by E. W. Howe
CHAPTER VIII.
A REMARKABLE GIRL.
Annie Benton had said that she usually practised once a week in thechurch; and during the lonely days after his first meeting with her,Allan Dorris began to wonder when he should see her again. The sight ofher, and the sound of her voice, and her magic music, had afforded him astrange pleasure, and he thought about her so much that his mindexperienced relief from the thoughts that had made him restless and illat ease. But he heard nothing of her, except from Mrs. Wedge, who was asloud in her praise as ever; though he looked for her as he rode about onhis business affairs, and a few times he had walked by her father'shouse, after dark, and looked at its substantial exterior.
There was something about the girl which fascinated him. It may havebeen only the music, but certainly he longed for her appearance, andlistened attentively for notice of her presence whenever he walked inhis yard, which was his custom so much of late that he had worn pathsunder the trees; for had he secured all the business in Davy's Bend hewould still have had a great deal of time on his hands.
During these weeks he sometimes accused himself of being in love with agirl he had seen but once, and laughed at the idea as absurd andpreposterous; but this did not drive thoughts of Annie Benton out of hismind, for he stopped to listen at every turn for sounds of her presence.After listening during the hours of the day when he was not occupied, heusually walked in the path for a while at night, hoping it might bepossible that she had changed her hours, and would come to practiseafter the cares and duties of the day were over. He could see from hisown window that the church was dark; but he had little to do, so he tooka turn in the path down by the wall to convince himself that she was notplaying softly, without a light, to give her fancy free rein. But he wasalways disappointed; and, after finding that his watching was hopeless,he went out at the iron gate in front, and walked along the roads untilhe recovered from his disappointment sufficiently to enter his own home.
This was his daily experience for several weeks after his first meetingwith the girl, for even the Sunday services were neglected for thatlength of time on account of the pastor, who was away recruiting hishealth; when one afternoon he heard the tones of his old friend theorgan again. Climbing up on the wall, and looking at the girl throughthe broken window, he imagined that she was not playing with the oldearnestness, and certainly she frequently looked toward the door, as ifexpecting someone. Jumping down from the wall, he went around to thefront door, which he found open, and entered the church. The girl heardhis step on the threshold, and was looking toward him when he came in atthe door leading from the vestibule.
"I seem to have known you a long time," he said, as he sat down nearher, after exchanging the small civilities that were necessary under thecircumstances, "and I have been waiting for you as anxiously as thoughyou were my best friend. I have been very busy all my life, and I don'tenjoy idleness, though I imagined when I was working hard that I wouldrelish a season of rest. I have little to do here except to wait for youand listen to the music. Had you delayed your coming many days longer Ishould have called on you at your home. You are the only acquaintance Ihave in the town whose society I covet."
There was no mistaking that the girl had been expecting him, and thatshe was pleased that he came in so promptly. Her manner indicated it,and she was perfectly willing to neglect her practice for his company,which had not been the case before. She was better dressed, too; andsurely she would have been disappointed had not Dorris made hisappearance.
Annie Benton, like her father, improved on acquaintance. She was neithertoo tall nor too short, and, although he was not an expert in suchmatters, Dorris imagined that her figure would have been a study for asculptor. A woman so well formed as to attract no particular comment onfirst acquaintance, he thought; but he remarked now, as he lookedsteadily at her, that there was a remarkable regularity in her features.There are women who do not bear close inspection, but Annie Benton couldnot be appreciated without it. Her smile surprised every one, because ofits beauty; but the observer soon forgot that in admiring her prettyteeth, and both these were forgotten when she spoke, as she did now toDorris, tiring of being looked at; for her voice was musical, andthoroughly under control:
"I have dreaded to even pass The Locks at night ever since I canremember," she said with some hesitation, not knowing exactly how totreat the frankness with which he acknowledged the pleasure her presenceafforded him, "and I don't wonder that anyone living in it alone islonely. They say there is a ghost there, and a mysterious light, and afootstep on the stair; and I am almost afraid to talk about it."
Allan Dorris had a habit of losing himself in thought when in the midstof a conversation, and though he said he had been waiting patiently tohear the music, it did not arouse him, for the girl had tired of waitingfor his reply, and gone to playing.
Now that he was in her presence he did not seem to realize the pleasurehe expected when he walked under the trees and waited for her. Perhapshe was thinking of the footstep on the stair, which he had become soaccustomed to that he thought no more of it than the chirping of acricket; but more likely he was thinking that what he had in his mind tosay to the girl, when alone, was not at all appropriate now that he waswith her.
"An overture to 'Poor Helen,'" Dorris thought, when he looked up, andheard the music, after coming out of his reverie; for it was full ofwhispered sadness, and the girl certainly had that unfortunate lady inher mind when she began playing, for she had spoken of her tireless stepon the stair; and when he walked back to the other end of the church, hethought of the pretty girl in white, at the instrument, as a spirit comeback to warn him with music to be very careful of his future.
Where had the girl learned so much art? He had never heard better music,and though there was little order in it, a mournful harmony ran throughit all that occasionally caused his flesh to creep. She was not playingfrom notes, either, but seemed to be amusing herself by making oddcombinations with the stops; and so well did she understand the secretof the minors that her playing reminded him of a great orchestra he hadonce heard, and which had greatly impressed him.
Where had this simple country-girl learned so much of doubt, of despair,and of anguish? Allan Dorris thought that had _his_ fingers possessedthe necessary skill, _his_ heart might have suggested such strains as hewas hearing; but that a woman of twenty, who had never been out of herpoor native town, could set such tales of horror and unrest anddiscontent to music, puzzled him. The world was full of heartscontaining sorrowful symphonies such as he was now listening to, butthey were usually in older breasts, and he thought there could be butone explanation--the organist was an unusual woman; the only flower in acommunity of rough weeds, scrub-oaks, and thistles, wind-sown by God inHis mercy; a flower which did not realize its rarity, and was thereforemodest in its innocence and purity. But her weird music; she must havethought a great deal because of her motherless and lonely childhood, forsuch strains as her deft fingers produced could not have been found in alight heart.
"There are few players equal to you," he said, standing by her side whenshe finally concluded, and looked around. "A great many players I haveknown had the habit of drowning the expert performance of the right handwith the clumsy drumming of the left; but you seem to understand thatthe left hand should modestly follow and assist, not lead, as is thehabit of busy people. There are many people who have devoted a lifetimeto study, surrounded with every advantage, who cannot equal you. I am anadmirer of the grand organ, and have taken every occasion to hear it;but there is a natural genius about your playing that is very striking."
"No one has ever told me that before," she replied, turning her facefrom him. "I have never been complimented except by the respectfulattention of the people; and father once said I could play almost aswell as my mother. Your good opinion encourages me, for you have livedoutside of Davy's Bend."
Well, yes, he _had_ lived outside of Davy's Bend, and this may have beenthe reason he now looked away from the girl and bec
ame lost to herpresence. He did not do this rudely, but there was a patheticthoughtfulness in his face which caused the girl to remain silent whilehe visited other scenes. Perhaps Allan Dorris is not the only man--letus imagine so, in charity--who has lived in other towns, and becomethoughtful when the circumstance was mentioned.
"If there is genius in my playing, I did not know it, for it is not theresult of training; it comes to me like my thoughts," the girl finallycontinued, when Dorris looked around. "When you were here before, youwere kind enough to commend me, and say that a certain passage gaveevidence of great study and practice. I am obliged to you for your goodopinion, but the strains really came to me in a moment, and while theypleased me, I never studied them."
The girl said this with so much simple earnestness that Allan Dorrisfelt sure that his good opinion of her playing would not cause her topractise less in the future, but rather with an increased determinationfor improvement.
"I think that your playing would attract the attention of the bestmusicians," he said. "The critics could point out defects, certainly,for a great many persons listen to music not to enjoy it, but to detectwhat they regard as faults or inaccuracies; but the masters wouldcheerfully forgive the faults, remembering their own hard experience,and enjoy the genius which seems to inspire you. I only wonder where youlearned it."
"Not from competent teachers," she replied, as though she regretted tomake the confession. "The best music I ever heard was that of the bandswhich visit the place at long intervals. I have seldom attended theirentertainments, but my father has listened with me when they played onthe outside, and we both enjoyed it. All that I know of style andexpression I learned from them. I once heard a minstrel band play infront of the hall, on a wet evening, when there was no prospect of anaudience, and there was such an air of mournfulness in it that Iremember it yet. It is dreadful to imitate minstrel music in a church,but you have spoken so kindly of my playing that I will try it, if youcare to listen."
They were both amused at the idea, and laughed over it; and after Dorrishad signified his eagerness to hear it, and reached his favorite placeto listen, the back pew, he reclined easily in it, and waited until thestops were arranged.
The music began with a crash, or burst, or something of that kind, andthen ran off into an air for the baritone. This was the girl's favoritestyle of playing, and there was really a very marked resemblance to aband. There was an occasional exercise for the supposed cornets, but themusic soon ran back into the old strain, as though the players could notget rid of the prospect of an empty house, and were permitting thebaritone to express their joint regrets. The accompaniment in the treblewas in such odd time, and expressed in such an odd way, that Dorriscould not help laughing to himself, although he enjoyed it; but finallyall the instruments joined in a race to get to the end, and the musicceased. He started up the aisle to congratulate the player, and whenhalf way she said to him:
"At another time I heard a band coming up from the river. The playersseemed to be in better spirits that day"--
A distant march, and a lively one, came from the organ, and surely therewere banners in front of the players. The music gradually became louder,and finally the girl said,--
"Now it turns the corner of the street."
Then came a crash of melody, and Dorris was almost tempted to look outof the window for the procession that he felt sure was passing. It wasjust such an air as a band-master might select to impress the peoplefavorably on his first appearance in a town; and every member did hisbest until the grand finale, which exhausted the powers of the organ.
When the girl turned round, Dorris was laughing, and she joined him init.
"It is a dreadful thing for a girl to do," she said, though her faceindicated that she did not think it was so dreadful, after all, and thatshe enjoyed it; "but when father comes to hear me practise, he insistson hearing the band pieces; and he sometimes calls for jigs, andquadrilles, and waltzes, and imitations of the hand-organ. Thehand-organs, with their crippled players, have been of great use to me,for their music is all well arranged, and father says that if I canequal them he will be very proud of me. Please don't laugh at the idea,for father never says anything that is silly, and he knows good musicwhen he hears it. I know it is the fashion to make light of thebarrel-organ; and the people talk a great deal about bribing the playersto leave town; but father says a great many customs are not founded ingood sense, and perhaps this is one of them. We so rarely find innocentpleasure that we should be free to enjoy it, no matter what it is, orwhere found, whether custom happens to look on approvingly or not."
"I am glad you said that," Dorris returned, "for I enjoy coming here tolisten to your practising, and whether the world approves or not, Iintend to come whenever there is opportunity, and you do not object. Itis my opinion that you have never been appreciated here, and I willrepay you for the music by fully and thoroughly appreciating it. Do youknow that you are a remarkable girl?"
Dorris was a bold fellow, the girl thought, but there was nothingoffensive in his frankness. He seemed to say whatever occurred to him,without stopping to think of its effects.
"It never occurred to me," she said.
"Really and truly?"
"Really and truly," she replied. "If there is merit in my playing, Imight have lived all my life without finding it out, but for you."
"Then let me be the first to tell you of it. You are very pretty, andyou have talent above those around you. I hear that your father is avery sensible man; he no doubt appreciates what I have said, but dreadsto tell you of it, fearing you will become discontented, and lose muchof the charm that is so precious to him. The friends of Cynthia Millerforce themselves into the belief that you are no handsomer than she, andthat your playing is no better than her drumming. All the other Davy'sBend maids have equally dull and enthusiastic friends; but I, who havelived in intelligent communities, and am without prejudice, tell youthat I have never seen a prettier girl in my life. You have intelligenceand capacity, too. Mrs. Wedge has told me the pretty story of how youbecame an organist, and I admire you for it. Some people I have knownwere content to be _willing_ to do creditable things, and came tobelieve in time that they had accomplished all they intended, withoutreally accomplishing anything; but I admire you because you do not knowyourself how much of a woman you are; at least you make no sign of it. Iam glad to be the first to do justice to a really remarkable woman."
The remarkable woman was evidently surprised to hear this; for she wasvery much flustered, and hung her head.
"If a girl as pretty and intelligent as you are," he continued, "shouldfall in love with me, I believe I should die with joy; for a girl likeyou could find in her heart a love worth having. I don't know what Ishould do under such circumstances, for I have had no experience; but Iimagine I should be very enthusiastic, and express my enthusiasm in someabsurd way. No one ever loved me, that I can remember; for as a child Ido not believe I was welcome to the food I ate, though I was not moretroublesome than other children who receive so much attention that theycare nothing for it. I have been indignant at men for beating theirdogs, and then envied the love the brutes displayed while the smart wasyet on their bodies. It has so chanced that the dogs I have owned werewell treated and ungrateful, and finally followed off some of thevagrants who were hard masters. I have thought that they despised mebecause they were fat and idle, believing these conditions to beuncomfortable, having never experienced poverty and hard treatment; butcertainly they regarded me with indifference and suspicion. But I didn'ttry to force them to admire me; I rather kept out of their way; for ananimal cannot be driven to love his master, and you cannot force orpersuade a man to admire any one he dislikes."
"It is possible that you only imagine it," the girl said. "Such doubtsas you express have often come to me, but I have comforted myself withthe poor reflection that there is so little love in the world that whenit is divided among the people, it does not amount to as much as theywish. I know nothing of your situation,
past or present, but is it notpossible that everyone has the same complaint that you have?"
"There is force in your suggestion," he replied thoughtfully, "but I donot believe that I overdraw my condition; I know too much of realwretchedness to permit myself to worry over fancied wrongs. I hope I amtoo sensible to weave an impossible something out of my mind, and thengrieve because of a lack of it. I might long for something which doesnot exist, but so long as I am as well off as others, I will be ascontent as others; but when I have seen that which I covet, and knowthat I am as deserving as others who possess my prize, its lack causesme regret which I can shake off, but which, nevertheless, is always inmy mind. This regret has no other effect than to make me gloomy, whichno man should be; I can get it out of my actions when I try, but Icannot get it out of my mind. Happiness is not common, I believe; for Ihave never known a man or woman who did not in some way excite my pityon closer acquaintance, but owing to a strange peculiarity in mydisposition, I have always felt the lack of honest friendship. This ismy malady, and perhaps my acquaintances pity me because of it, as I pitythem because of their misfortunes. It must be that I have a disagreeableway about me, and repel friendship, though I am always trying to beagreeable, and always trying to make friends. I have little ambitionabove this; therefore I suppose it may be said that I am no moreunfortunate than others who have greater ambitions, and fail in them. Ihave been told that men who have great success find friends a bother anda hindrance; so it comes about that we are all disappointed, and I am noworse off than others. How old are you?"
"I shall be twenty on my next birthday; you asked me that before."
"A little too old to become my pupil," he continued, "but let me saythat if you are as contented as you look, make no experiments in thefuture; pursue the course you have already pursued as long as you live,and never depart from it. If you are given to dreaming, pray for soundslumber; if you occasionally build castles, and occupy them, extol yourplain home, and put aside everything save simplicity, honesty, and duty.There is nothing out in the great world, from which I came, which willafford the happiness you know here. I know everything about the worldexcept the simplicity and peace of your life, and these are the jewelswhich I seek in Davy's Bend. The road leading from this town is the roadto wretchedness, and I have heard that those who have achieved greatnesswould scatter their reputation to the quarters from whence it came forthe quiet contentment you know. Many lives have been wrecked by daydreaming, by hope, by fancy. Pay attention only to the common realities.If you feel that there is a lack in your life, attack it as an evil, andconvince yourself that it is a serious fault; an unworthy notion, and adangerous delusion."
"Must all my pretty castles come tumbling down, then?" she said, in atone of regret. "Can this be the sum of life, this round of dull days?This dreaming which you say is so dangerous--I have always believed itto be ambition--has been the only solace of my life. I have longed sointensely to mingle with more intelligent people than we have here, thatI cannot believe it was wrong; I almost believe you are dangerous, and Iwill leave you."
She walked half way down the aisle, as if intending to go out, but asDorris did not move, and continued looking at the floor, she came backagain.
"That is what you ought to do--go away and never come into my presenceagain," he said, raising his eyes and looking into her face. "That was agood resolve; you should carry it out."
Annie Benton looked puzzled as she asked why.
"Because every honest sentiment I ever expressed seemed wrong, andagainst the established order. The friendship of the people does notsuit me--neither does their love; and, miserable beggar though I am tofeel dissatisfied with that which The King offers, I am not content withit. I wander aimlessly about, seeking--I know not what. A moreinsignificant man than I it would be difficult to find; but in a worldof opulence, this mendicant, this Prince Myself, finds nothing thatsatisfies him. A beggar asking to be chooser, I reject those things thatmen prize, and set my heart upon that which is cheap but impossible.Sent into the world to long for an impossibility, I have fulfilled mymission so faithfully that I sometimes wonder that I am not rewarded forit. _You_ must not follow a path that ends in such a place."
He pointed out of the window, and the girl thought he referred to TheLocks; certainly it was not a cheerful prospect.
"For you, who are satisfied with everything around you, and who greetevery new day for its fresh pleasures, I am a dangerous companion, formy discontent is infectious. And though I warn you to go away, you are asuspicion of that which I have sought so long. Your music has lulled meinto the only peace I have ever known; but principle--which has alwaysguided me into that which was distasteful--demands that I advise you tokeep out of my company, though I cannot help hoping that you will notheed the advice."
"I regret that what you say--that I am contented with everything aroundme--is not true," the girl replied, "but though I am not, and wish Iwere, I do not repine as you do. You are the gloomiest man I ever knew."
"Not at all gloomy," he answered. "Listen to my laugh. I will laugh atmyself."
Surely such a good-natured laugh was never heard before; and it wascontagious, too, for the girl joined him in it, finally, though neitherof them knew what they were laughing about.
"I seldom afflict my friends with melancholy," he said, "for I amusually gay. Gay! I am the gayest man in the world; but the organ causedme to forget. It's all over now; let's laugh some more."
And he did laugh again, as gayly as before; a genteel, hearty laugh itwas, and the girl joined him, as before, though she could not have toldwhat she was laughing about had her life depended upon it, except thatit was very funny that her companion was laughing at nothing. Thedifferent objects in the church, including the organ, seemed to look atthe pair in good humor because of their gayety; perhaps the organ wasfeeling gay itself, from recollections of the minstrel band.
"It makes me feel dreadfully gay to think you are going home presently,and that I am to return to my cheerful room in The Locks, the gayesthouse in the world. Bless you, there is no ghost's walk about thatplace, and the sunshine seems to be brighter there than anywhere else inthe town. I leave it with regret, and return to it with joy; and thewind--I can't tell you what pleasing music the wind makes with thewindows and shutters. But if you will let me, I will walk home with you,although I am dying with impatience to return to my usual gayety. I wishit would rain, and keep you here a while longer. I am becoming so funnyof late I must break my spirit some way."
It was now dusk, and the girl having signified her willingness toaccompany him, they walked out of the church, leaving the old janitor tolock the door, which he probably did with unusual cheerfulness, forDorris had given him an amount of money that was greater than a month'swages.
"They say here that if Thompson Benton should see a gentleman with hisdaughter," Dorris said, as they walked along, "that he would give it tohim straight. I suppose they mean, by that, that he would tell him toclear out; but I will risk it."
"They say a great many things about father that are unjust," the girlanswered, "because he does not trifle. Father is the best man in theworld."
"The lion is a dear old creature to the cub," he replied, "but I amanxious to meet this gentleman of whom I have heard so much, so you hadbetter not invite me in, for I will accept. A lion's den would be ahappy relief to the gayety of The Locks, where we go on--the spectresand I--in the merriest fashion imaginable."
Dorris seemed determined to be gay, and as they walked along he severaltimes suggested another laugh, saying, "now, all together," or, "allready; here we go," as a signal for them to commence, in such a queerway that the girl could not help joining.
"I am like the organ," he said, "gay or sad, at your pleasure. Just atpresent I am a circus tune, but if you prefer a symphony, you have onlyto say the word. I am sorry, though, that you cannot shut a lid downover me, and cause me to be oblivious to everything until you appearagain. Something tells me that the stout gentleman approaching
is thelion."
They were now in the vicinity of the home of the Bentons', and the girllaughingly replied that the stout gentleman was her father. By the timethey reached the gate, he was waiting for them, and glaring at Dorrisfrom under his shaggy eyebrows. Annie presented the stranger to herfather, who explained who he was, and said that, having been attractedby the music in the church, he had taken the liberty of walking homewith the player.
"I have the habit myself," old Thompson grunted, evidently relieved toknow that Dorris was not a lover, and looking at him keenly.
He held the gate open for the girl, who walked in, and then closed it,leaving Dorris on the outside. He raised his hat, wished them goodnight, and walked away, and he imagined when he looked back that thegirl was standing at the door looking after him.
