CHAPTER V
SACKCLOTH AND ASHES
Just at dusk one cold, rainy night late in August, a shabby, weary, wet,old man plodded through the dripping woods, across the stone bridge, andup the road toward Parker. He had come a long way through mud andmoisture, and was very tired, yet the first three farmhouses he passedby with scarcely a glance. But as he neared the fourth one, he eagerlyscanned the place as if familiar with its surroundings, and listenedintently for the sound of voices, seeming disappointed at the result,for apparently not a creature was stirring indoors or out. Not even oldTowzer came to challenge him as he unlatched the gate and approached thehouse, and not a ray of light shone out into the darkness from window ordoor, though it was yet early evening. The place was as silent as agrave. Puzzled, the man made a circuit of the cottage, but neither sawnor heard anything of the occupants.
"I wonder what has happened," he thought to himself. "Guess I won'tknock, it might scare them if they have gone to bed. Maybe they are awayvisiting. I will just slip into the barn and go to bed in the hay. LuckyI had a big dinner, I am not in the least hungry now, and if they areat home I can get breakfast here in the morning--I guess."
He had tramped many long miles since dawn, trying to reach this townbefore nightfall, and was so worn out with his exertions that he fellasleep almost as soon as he had burrowed a comfortable bed in thesweet-scented hay, nor did he awake until the new day was several hoursold. The sun was shining--he could tell that from the bright light inthe barn, but it was not the sunshine which had awakened him.
The first thing he was conscious of as he opened his eyes to unfamiliarsurroundings was the sound of voices close by, and the patter of feet onthe loose boards overhead. Cautiously he lifted himself on his elbow andlooked about him, but at first he saw only an untidy confusion of gardentools, boxes, bags and other truck, piled promiscuously about whereverspace would accommodate them. Then as his eyes became more accustomed tothe light, he discovered a slender, brown-haired girl in a faded, dingy,calico gown huddled on top of a pile of empty grain sacks in the darkestcorner of the barn. Her face was turned from him, but from her attitudeand the sound of an occasional sniff, he judged that she had beencrying. Her companion on the rafters overhead was out of range of hisvision; but as she scrambled noisily over the loose board floor, whichextended only half way across the building, he could catch a glimpse ofred now and then, and once a bare, brown foot appeared in view, but thatwas all. Not daring to make his presence known for fear of frighteningthe two sisters, he drew silently back into his hiding place to awaittheir departure.
Sniff, sniff, sniff! The slender shoulders of the girl in the cornerbegan to heave, and she buried her face deeper among the grain sacks.Silence on the rafters for a brief moment; then a voice said severely,"'F I was you, Faith Greenfield, I'd stop crying and go into the houseand help Gail. She is trying to do the washing herself so's to savemoney."
"'F I was you, Peace Greenfield," was the tart reply, "I'd try to mindmy business once in a while, and not be forever poking my nose intoother folks' affairs."
"Guess this is my affair as much as 'tis yours!" answered Peace sharply,and the listener in the hay below fancied there was the suggestion of asob in her voice.
"It's none of your affair if I want to come out here by myself, but youcan't even let me alone here. You are always snooping around to see whatI am doing."
"I am _not_ snooping!" was the indignant denial. "I'm hunting eggs forbreakfast, and I was here first, 'cause I saw you come in bawling."
"Bawling!" Faith leaped to her feet in wild fury. "You know well enoughwhy I am crying. You would be crying, too, if you cared like I do."
"I can cry with my heart without stopping to cry with my eyes," Peaceanswered soberly. "I haven't time to sit down and bawl. Someone's got torun errands and help Gail. S'posing we all sat up and cried all the timelike you are doing. Who would get breakfast and dinner and supper, I'dlike to know? And who would 'tend to the work?"
"Who wants any breakfast or dinner or supper? I am sure I don't! Ihaven't the heart to eat. I _can't_ eat!"
"Dr. Bainbridge told us we must, and so did Mr. Strong; and he told usto keep busy, too. It helps you to forget the ache if you work."
"Forget! You don't care; that's why--" There was a sudden movement onthe rafters above, and an egg came hurtling through the barn, smashingon the wall close by Faith's head--so close that a shower of littleyellow spatters flew over her face and dress. "Peace Greenfield!"
"You haven't got half what you deserve," said a tense, hard voice fromabove. "I ought to have slung the whole batch, even if we'd had to gowithout breakfast. I'd like to know how _you_ can tell whether you caremore than the rest of us. You think you are the only one that knows howto be sorry."
There was a sudden silence--deep, ominous, it seemed to the man in thehay, and he ventured to peep out at the combatants, but all he saw wasFaith standing rigid and white-faced in the corner. When she spoke, hervoice was frigid in its intensity.
"Come down from those beams, Peace Greenfield, and take the rest ofthose eggs to the house!"
"I am coming down as fast as I can," began Peace's voice, equallyfrigid. Then there was a sound of ripping, a dreadful clatter, a dullthud, and Faith rushed forward with the agonized scream, "Oh, Peace,Peace, are you hurt? I am sorry I was ugly! You _do_ care! Open youreyes, Peace! Oh-h-h-h!"
The tramp started up in dismay, to behold Peace huddled in a heap at thefoot of the ladder, with frantic Faith bending over her. Before he hadstepped from the haymow, however, there was a rush of feet from without,and four frightened girls dashed into the barn, followed by a tall,young man in clerical garb; and the shabby figure slunk back into hishiding place without making his presence known.
"What's the matter?"
"How did it happen?"
"Is she dead?"
"Run for the doctor!" cried the excited voices.
"Oh, Gail, I've killed her, I've killed her!" sobbed Faith.
"Stand back, girls," quietly commanded the minister, pushing thetrembling quartette almost roughly aside. "Let me examine her. Perhapsshe is only--"
"I'm every bit all right," exclaimed Peace crossly, winking her browneyes dazedly. "The fall _stunted_ me, I guess. I lit on my head. So didthe eggs. Mercy me! What a mess!"
"But look at her face!" wailed frightened and penitent Faith. "She hasturned black, and so have her hands!"
She certainly _had_ changed her color.
At Faith's despairing cry, the victim of the fall raised one of herbrown hands and looked at it fixedly; then said briefly, "That's ashes.It's on my face, too. It will wash off, won't it?"
Without reply, the minister lifted her to her feet and drew her into thedoorway where the sunlight fell upon her. The sisters looked at thegrotesque picture, and exclamations of horror and dismay burst fromtheir lips.
"Peace, what have you done to yourself?"
"Are you sick?"
"What have you got on?"
She presented a strange appearance, truly, draped in dirty, raggedburlap, with face, hands and hair covered with ashes, and smeared fromhead to foot with broken eggs and bits of eggshell.
The tramp hid his face in the hay to stifle his chuckles, the ministercovered his twitching lips with his hands, but the little group ofsisters gazed at the apparition with only horror in their eyes.
Then, to everyone's amazement, Peace began to cry. In an instant Gailhad slipped her arms around her, and had drawn the brown head down onher shoulder, where for a moment the child sobbed heartbrokenly. Then,with a mighty gulp, she swallowed back her grief and explained, "I heardHope reading about the people who put on ash-cloth and sashes--I meansackcloth and ashes whenever any one of their family died, so's theangels would let the soul into heaven. No one did that when papadied--and we don't know whether he ever got to heaven or not--but he's aman and could take care of himself, s'posing he didn't get in. Withmother it's different, though. She's a ninvalid, and I couldn't bear tothi
nk of her outside the gates all alone with none of us to take care ofher--so I put on potato sacks--that's sackcloth, ain't it?--and ashes.The eggs got there by mistake. They were whole when I began to climbdown that ladder."
The picture was so ludicrous, the explanation so piteous, that betweentheir wild desire to laugh and the stronger desire to cry, it was ahysterical group who closed in once more about the grotesque littlefigure, while the earnest-hearted, sympathetic young preacher swept awayPeace's fears, and gave her the comfort and assurance she sought.
"Sackcloth and ashes were merely outward signs of mourning for nationsin ages past," he told her. "It didn't help anyone get into heaven. Itdidn't even show how great were their sorrow and grief; and when peoplecame to realize that, they ceased to follow the custom. God knows howsorrowful we are, for He can read our very thoughts. It doesn't needsackcloth and ashes to carry our loved ones home, dear. They lived good,noble, true lives in His sight while they were here on earth, and now Hehas taken them home--inside the Gates--to live with Him always."
"You are sure?" hiccoughed Peace.
"Perfectly sure! The Bible tells us so."
"Where? I want to see for myself."
He drew a worn Testament from his pocket, turned to the FourteenthChapter of St. John, and slowly, impressively read those beautifulwords, "In my Father's house are many mansions," explaining hisunderstanding of the passage so clearly, so comfortingly that finallythe tears were dried and the aching hearts soothed.
At length the grief-stricken company repaired to the house for theirbelated breakfast, while the tramp, touched to the quick by the pathosof the scene he had just witnessed, made his way across the fields andthrough the woods, leaving only a crumpled ten-dollar bill among thegrain sacks to tell of his visit.
At the Little Brown House Page 5
