CHAPTER XVII. A DOUBLE VICTORY
Norman Douglas came to church the first Sunday in November and made allthe sensation he desired. Mr. Meredith shook hands with him absently onthe church steps and hoped dreamily that Mrs. Douglas was well.
"She wasn't very well just before I buried her ten years ago, but Ireckon she has better health now," boomed Norman, to the horrorand amusement of every one except Mr. Meredith, who was absorbed inwondering if he had made the last head of his sermon as clear as hemight have, and hadn't the least idea what Norman had said to him or heto Norman.
Norman intercepted Faith at the gate.
"Kept my word, you see--kept my word, Red Rose. I'm free now till thefirst Sunday in December. Fine sermon, girl--fine sermon. Your fatherhas more in his head than he carries on his face. But he contradictedhimself once--tell him he contradicted himself. And tell him I want thatbrimstone sermon in December. Great way to wind up the old year--witha taste of hell, you know. And what's the matter with a nice tastydiscourse on heaven for New Year's? Though it wouldn't be half asinteresting as hell, girl--not half. Only I'd like to know what yourfather thinks about heaven--he CAN think--rarest thing in the world--aperson who can think. But he DID contradict himself. Ha, ha! Here's aquestion you might ask him sometime when he's awake, girl. 'Can God makea stone so big He couldn't lift it Himself?' Don't forget now. I want tohear his opinion on it. I've stumped many a minister with that, girl."
Faith was glad to escape him and run home. Dan Reese, standing among thecrowd of boys at the gate, looked at her and shaped his mouth into"pig-girl," but dared not utter it aloud just there. Next day in schoolwas a different matter. At noon recess Faith encountered Dan in thelittle spruce plantation behind the school and Dan shouted once more,
"Pig-girl! Pig-girl! ROOSTER-GIRL!"
Walter Blythe suddenly rose from a mossy cushion behind a little clumpof firs where he had been reading. He was very pale, but his eyesblazed.
"You hold your tongue, Dan Reese!" he said.
"Oh, hello, Miss Walter," retorted Dan, not at all abashed. He vaultedairily to the top of the rail fence and chanted insultingly,
"Cowardy, cowardy-custard Stole a pot of mustard, Cowardy, cowardy-custard!"
"You are a coincidence!" said Walter scornfully, turning still whiter.He had only a very hazy idea what a coincidence was, but Dan had none atall and thought it must be something peculiarly opprobrious.
"Yah! Cowardy!" he yelled gain. "Your mother writes lies--lies--lies!And Faith Meredith is a pig-girl--a--pig-girl--a pig-girl! And she'sa rooster-girl--a rooster-girl--a rooster-girl! Yah!Cowardy--cowardy--cust--"
Dan got no further. Walter had hurled himself across the interveningspace and knocked Dan off the fence backward with one well-directedblow. Dan's sudden inglorious sprawl was greeted with a burst oflaughter and a clapping of hands from Faith. Dan sprang up, purple withrage, and began to climb the fence. But just then the school-bell rangand Dan knew what happened to boys who were late during Mr. Hazard'sregime.
"We'll fight this out," he howled. "Cowardy!"
"Any time you like," said Walter.
"Oh, no, no, Walter," protested Faith. "Don't fight him. _I_ don't mindwhat he says--I wouldn't condescend to mind the like of HIM."
"He insulted you and he insulted my mother," said Walter, with the samedeadly calm. "Tonight after school, Dan."
"I've got to go right home from school to pick taters after the harrows,dad says," answered Dan sulkily. "But to-morrow night'll do."
"All right--here to-morrow night," agreed Walter.
"And I'll smash your sissy-face for you," promised Dan.
Walter shuddered--not so much from fear of the threat as from repulsionover the ugliness and vulgarity of it. But he held his head high andmarched into school. Faith followed in a conflict of emotions. Shehated to think of Walter fighting that little sneak, but oh, he had beensplendid! And he was going to fight for HER--Faith Meredith--to punishher insulter! Of course he would win--such eyes spelled victory.
Faith's confidence in her champion had dimmed a little by evening,however. Walter had seemed so very quiet and dull the rest of the day inschool.
"If it were only Jem," she sighed to Una, as they sat on HezekiahPollock's tombstone in the graveyard. "HE is such a fighter--he couldfinish Dan off in no time. But Walter doesn't know much about fighting."
"I'm so afraid he'll be hurt," sighed Una, who hated fighting andcouldn't understand the subtle, secret exultation she divined in Faith.
"He oughtn't to be," said Faith uncomfortably. "He's every bit as big asDan."
"But Dan's so much older," said Una. "Why, he's nearly a year older."
"Dan hasn't done much fighting when you come to count up," said Faith."I believe he's really a coward. He didn't think Walter would fight,or he wouldn't have called names before him. Oh, if you could just haveseen Walter's face when he looked at him, Una! It made me shiver--with anice shiver. He looked just like Sir Galahad in that poem father read uson Saturday."
"I hate the thought of them fighting and I wish it could be stopped,"said Una.
"Oh, it's got to go on now," cried Faith. "It's a matter of honour.Don't you DARE tell anyone, Una. If you do I'll never tell you secretsagain!"
"I won't tell," agreed Una. "But I won't stay to-morrow to watch thefight. I'm coming right home."
"Oh, all right. _I_ have to be there--it would be mean not to,when Walter is fighting for me. I'm going to tie my colours on hisarm--that's the thing to do when he's my knight. How lucky Mrs. Blythegave me that pretty blue hair-ribbon for my birthday! I've only worn ittwice so it will be almost new. But I wish I was sure Walter would win.It will be so--so HUMILIATING if he doesn't."
Faith would have been yet more dubious if she could have seen herchampion just then. Walter had gone home from school with all hisrighteous anger at a low ebb and a very nasty feeling in its place. Hehad to fight Dan Reese the next night--and he didn't want to--he hatedthe thought of it. And he kept thinking of it all the time. Not for aminute could he get away from the thought. Would it hurt much? He wasterribly afraid that it would hurt. And would he be defeated and shamed?
He could not eat any supper worth speaking of. Susan had made a bigbatch of his favourite monkey-faces, but he could choke only one down.Jem ate four. Walter wondered how he could. How could ANYBODY eat? Andhow could they all talk gaily as they were doing? There was mother, withher shining eyes and pink cheeks. SHE didn't know her son had to fightnext day. Would she be so gay if she knew, Walter wondered darkly. Jemhad taken Susan's picture with his new camera and the result was passedaround the table and Susan was terribly indignant over it.
"I am no beauty, Mrs. Dr. dear, and well I know it, and have alwaysknown it," she said in an aggrieved tone, "but that I am as ugly as thatpicture makes me out I will never, no, never believe."
Jem laughed over this and Anne laughed again with him. Walter couldn'tendure it. He got up and fled to his room.
"That child has got something on his mind, Mrs. Dr. dear," said Susan."He has et next to nothing. Do you suppose he is plotting another poem?"
Poor Walter was very far removed in spirit from the starry realms ofpoesy just then. He propped his elbow on his open window-sill and leanedhis head drearily on his hands.
"Come on down to the shore, Walter," cried Jem, busting in. "The boysare going to burn the sand-hill grass to-night. Father says we can go.Come on."
At any other time Walter would have been delighted. He gloried in theburning of the sand-hill grass. But now he flatly refused to go, and noarguments or entreaties could move him. Disappointed Jem, who did notcare for the long dark walk to Four Winds Point alone, retreated to hismuseum in the garret and buried himself in a book. He soon forgot hisdisappointment, revelling with the heroes of old romance, and pausingoccasionally to picture himself a famous general, leading his troops tovictory on some great battlefield.
Walter sat at his window until bedtime. Di crept in, hoping
to be toldwhat was wrong, but Walter could not talk of it, even to Di. Talkingof it seemed to give it a reality from which he shrank. It was tortureenough to think of it. The crisp, withered leaves rustled on the mapletrees outside his window. The glow of rose and flame had died out ofthe hollow, silvery sky, and the full moon was rising gloriously overRainbow Valley. Afar off, a ruddy woodfire was painting a page of gloryon the horizon beyond the hills. It was a sharp, clear evening whenfar-away sounds were heard distinctly. A fox was barking across thepond; an engine was puffing down at the Glen station; a blue-jay wasscreaming madly in the maple grove; there was laughter over on the manselawn. How could people laugh? How could foxes and blue-jays and enginesbehave as if nothing were going to happen on the morrow?
"Oh, I wish it was over," groaned Walter.
He slept very little that night and had hard work choking down hisporridge in the morning. Susan WAS rather lavish in her platefuls. Mr.Hazard found him an unsatisfactory pupil that day. Faith Meredith's witsseemed to be wool-gathering, too. Dan Reese kept drawing surreptitiouspictures of girls, with pig or rooster heads, on his slate and holdingthem up for all to see. The news of the coming battle had leaked outand most of the boys and many of the girls were in the spruce plantationwhen Dan and Walter sought it after school. Una had gone home, but Faithwas there, having tied her blue ribbon around Walter's arm. Walterwas thankful that neither Jem nor Di nor Nan were among the crowd ofspectators. Somehow they had not heard of what was in the wind and hadgone home, too. Walter faced Dan quite undauntedly now. At the lastmoment all his fear had vanished, but he still felt disgust at the ideaof fighting. Dan, it was noted, was really paler under his freckles thanWalter was. One of the older boys gave the word and Dan struck Walter inthe face.
Walter reeled a little. The pain of the blow tingled through all hissensitive frame for a moment. Then he felt pain no longer. Something,such as he had never experienced before, seemed to roll over him likea flood. His face flushed crimson, his eyes burned like flame. Thescholars of Glen St. Mary school had never dreamed that "Miss Walter"could look like that. He hurled himself forward and closed with Dan likea young wildcat.
There were no particular rules in the fights of the Glen school boys. Itwas catch-as-catch can, and get your blows in anyhow. Walter fought witha savage fury and a joy in the struggle against which Dan could nothold his ground. It was all over very speedily. Walter had no clearconsciousness of what he was doing until suddenly the red mist clearedfrom his sight and he found himself kneeling on the body of theprostrate Dan whose nose--oh, horror!--was spouting blood.
"Have you had enough?" demanded Walter through his clenched teeth.
Dan sulkily admitted that he had.
"My mother doesn't write lies?"
"No."
"Faith Meredith isn't a pig-girl?"
"No."
"Nor a rooster-girl?"
"No."
"And I'm not a coward?"
"No."
Walter had intended to ask, "And you are a liar?" but pity intervenedand he did not humiliate Dan further. Besides, that blood was sohorrible.
"You can go, then," he said contemptuously.
There was a loud clapping from the boys who were perched on the railfence, but some of the girls were crying. They were frightened. They hadseen schoolboy fights before, but nothing like Walter as he had grappledwith Dan. There had been something terrifying about him. They thought hewould kill Dan. Now that all was over they sobbed hysterically--exceptFaith, who still stood tense and crimson cheeked.
Walter did not stay for any conqueror's meed. He sprang over the fenceand rushed down the spruce hill to Rainbow Valley. He felt none of thevictor's joy, but he felt a certain calm satisfaction in duty done andhonour avenged--mingled with a sickish qualm when he thought of Dan'sgory nose. It had been so ugly, and Walter hated ugliness.
Also, he began to realize that he himself was somewhat sore and batteredup. His lip was cut and swollen and one eye felt very strange. InRainbow Valley he encountered Mr. Meredith, who was coming home from anafternoon call on the Miss Wests. That reverend gentleman looked gravelyat him.
"It seems to me that you have been fighting, Walter?"
"Yes, sir," said Walter, expecting a scolding.
"What was it about?"
"Dan Reese said my mother wrote lies and that that Faith was apig-girl," answered Walter bluntly.
"Oh--h! Then you were certainly justified, Walter."
"Do you think it's right to fight, sir?" asked Walter curiously.
"Not always--and not often--but sometimes--yes, sometimes," said JohnMeredith. "When womenkind are insulted for instance--as in your case. Mymotto, Walter, is, don't fight till you're sure you ought to, and THENput every ounce of you into it. In spite of sundry discolorations Iinfer that you came off best."
"Yes. I made him take it all back."
"Very good--very good, indeed. I didn't think you were such a fighter,Walter."
"I never fought before--and I didn't want to right up to the last--andthen," said Walter, determined to make a clean breast of it, "I liked itwhile I was at it."
The Rev. John's eyes twinkled.
"You were--a little frightened--at first?"
"I was a whole lot frightened," said honest Walter. "But I'm not goingto be frightened any more, sir. Being frightened of things is worsethan the things themselves. I'm going to ask father to take me over toLowbridge to-morrow to get my tooth out."
"Right again. 'Fear is more pain than is the pain it fears.' Do you knowwho wrote that, Walter? It was Shakespeare. Was there any feeling oremotion or experience of the human heart that that wonderful man did notknow? When you go home tell your mother I am proud of you."
Walter did not tell her that, however; but he told her all the rest, andshe sympathized with him and told him she was glad he had stood up forher and Faith, and she anointed his sore spots and rubbed cologne on hisaching head.
"Are all mothers as nice as you?" asked Walter, hugging her. "You'reWORTH standing up for."
Miss Cornelia and Susan were in the living room when Anne camedownstairs, and listened to the story with much enjoyment. Susan inparticular was highly gratified.
"I am real glad to hear he has had a good fight, Mrs. Dr. dear. Perhapsit may knock that poetry nonsense out of him. And I never, no, nevercould bear that little viper of a Dan Reese. Will you not sit nearerto the fire, Mrs. Marshall Elliott? These November evenings are verychilly."
"Thank you, Susan, I'm not cold. I called at the manse before I camehere and got quite warm--though I had to go to the kitchen to do it, forthere was no fire anywhere else. The kitchen looked as if it hadbeen stirred up with a stick, believe ME. Mr. Meredith wasn't home. Icouldn't find out where he was, but I have an idea that he was up atthe Wests'. Do you know, Anne dearie, they say he has been going therefrequently all the fall and people are beginning to think he is going tosee Rosemary."
"He would get a very charming wife if he married Rosemary," said Anne,piling driftwood on the fire. "She is one of the most delightful girlsI've ever known--truly one of the race of Joseph."
"Ye--s--only she is an Episcopalian," said Miss Cornelia doubtfully. "Ofcourse, that is better than if she was a Methodist--but I do think Mr.Meredith could find a good enough wife in his own denomination. However,very likely there is nothing in it. It's only a month ago that I said tohim, 'You ought to marry again, Mr. Meredith.' He looked as shocked asif I had suggested something improper. 'My wife is in her grave, Mrs.Elliott,' he said, in that gentle, saintly way of his. 'I suppose so,'I said, 'or I wouldn't be advising you to marry again.' Then he lookedmore shocked than ever. So I doubt if there is much in this Rosemarystory. If a single minister calls twice at a house where there is asingle woman all the gossips have it he is courting her."
"It seems to me--if I may presume to say so--that Mr. Meredith is tooshy to go courting a second wife," said Susan solemnly.
"He ISN'T shy, believe ME," retorted Miss Cornelia."Absent-minded,
--yes--but shy, no. And for all he is so abstracted anddreamy he has a very good opinion of himself, man-like, and when he isreally awake he wouldn't think it much of a chore to ask any woman tohave him. No, the trouble is, he's deluding himself into believing thathis heart is buried, while all the time it's beating away inside of himjust like anybody else's. He may have a notion of Rosemary West and hemay not. If he has, we must make the best of it. She is a sweet girland a fine housekeeper, and would make a good mother for those poor,neglected children. And," concluded Miss Cornelia resignedly, "my owngrandmother was an Episcopalian."
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