Westways: A Village Chronicle

by S. Weir Mitchell

  CHAPTER VI

  It was now four days since John's sentence had been pronounced, and notto be allowed to swim in the heat of a hot September added to theseverity of the penalty. The heat as usual made tempers hot andcircumstances variously disturbed the household of Grey Pine. Politicsvexed and business troubled the master. Of the one he could not talk tohis wife--of the other he would not at present, hoping for betterbusiness conditions, and feeling that politics and business were nowtoo nearly related to keep them apart. Ann, his wife, thought himdepressed--a rare mood for him. Perhaps it was the unusual moist heat. Hesaid, "Yes, yes, dear, one does feel it." She did not guess that theobvious unhappiness of the lad who had won the soldier's heart was beingfelt by Penhallow without his seeing how he could end it and yet notlessen the value of a just verdict.

  Of all those concerned Leila was the one most troubled. On this hotafternoon she saw John disappear into the forest. When Mrs. Ann came outon the porch where she had for a minute left the girl, she saw hersewing-bag on a chair and caught sight of the flowing hair and agileyoung figure as she set a hand on the low stone wall of the garden andwas over and lost among the trees. "Leila, Leila," cried Mrs. Ann, "Itold you to finish--" It was useless. "Everything goes wrong to-day,"she murmured. "Well, school will civilize that young barbarian, and shemust have longer skirts." This was a sore subject and Leila had beenvainly rebellious.

  Meanwhile the flying girl overtook John, who had things to think aboutand wished to be alone. "Well," he said, with some impatience, "what isit?"

  "Oh, I just wanted a walk, and don't be cross, John."

  He looked at her, and perhaps for the first time had the male perceptionof the beauty of the disordered hair, the pleading look of the blue eyes,and the brilliant colour of the eager flushed face. It was the hair--thewonderful hair. She threw it back as she stood. No one could long becross to Leila. Even her resolute aunt was sometimes defeated by herunconquerable sweetness.

  "I am so sorry for you, John," she said.

  "Well, I am not, Leila, if you mean that Uncle Jim was hard on me."

  "Yes, he was, and I mean to tell him--I do."

  "Please not." She said nothing in the way of reply, but only, "Let us goand see the spring."

  "Well, come along."

  They wandered far into the untouched forest. "Ah! here it is," she cried.A spring of water ran out from among the anchoring roots of a huge blackspruce. He stood gazing down at it.

  "Oh, Leila, isn't it wonderful?"

  "Were you never here before, John?"

  "No, never. It seems as if it was born out of the tree. No wonder thisspruce grew so tall and strong. How cold it must keep the old fellow'stoes."

  "What queer ideas you have, John." She had not yet the gift of fancy,long denied to some in the emergent years of approaching womanhood. "I amtired, John," she said, as she dropped with hands clasped behind her headand hidden in the glorious abundance of darkening red hair, which layaround her on the brown pine-needles like the disordered aureole of somecareless-minded saint.

  John said, "It is this terrible heat. I never before heard you complainof being tired."

  "Oh, it's just nice tired." She lay still, comfortable, with open eyesstaring up at the intense blue of the September sky seen through thewide-east limbs of pine and spruce. The little rill, scarce a fingerthickness of water, crawled out lazily between the roots and trickledaway. The girl was in empty-minded enjoyment of the luxury of completerelaxation of every muscle of her strong young body. The spring wasnoiseless, no leaf was astir in all the forest around them. The girl laystill, a part of the vast quietness.

  John Penhallow stood a moment, and then said, "Good gracious! Leila, youreyes are blue." It was true. When big eyes are wide open staring up atthe comrade blue of the deep blue sky, they win a certain beauty of addedcolour like little quiet lakelets under the azure sky when no winddisturbs their power of reflecting capture.

  "Oh, John, and didn't you know my eyes were blue?" She spoke with languidinterest in the fact he announced.

  "But," he said, looking down at her as he stood, "they're so--sovery blue."

  "Oh, all the Greys have blue eyes."

  He laughed gentle laughter and dropped on the pine-needles of the forestfloor. The spring lay between them. He felt, as she did not, the charm ofthe stillness. He wanted to find words in which to put his desire forexpression. She broke into his mood of imaginative seekings.

  "How cold it is," she said, gathering the water in the cup of her hand,and then with both hands did better and got a refreshing drink.

  "That makes a better cup," he said. "Let us follow the water to theriver."

  "It never gets there. It runs into Lonesome Man's swamp, and that's theend of him."

  "Who, Lonesome Man or the spring? And who was Lonesome Man?"

  "Nobody knows. What does it matter?"

  He watched her toy with the new-born rill, a mere thread of water, builda Lilliputian dam, and muddle the clear outflow as it broke, and thenbuild again. He had the thought that she had suddenly become younger,more like a child, and he himself older.

  "Why don't you talk, John?" she said.

  "I can't. I am wondering about that Lonesome Man and what the trees arethinking. Don't you feel how still it is? It's disrespectful to gabblebefore your betters." He felt it and said it without affectation, but asusual his mood of wandering thought failed to interest Leila.

  "I hate it when it's quiet! I like to hear the wind howl in the pines--"

  He expressed his annoyance. "You never want to talk anything but horsesand swimming. Wait till you come back next spring with long skirts--sucha nice well-behaved Miss Grey." He was, in familiar phrase, out of sorts,with a bit of will to annoy a disappointing companion. His mild efforthad no success.

  "Oh, John, it's awful! You ought to be sorry for me. The more you grow upthe more your skirts grow down. Bother their manners! Who cares! Let's gohome. It feels just as if it was Sunday."

  "It is, in the woods. Well, come along." He walked on in the silence, shethinking of that alarming prospect of school, and he of the escapedslave's secret and, what struck the boy most--the hawk. Never before hadhe been told anything which was to be sacredly guarded from others. Itgave him now a pleasant feeling of having been trusted. Suppose Leila hadbeen told such a thing, how would she feel, and Aunt Ann? He was like aman who has too large a deposit in a doubtful bank. He was vaguely uneasylest he might tell or in some way betray his sense of possessing aperson's confidence.

  As they came near the house, Leila said, "Catch me, I'll run you home."

  "Tag," he cried.

  As they came to the side porch, Ann Penhallow said, "Finish thathandkerchief--now, at once. It is time you were taught other than tom-boyways."

  John went by into the house. After dinner the Squire had his usual gameof whist, always to the dissatisfaction of Leila, whose thoughts wanderedlike birds on the wing, from twig to twig. John usually played farbetter, but just now worse than his cousin, and forgot or revoked, to hisuncle's disgust. A man of rather settled habits, now as usual Penhallowwent to his library for the company of the pipe, which Ann disliked, andthe _Tribune_, which she regarded as the organ of Satanic politics.Seeing both John and her aunt absorbed in their books, Leila passedquickly back of them, opened the library door, and said softly, "May Icome in, Uncle Jim?"

  During the last few days he had missed, and he well knew why, John'svisits and intelligent questions. Leila was welcome. "Why, of course,pussy cat. Come in. Shut the door; your aunt dislikes the pipe smoke. Sitdown." For some reason she desired to stand. "Don't stand," he said, "sitdown on my knee." She obeyed. "There," he said, "that's comfy. How heavyyou are. Good gracious, child! what am I to do without you?"

  "Isn't it awful, Uncle Jim."

  "It is--it is. What do you want, my dear? Anything wrong with thehorses?"

  "No, sir. It's--John--"

  "Oh! it's John. Well, what is it?"

  "It isn't John--it's
John and the horses--I mean John and Dixy. Patrickrides Dixy for exercise every day."

  "Well, what's the matter? First it's John, then Dixy, then John and Dixy,and then John and Dixy and Pat."

  The girl saw through the amusement he had in teasing her and said withgravity, "I wish you would be serious, Uncle Jim. I want five minutes ofuninterrupted attention."

  The Squire exploded, "Good gracious! that is Ann Grey all over. You musthave heard her say it."

  "I did, and you listen, too. Sometimes you don't, Uncle Jim. I guess youweren't well broke when you were young."

  "Great Scott! you minx! Some day a girl I know will have to stand atattention. Go ahead."

  "Pat's ruining Dixy's mouth. You ought to see him sawing at the curb. Youalways rode him on the snaffle."

  "That boy Pat needs a good licking, Leila."

  "But Dixy don't. The fact is, Uncle Jim, you're neglecting the stablesfor politics."

  "Is that your own wisdom, Miss Grey? What with the weight of wisdom andyears, you're getting heavy. Try a chair."

  "No, I'm quite comfy. It was Josiah who told me. He often comes up tolook over the colts, of a Sunday--"

  "Nice work for Sunday, Miss Grey."

  She made no direct reply. "He told me that horse ought to be riddenby--by John or you, and no one else. He says the way to ruin a horse isto have a lot of people ride him like Pat--they're just spoiling Dixy--"

  "What! in four days? Nonsense."

  "But," said the counsel in the case, "it's to be ten. It isn't aboutJohn, it's Dixy's mouth, uncle."

  "Oh, you darling little liar!" Here she kissed him and was silent. "Itwon't do," he said. "There's no logic in a kiss, Miss Grey. First comesAnn Grey and says, too much army discipline; and then you tell me whatthat gossiping old darkey says, and then you try the final argument--akiss. Can't do it. There will be an end of all discipline. I hatepractical jokes. There!"

  If he thought to finish the matter thus, he much undervalued theingenuity and persistency of the young Portia who was now conducting thecase.

  "Suppose you take a chair, Miss Grey. It is rather warm to providepermanent human seats for stout young women--"

  "I'm not stout," said Leila with emphasis, accepting the hint by droppingwith coiled legs upon a cushion at his feet. "I'm not stout. I weigh onehundred and thirty and a half pounds. And oh! isn't it hot. I haven't hada swim for--oh, at least five days counting Sunday." The pool was keptfree until noon for Leila and her aunt.

  "Why didn't you swim?" he asked lightly, being too intellectually busyclearing his pipe to see where the leading counsel was conducting him.

  "Why, Uncle Jim, I wouldn't swim if John wasn't allowed too; I justcouldn't. I'm going to bed--but, please, don't let Pat ride Dixy."

  "I can attend to my stables, Miss Grey. John won't die of heat for wantof a swim. You don't seem to concern yourself with those equallyoverbaked young scamps in Westways."

  "Uncle Jim, you're just real mean to-night. Josiah told me yesterday thatmy cousin beat Tom McGregor because he said it was mean of you to stopthe swimming. John said it was just, and Tom said he was a liar, and--oh,my! John licked him--wish I'd seen it."

  This was news quite to his liking. He made no reply, lost in wonder overthe ways of the mind male and female.

  "You ought to be ashamed, you a girl, to want to see a fight. It's timeyou went to school. Isn't the rector on the porch? I thought I heardhim."

  Now, of late Leila had got to that stage of the game ofthought-interchange when the young proudly use newly acquiredword-counters. "I think, Uncle Jim, you're--you're irreverent."

  The Squire shut the door on all outward show of mirth, and said gravely,"Isn't it pronounced irrelevant, my dear Miss Malaprop?"

  "Yes--yes," said Leila. "That's a word John uses. It's just short for'flying the track'!"

  "Any other stable slang, Leila?"

  He was by habit averse to changing his decisions, and outside of AnnPenhallow's range of authority the Squire's discipline was undisputed andhis decrees obeyed. He had been pleased and gaily amused for this halfhour, but was of a mind to leave unchanged the penalties he hadinflicted.

  "Are you through, with this nonsense, Leila?" he said as he rose. "Isthis an ingenious little game set up between you and John?" To his utteramazement she began to cry.

  "By George!" he said, "don't cry," which is what a kind man always sayswhen presented with the riddle of tears.

  She drew a brown fist across her wet cheeks and said indignantly, "Mycousin is a gentleman."

  She turned to go by him. "No, dear, wait a moment." He held her arm.

  "Please, let me go. When John first came, you said he was a prig--andif he would just do some boy-mischief and kick up his heels like atwo-year-old with some fun in him--you said he was a sort ofgirl-boy--" There were for punctuation sobs and silences.

  "And where did you get all this about a prig?" he broke in, amazed.

  "Oh, I heard you tell Aunt Ann. And now," said Portia, "the first time hedoes a real nice jolly piece of mischief you come down on him like--likea thousand of bricks." Her slang was reserved for the Squire, as he wellknew.

  The blue eyes shining with tears looked up from under the gloriousdisorder of the mass of hair. It was too much for the man.

  "How darned logical you are!" He acknowledged some consciousness ofhaving been inconsistent. He had said one thing and done another. "Youare worse than your aunt." Then Leila knew that Ann Penhallow had talkedto the Squire. "Well," he said, "what's your opinion, Miss Grey?"

  "I think you're distanced."

  "What--what! Wait a little. You may tell that young man to ride when hepleases and to swim, and to tell those scamps it's too hot to deprivethem of the use of the pool. There, now get out!"

  "But--Uncle Jim--I--can't. Oh, I really can't. You've got to do ityourself." This he much disliked to do.

  "I hear your aunt calling. Mr. Rivers is going."

  She kissed him. "Now, don't wait, Uncle Jim, and don't scold John. He'sbeen no use for these four days. Goodnight," and she left him.

  "Well, well," he said, "I suppose I've got to do it."

  He found Ann alone.

  "About John! I can't stand up against you two. He is to be let off aboutthe riding and swimming. I think you may find it pleasant to tell him, mydear."

  She said gravely, "It will come with more propriety from you; but I dothink you are right." Then he knew that he had to do it himself.

  "Very well, dear," he said. "How that girl is developing. It is time shehad other company than John, but Lord! how I shall miss her--"

  "And I, James."

  He went out for the walk he generally took before bed-time. She lingered,putting things in order on her work-table, wondering what Leila couldhave said to thus influence a man the village described as "set in hisways." She was curious to know, but not of a mind to question Leila.Before going to bed, she went to her own sitting-room on the left of thehall. It was sacred to domestic and church business. It held a few booksand was secured by long custom from men's tobacco smoke. She sat down andwrote to her cousin, George Grey.

  "DEAR GEORGE: If politics do not keep you, we shall look for you thismonth. There are colts to criticize and talk over, Leila is eager to seeher unknown cousin before she goes to school near Baltimore thisSeptember.

  "I believe this town will go for Buchanan, but I am not sure. James andI, as you know, never talk politics. I am distressed to believe as I dothat he will vote for Fremont; that 'the great, the appalling issue,' asMr. Buchanan says, 'is union or disunion' does not seem to affect him. Iread Forney's paper, and James reads that wild abolition _Tribune_. It isvery dreadful, and I am without any one I can talk to. My much lovedrector is an extreme antislavery man.

  "Yours always,ANN PENHALLOW.

  "I am not at all sure of you. Be certain to let us know when to expectyou. You know you are--well, I leave your social conscience to say what.

  "Yours sincerely,ANN PENHALLOW."


  At breakfast Ann Penhallow sat down to the coffee-urn distributingcheerful good-mornings. The Squire murmured absently over his napkin,"May the Lord make us thankful for this and all the blessings of life."He occasionally varied his grace, and sometimes to Ann's amazement. Whyshould he ask to be made thankful, she reflected. These occasional slipsand variations on the simple phrase of gratitude she had come torecognize as signs of preoccupation, and now glanced at her husband,anxious always when he was concerned. Then, as he turned to John, sheunderstood that between his trained belief in the usefulness ofinexorable discipline and an almost womanly tenderness of affection theheart had somehow won. She knew him well and at times read with ease thesigns of distress and annoyance or resolute decision. Usually he was gayand merry at breakfast, chaffing the children and eating with theappetite of a man who was using and renewing his tissues in a wholesomeway. Now he was silent, absent, and ate little. He was the victim of acombination of annoyances. Had he been wise to commit himself to areversal of his sentence? Other and more important matters troubled him,but as usual where bothers come in battalions it is the lesserskirmishers who are felt for the moment.

  "I see in the hall, Ann," he said, "a letter for George Grey--I will mailit. When does he come?"

  "I do not know."

  "John," he said, "you will oblige me by riding to the mill and asking Dr.McGregor to come to Westways and see old Josiah. Of course, he willcharge it to me." The Squire was a little ashamed of this indirectconfession of retreat.

  John looked up, hesitated a moment, and said, "What horse, sir?"

  "Dixy, of course."

  "Another cup, James," said Mrs. Ann tranquilly amused.

  John rose, went around the table to his uncle, and said in his finestmanner, "I am greatly obliged, sir."

  "Oh, nonsense! He's rather fresh, take care."

  Then Leila said, "It's very hot, Uncle Jim."

  "You small fiend," said Penhallow. "Hot! On your way, John, tell thoserascals at Westways they may use the pond." The faint smile on AnnPenhallow's face somehow set the whole business in an agreeably humorouslight. The Squire broke into the relief of laughter and rose saying, "Getout of this, all of you, if you want to keep your scalps."

  John went to the stable not quite pleased. He had felt that hispunishment for a boy-frolic and the unexpected results of Billy's alarmhad been pretty large. His aunt had not said so to him, but had made itclear to her husband that the penalty was quite disproportioned to thesize of the offence; a remark which had made him the more resolute not todisturb the course of justice; and now this chit of a girl had made himseem like an irresolute fool, and he would have to explain to Rivers, whowould laugh. As he went out of the hall-door, he felt a pretty roughlittle paw in his hand and heard a whisper. "You're just the dearestthing ever was."

  Concerning John Penhallow, it is to be said that he did not understandwhy he was let off so easily. He had a suspicion that Leila wassomehow concerned, and also the feeling that he would rather havesuffered to the end. However, it would be rather good fun to announcethis swimming-permit to the boys.

  Seeing from his shop door John riding down the avenue, Josiah camelimping across the road. He leaned on the gate facing the boy and lookingover the horse and rider with the pleasure of one who, as the Squireliked to say, knew when horse-flesh and man-flesh were suitably matched.

  "Girth's a bit slack, Master John. Always look it over, sir, before youmount."

  "Thanks, Josiah. Open the gate, please. How lame you are. I am to sendthe doctor to look after you and Peter Lamb."

  The big black man opened the gate and adjusted the girth. "That's rightnow. I've got the worst rheumatics I ever did have. Peter Lamb's sicktoo. That's apple-whisky. The Squire's mighty patient with that man,because his mother nursed the Squire when he was a baby. They're near ofan age, but you wouldn't think it to look at Peter and the Captain;whisky does hurry up Old Time a lot." And so John got the town gossip."I ain't no faith in doctorin' rheumatics; wouldn't have him now if Ihadn't lost my old buck-eye. My rabbit-foot's turned grey this week.That's a sign of trouble."

  John laughed and rode from the gate on which Leila had invited him toindulge in the luxury of swinging. It seemed years ago since she had sungto his astonishment the lyric of the gate. She appeared to him now notmuch older. And how completely he felt at home. He rode along the oldpike through Westways, nodding to Mrs. Lamb, the mother of the scamp whomthe Squire was every now and then saving from the consequences of thecombination of a revengeful nature and bad whisky. Then Billy hailed Johnwith malicious simplicity.

  "Halloa!--John--can't swim--can't swim--ho, ho!"

  The butcher's small boy was loading meat on a cart. John stayed to say aword to him, pleased to have the chance, as the boy grinned at Billy'smocking malice. "Halloa! Pole," he called. "My uncle says we fellows mayswim. Tell the other fellows."

  "Gosh! but that's good--John. I'll tell 'em."

  John rode on and fell to thinking of Leila, with some humiliatingsuspicion in regard to her share in the Squire's change of mind; or wasit Aunt Ann's influence? And why did he himself not altogether like it?Why should his aunt and Leila interfere? He wished they had let thematter alone. What had a girl to do with it? He was again conscious thathe felt of a sudden older than Leila, and did not fully realize that inthe race of life he had gone swiftly past her during these few months,and that in the next year she in turn would sweep past him in thedevelopmental changes of life. Now she seemed to him more timid, morechildlike than usual; but long thinkings are not of the psychic habits ofnormal youth, and Dixy recovered his attention.

  He satisfied the well-bred horse, who of late had been losing his temperin the society of a rough groom, ignorant of the necessity for goodmanners with horses. Neither strange noises nor machines disturbed Dixyas John rode through the busy iron-mills to the door of a small brickhouse, so well known that no sign announced it as the home of the onlymedical man available at the mills or in Westways. John tied Dixy to thehitching-post, gnawed by the doctor's horse during long hours of waitingon an unpunctual man.

  The doors were open, and as John entered he was aware of an odour ofdrugs and saw Dr. McGregor sound asleep in an armchair, a red silkhandkerchief over his bald head, and a swarm of disappointed flieshovering above him. In the back room the clink and rattle of a pestle andmortar ceased as Tom appeared.

  John, in high good-humour, said, "Good afternoon, Tom. My uncle has letup on the swimming. He asked me to let you fellows know."

  "It's about time," said Tom crossly. "After all it was your fault and wehad to pay for it."

  "Now, Tom, you made me pretty angry when you talked to me the other day,and if you want to get me into another row, I won't object; but I was notasked for any names, and I did not put the blame on any one. Can't youbelieve a fellow?"

  "No, I can't. If that parson hadn't come, I'd have licked you."

  "Perhaps," said John.

  "Isn't any perhaps about it. You look out, that's all."

  John laughed. He was just now what the Squire described as horse-happyand indisposed to quarrel. "Suppose you wake up the old gentleman. He_can_ snore."

  Tom shook the doctor's shoulder, "Wake up, Dad. Here's John Penhallow."

  The Doctor sat up and pulled off his handkerchief. The flies fell uponhis bald pate. "Darn the flies," he said. "What is it, John?"

  "My uncle wants you to come to Westways to-morrow and doctor old Josiah'srheumatism."

  "I'll come."

  "He wants you to look after Peter Lamb. He's been drinking again."

  "What! that whisky-rotted scamp. It's pure waste of time. How the samemilk came to feed the Squire and that beast the Lord knows. He has nomore morals than a tom-cat. I'll come, but it's waste of good doctoring."Here he turned his rising temper on Tom. "You and my boy have been havinga fight. You licked him and saved me the trouble. I heard from Mr.Rivers what Tom said."

  "It was no one's business but Tom's and mine," returned John much amusedto
know that the peaceful rector must have watched the fight andoverheard what caused it. Tom scowled, and the peacemaking old doctor gotup, adding, "Be more gentle with Tom next time."

  Tom knew better than to reply and went back to pill-making furious andhumiliated.

  "Good-bye, John," said the Doctor. "I'll see the Squire after I havedoctored that whisky sponge." Then John rode home on Dixy.