with crashing surges that leaped high upon the shore. Suddenly,from the utter darkness, a javelin of lightning flashed through thepines, but they only trembled and leaned closer still.

  "One by one, with the softness of falling snow, the leaves dropped uponthe brown carpet beneath, but there was no more fragrance, since the saphad ceased to move through the secret channels and breathe balm into theforest. Snow lay heavily upon the lower boughs and they broke, insteadof bending. When Spring danced through the world again, piping herplaintive music upon the farthest hills, the pines were almost bare.

  [Sidenote: As One]

  "All through the sweet Summer the needles kept dropping. Everyfrolicsome breeze of June carried some of them a little farther down theroad; every full moon shone more clearly through the barrier of thepines. And at last, when the chill winds of Autumn chanted a requiemthrough the forest, it was seen that the pines had long been dead, butthey so leaned together and their branches were so interlaced, that,even in death, they stood as one.

  "They had passed their lives together, they had borne the same burdens,faced the same storms, and rejoiced in the same warmth of Summer sun.One was not left, stricken, long after the other was dead; their lastgrief was borne together and was lessened because it was shared. I standthere sometimes now, where the two dead trees are leaning closetogether, and as the wind sighs through the bare boughs, it chants nodirge to me, but only a hymn of farewell.

  [Sidenote: Together with Love]

  "There is nothing in all the world, Barbara, that means so much as thatone word, 'together,' and when you add 'love' to it, you have heaven,for God himself can give no more joy than to bring together two wholove, never to part again."

  "Thank you," said Barbara, gently, after a pause.

  "I thank you too," said Roger.

  Ambrose North rose and offered his hand to Roger. "Good-night," he said."I am glad you came. Your father was my friend." Then he bent to kissBarbara. "Good-night, my dear."

  "Friend," repeated Roger to himself, as the old man went out. "Yes,friend who never betrayed you or yours." The boy thrilled withpassionate pride at the thought. Before the memory of his father hisyoung soul stood at salute.

  Barbara's eyes followed her father fondly as he went out and down thehall to his own room. When his door closed, Roger came to the otherchair, sat down, and took her hand.

  "It's not really necessary," explained Barbara, with a faint pink uponher cheeks. "I shall probably recover, even if my hand isn't held allthe time."

  "But I want to," returned Roger, and she did not take her hand away. Hercheeks took on a deeper colour and she smiled, but there was somethingin her deep eyes that Roger had never seen there before.

  "I've missed you so," he went on.

  "And I have missed you." She did not dare to say how much.

  "How long must you lie here?"

  "Not much longer, I hope. Somebody is coming down next week to take offthe plaster; then, after I've stayed in bed a little longer, they'll seewhether I can walk or not."

  [Sidenote: The Crutches]

  She sighed wistfully and a strange expression settled on her face as shelooked at the crutches which still leaned against the foot of her bed.

  "Why do you have those there?" asked Roger, quickly.

  "To remind me always that I mustn't hope too much. It's just a chance,you know."

  "If you don't need them again, may I have them?"

  "Why?" she asked, startled.

  "Because they are yours--the
y've seemed a part of you ever since I'veknown you. I couldn't bear to have thrown away anything that was part ofyou, even if you've outgrown it."

  "Certainly," answered Barbara, in a high, uncertain voice. "You're verywelcome and I hope you can have them."

  "Barbara!" Roger knelt beside the bed, still keeping her hand in his."What did I say that was wrong?"

  "Nothing," she answered, with difficulty. "But, after bearing all this,it seems hard to think that you don't want me to be--to be separatedfrom my crutches. Because they have belonged to me always--you thinkthey always must."

  "Barbara! When you've always understood me, must I begin explaining toyou now? I've never had anything that belonged to you, and I thought youwouldn't mind, if it was something you didn't need any more--I wouldn'tcare what it was--if----"

  "I see," she interrupted. A blinding flash of insight had, indeed, mademany things wonderfully clear. "Here--wouldn't you rather have this?"

  [Sidenote: A Knot of Blue Ribbon]

  She slipped a knot of pale blue ribbon from the end of one of her long,golden braids, and gave it to him.

  "Yes," he said. Then he added, anxiously, "are you sure you don't needit? If you do----"

  "If I do," she answered, smiling, "I'll either get another, or tie mybraid with a string."

  Outwardly, they were back upon the old terms again, but, for the firsttime since the mud-pie days, Barbara was self-conscious. Her heart beatstrangely, heavy with the prescience of new knowledge. When Roger rosefrom his chair with a bit of blue ribbon protruding from his coatpocket, she laughed hysterically.

  But Roger did not laugh. He bent over her, with all his boyish soul inhis eyes. She crimsoned as she turned away from him.

  [Sidenote: Please?]

  "Please?" he asked, very tenderly. "You did once."

  "No," she cried, shrilly.

  Roger straightened himself instantly. "Then I won't," he said, softly."I won't do anything you don't want me to--ever."