Web
and Book design,
Copyright, Kellscraft Studio 1999-2021 (Return to Web Text-ures) |
(HOME)
|
Chapter XVII Wherein Mrs. Comstock Dances in the Moonlight, and Elnora Makes a Confession BILLY was
swinging in the hammock, at peace with himself and all the world, when he
thought he heard something. He sat bolt upright, his eyes staring. Once he
opened his lips, then thought again and closed them. The sound persisted. Billy
vaulted the fence, and ran down the road with his queer sidewise hop. When he
neared the Comstock cabin, he left the warm dust of the highway and stepped
softly at slower pace over the rank grasses of the roadside. He had heard
aright. The violin was in the grape arbour, singing a perfect jumble of
everything, poured out in an exultant tumult. The strings were voicing the joy
of a happy girl heart. Billy
climbed the fence enclosing the west woods and crept toward the arbour. He was
not a spy and not a sneak. He merely wanted to satisfy his child-heart as to
whether Mrs. Comstock was at home, and Elnora at last playing her loved violin
with her mother's consent. One peep sufficed. Mrs. Comstock sat in the
moonlight, her head leaning against the arbour; on her face was a look of
perfect peace and contentment. As he stared at her the bow hesitated a second
and Mrs. Comstock spoke: "That's
all very melodious and sweet," she said, "but I do wish you could
play Money Musk and some of the tunes I danced as a girl." Elnora had
been carefully avoiding every note that might be reminiscent of her father. At
the words she laughed softly and began "Turkey in the Straw." An
instant later Mrs. Comstock was dancing in the moon light. Ammon sprang to her
side, caught her in his arms, while to Elnora's laughter and the violin's
impetus they danced until they dropped panting on the arbour bench. Billy scarcely
knew when he reached the road. His light feet barely touched the soft way, so
swiftly he flew. He vaulted the fence and burst into the house. "Aunt
Margaret! Uncle Wesley!" he screamed. "Listen! Listen! She's playing
it! Elnora's playing her violin at home! And Aunt Kate is dancing like anything
before the arbour! I saw her in the moonlight! I ran down! Oh, Aunt
Margaret!" Billy fled
sobbing to Margaret's breast. "Why
Billy!" she chided. "Don't cry, you little dunce! That's what we've
all prayed for these many years; but you must be mistaken about Kate. I can't
believe it." Billy
lifted his head. "Well, you just have to!" he said. "When I say
I saw anything, Uncle Wesley knows I did. The city man was dancing with her.
They danced together and Elnora laughed. But it didn't look funny to me; I was
scared." "Who
was it said 'wonders never cease,'" asked Wesley. "You mark my word,
once you get Kate Comstock started, you can't stop her. There's a wagon load of
penned-up force in her. Dancing in the moonlight! Well, I'll be hanged!" Billy was
at his side instantly. "Whoever does it will have to hang me, too,"
he cried. Sinton
threw his arm around Billy and drew him closely. "Tell us all about it,
son," he said. Billy told. "And when Elnora just stopped a breath,
'Can't you play some of the old things I knew when I was a girl?' said her ma.
Then Elnora began to do a thing that made you want to whirl round and round,
and quicker 'an scat there was her ma a-whirling. The city man, he ups and
grabs her and whirls, too, and back in the woods I was going just like they
did. Elnora begins to laugh, and I ran to tell you, cos I knew you'd like to know.
Now, all the world is right, ain't it?" ended Billy in supreme
satisfaction. "You
just bet it is!" said Wesley. Billy
looked steadily at Margaret. "Is it, Aunt Margaret?" Margaret
Sinton smiled at him bravely. An hour
later when Billy was ready to climb the stairs to his room, he went to Margaret
to say good night. He leaned against her an instant, then brought his lips to
her ear. "Wish I could get your little girls back for you!" he
whispered and dashed toward the stairs. Down at the
Comstock cabin the violin played on until Elnora was so tired she scarcely
could lift the bow. Then Philip went home. The women walked to the gate with
him, and stood watching him from sight. "That's
what I call one decent young man!" said Mrs. Comstock. "To see him fit
in with us, you'd think he'd been brought up in a cabin; but it's likely he's
always had the very cream o' the pot." "Yes,
I think so," laughed Elnora, "but it hasn't hurt him. I've never seen
anything I could criticise. He's teaching me so much, unconsciously. You know
he graduated from Harvard, and has several degrees in law. He's coming in the
morning, and we are going to put in a big day on Catocalæ." "Which
is —?" "Those
gray moths with wings that fold back like big flies, and they appear as if they
had been carved from old wood. Then, when they fly, the lower wings flash out
and they are red and black, or gold and black, or pink and black, or dozens of
bright, beautiful colours combined with black. No one ever has classified all
of them and written their complete history, unless the Bird Woman is doing it
now. She wants everything she can get about them." "I
remember," said Mrs. Comstock. "They are mighty pretty things. I've
started up slews of them from the vines covering the logs, all my life. I must
be cautious and catch them after this, but they seem powerful spry. I might get
hold of something rare." She thought intently and added, "And
wouldn't know it if I did. It would just be my luck. I've had the rarest thing
on earth in reach this many a day and only had the wit to cinch it just as it
was going. I'll bet I don't let anything else escape me." Next
morning Philip came early, and he and Elnora went at once to the fields and
woods. Mrs. Comstock had come to believe so implicitly in him that she now
stayed at home to complete the work before she joined them, and when she did
she often sat sewing, leaving them wandering hours at a time. It was noon
before she finished, and then she packed a basket of lunch. She found Elnora
and Philip near the violet patch, which was still in its prime. They all
lunched together in the shade of a wild crab thicket, with flowers spread at
their feet, and the gold orioles streaking the air with flashes of light and
trailing ecstasy behind them, while the red-wings, as always, asked the most
impertinent questions. Then Mrs. Comstock carried the basket back to the cabin,
and Philip and Elnora sat on a log, resting a few minutes. They had unexpected
luck, and both were eager to continue the search. "Do
you remember your promise about these violets?" asked he. "To-morrow
is Edith's birthday, and if I'd put them special delivery on the morning train,
she'd get them in the late afternoon. They ought to keep that long. She leaves
for the North next day." "Of
course, you may have them," said Elnora. "We will quit long enough
before supper to gather a large bunch. They can be packed so they will carry
all right. They should be perfectly fresh, especially if we gather them this
evening and let them drink all night." Then they
went back to hunt Catocalæ. It was a long and a happy search. It led them into
new, unexplored nooks of the woods, past a red-poll nest, and where goldfinches
prospected for thistledown for the cradles they would line a little later. It
led them into real forest, where deep, dark pools lay, where the hermit thrush
and the wood robin extracted the essence from all other bird melody, and poured
it out in their pure bell-tone notes. It seemed as if every old gray tree-trunk,
slab of loose bark, and prostrate log yielded the flashing gray treasures;
while of all others they seemed to take alarm most easily, and be most
difficult to capture. Philip came
to Elnora at dusk, daintily holding one by the body, its dark wings showing and
its long slender legs trying to clasp his fingers and creep from his hold. "Oh
for mercy's sake!" cried Elnora, staring at him. "I
half believe it!" exulted Ammon. "Did
you ever see one?" "Only
in collections, and very seldom there." Elnora
studied the black wings intently. "I surely believe that's Sappho,"
she marvelled. "The Bird Woman will be overjoyed." "We
must get the cyanide jar quickly," said Philip. "I
wouldn't lose her for anything. Such a chase as she led me!" Elnora
brought the jar and began gathering up paraphernalia. "When
you make a find like that," she said, "it's the right time to quit
and feel glorious all the rest of that day. I tell you I'm proud! We will go
now. We have barely time to carry out our plans before supper. Won't mother be
pleased to see that we have a rare one?" "I'd
like to see any one more pleased than I am!" said Philip Ammon. "I
feel as if I'd earned my supper to-night. Let's go." He took the
greater part of the load and stepped aside for Elnora to precede him. She
followed the path, broken by the grazing cattle, toward the cabin and nearest
the violet patch she stopped, laid down her net, and the things she carried.
Philip passed her and hurried straight toward the back gate. "Aren't
you going to —?" began Elnora. "I'm
going to get this moth home in a hurry," he said. "This cyanide has
lost its strength, and it's not working well. We need some fresh in the
jar." He had
forgotten the violets! Elnora stood looking after him, a curious expression on
her face. One second so — then she picked up the net and followed. At the
blue-bordered pool she paused and half turned back, then she closed her lips firmly
and went on. It was nine o'clock when Philip said good-bye, and started to
town. His gay whistle floated to them from the farthest corner of the
Limberlost. Elnora complained of being tired, so she went to her room and to
bed. But sleep would not come. Thought was racing in her brain and the longer
she lay the wider awake she grew. At last she softly slipped from bed, lighted
her lamp and began opening boxes. Then she went to work. Two hours later a
beautiful birch bark basket, strongly and artistically made, stood on her
table. She set a tiny alarm clock at three, returned to bed and fell asleep
instantly with a smile on her lips. She was on
the floor with the first tinkle of the alarm, and hastily dressing, she picked
up the basket and a box to fit it, crept down the stairs, and out to the violet
patch. She was unafraid as it was growing light, and lining the basket with
damp mosses she swiftly began picking, with practised hands, the best of the
flowers. She scarcely could tell which were freshest at times, but day soon
came creeping over the Limberlost and peeped at her. The robins awoke all their
neighbours, and a babel of bird notes filled the air. The dew was dripping,
while the first strong rays of light fell on a world in which Elnora worshipped.
When the basket was filled to overflowing, she set it in the stout pasteboard
box, packed it solid with mosses, tied it firmly and slipped under the cord a
note she had written the previous night. Then she
took a short cut across the woods and walked swiftly to Onabasha. It was after
six o'clock, but all of the city she wished to avoid were asleep. She had no
trouble in finding a small boy out, and she stood at a distance waiting while
he rang Dr. Ammon's bell and delivered the package for Philip to a maid, with
the note which was to be given him at once. On the way
home through the woods passing some baited trees she collected the captive
moths. She entered the kitchen with them so naturally that Mrs. Comstock made
no comment. After breakfast Elnora went to her room, cleared away all trace of
the night's work and was out in the arbour mounting moths when Philip came down
the road. "I am tired sitting," she said to her mother. "I think
I will walk a few rods and meet him." "Who's
a trump?" he called from afar. "Not
you!" retorted Elnora. "Confess that you forgot!" "Completely!"
said Philip. "But luckily it would not have been fatal. I wrote Polly last week to send Edith something
appropriate to-day, with my card. But that touch from the woods will be very
effective. Thank you more than I can say. Aunt Anna and I unpacked it to see
the basket, and it was a beauty. She says you are always doing such
things." "Well,
I hope not!" laughed Elnora. "If you'd seen me sneaking out before
dawn, not to awaken mother and coming in with moths to make her think I'd been
to the trees, you'd know it was a most especial occasion." Then Philip
understood two things: Elnora's mother did not know of the early morning trip
to the city, and the girl had come to meet him to tell him so. "You
were a brick to do it!" he whispered as he closed the gate behind them.
"I'll never forget you for it. Thank you ever so much." "I did
not do that for you," said Elnora tersely. "I did it mostly to
preserve my own self-respect. I saw you were forgetting. If I did it for anything
besides that, I did it for her." "Just
look what I've brought!" said Philip, entering the arbour and greeting
Mrs. Comstock. "Borrowed it of the Bird Woman. And it isn't hers. A rare
edition of Catocalæ with coloured plates. I told her the best I could, and she
said to try for Sappho here. I suspect the Bird Woman will be out presently.
She was all excitement." Then they
bent over the book together and with the mounted moth before them determined
her family. The Bird Woman did come later, and carried the moth away, to put
into a book and Elnora and Philip were freshly filled with enthusiasm. So these
days were the beginning of the weeks that followed. Six of them flying on
Time's wings, each filled to the brim with interest. After June, the moth hunts
grew less frequent; the fields and woods were searched for material for
Elnora's grade work. The most absorbing occupation they found was in carrying
out Mrs. Comstock's suggestion to learn the vital thing for which each month
was distinctive, and make that the key to the nature work. They wrote out a
list of the months, opposite each the things all of them could suggest which
seemed to pertain to that month alone, and then tried to sift until they found
something typical. Mrs. Comstock was a great help. Her mother had been Dutch
and had brought from Holland numerous quaint sayings and superstitions easily
traceable to Pliny's Natural History; and in Mrs. Comstock's early years in
Ohio she had heard much Indian talk among her elders, so she knew the signs of
each season, and sometimes they helped. Always her practical thought and
sterling common sense were useful. When they were afield until exhausted they
came back to the cabin for food, to prepare specimens and classify them, and to
talk over the day. Sometimes Philip brought books and read while Elnora and her
mother worked, and every night Mrs. Comstock asked for the violin. Her perfect
hunger for music was sufficient evidence of how she had suffered without it. So
the days crept by, golden, filled with useful work and pure pleasure. The
grosbeak had led the family in the maple abroad and a second brood, in a wild
grape vine clambering over the well, was almost ready for flight. The dust lay
thick on the country roads, the days grew warmer; summer was just poising to
slip into fall, and Philip remained, coming each day as if he had belonged
there always. One warm
August afternoon Mrs. Comstock looked up from the ruffle on which she was
engaged to see a blue-coated messenger enter the gate. "Is
Philip Ammon here?" asked the boy. "He
is," said Mrs. Comstock. "I
have a message for him." "He is
in the woods back of the cabin. I will ring the bell. Do you know if it is
important?" "Urgent,"
said the boy; "I rode hard." Mrs.
Comstock stepped to the back door and clanged the dinner bell sharply, paused a
second, and rang again. In a short time Philip and Elnora ran down the path. "Are
you ill, mother?" cried Elnora. Mrs.
Comstock indicated the boy. "There is an important message for
Philip," she said. He muttered
an excuse and tore open the telegram. His colour faded slightly. "I have
to take the first train," he said. "My father is ill and I am
needed." He handed
the sheet to Elnora. "I have about two hours, as I remember the trains
north, but my things are all over Uncle Doc's house, so I must go at
once." "Certainly,"
said Elnora, giving back the message. "Is there anything I can do to help?
Mother, bring Philip a glass of buttermilk to start on. I will gather what you
have here." "Never
mind. There is nothing of importance. I don't want to be hampered. I'll send
for it if I miss anything I need." Philip
drank the milk, said good-bye to Mrs. Comstock; thanked her for all her kindness,
and turned to Elnora. "Will
you walk to the edge of the Limberlost with me?" he asked. Elnora
assented. Mrs. Comstock followed to the gate, urged him to come again soon, and
repeated her good-bye. Then she went back to the arbour to await Elnora's
return. As she watched down the road she smiled softly. "I had
an idea he would speak to me first," she thought, "but this may
change things some. He hasn't time. Elnora will come back a happy girl, and she
has good reason. He is a model young man. Her lot will be very different from
mine." She picked
up her embroidery and began setting dainty, precise little stitches, possible
only to certain women. On the road
Elnora spoke first. "I do hope it is nothing serious," she said.
"Is he usually strong?" "Quite
strong," said Philip. "I am not at all alarmed but I am very much
ashamed. I have been well enough for the past month to have gone home and
helped him with some critical cases that were keeping him at work in this heat.
I was enjoying myself so I wouldn't offer to go, and he would not ask me to
come, so long as he could help it. I have allowed him to overtax himself until
he is down, and mother and Polly are north at our cottage. He's never been sick
before, and it's probable I am to blame that he is now." "He
intended you to stay this long when you came," urged Elnora. "Yes,
but it's hot in Chicago. I should have remembered him. He is always thinking of
me. Possibly he has needed me for days. I am ashamed to go to him in splendid
condition and admit that I was having such a fine time I forgot to come
home." "You
have had a fine time, then?" asked Elnora. They had
reached the fence. Philip vaulted over to take a short cut across the fields.
He turned and looked at her. "The
best, the sweetest, and most wholesome time any man ever had in this
world," he said. "Elnora, if I talked hours I couldn't make you
understand what a girl I think you are. I never in all my life hated anything
as I hate leaving you. It seems to me that I have not strength to do it." "If
you have learned anything worth while from me," said Elnora, "that
should be it. Just to have strength to go to your duty, and to go
quickly." He caught
the hand she held out to him in both his. "Elnora, these days we have had
together, have they been sweet to you?" "Beautiful
days!" said Elnora. "Each like a perfect dream to be thought over and
over all my life. Oh, they have been the only really happy days I've ever
known; these days rich with mother's love, and doing useful work with your help.
Good-bye! You must hurry!" Philip
gazed at her. He tried to drop her hand, and only clutched it closer. Suddenly
he drew her toward him. "Elnora," he whispered, "will you kiss
me good-bye?" Elnora drew
back and stared at him with wide eyes. "I'd strike you sooner!" she
said. "Have I ever said or done anything in your presence that made you
feel free to ask that, Philip Ammon?" "No!"
panted Philip. "No! I think so much of you, I wanted to touch your lips
once before I left you. You know, Elnora —" "Don't
distress yourself," said Elnora calmly. "I am broad enough to judge
you sanely. I know what you mean. It would be no harm to you. It would not
matter to me, but here we will think of some one else. Edith Carr would not
want your lips to-morrow if she knew they had touched mine to-day. I was wise
to say: 'Go quickly!'" Philip
still clung to her. "Will you write me?" he begged. "No,"
said Elnora. "There is nothing to say, save good-bye. We can do that
now." He held on.
"Promise that you will write me only one letter," he urged. "I
want just one message from you to lock in my desk, and keep always. Promise you
will write once, Elnora." She looked
into his eyes, and smiled serenely. "If the talking trees tell me this
winter, the secret of how a man may grow perfect, I will write you what it is,
Philip. In all the time I have known you, I never have liked you so little.
Good-bye." She drew
away her hand and swiftly turned back to the road. Philip Ammon, wordless,
started toward Onabasha on a run. Elnora
crossed the road, climbed the fence and sought the shelter of their own woods.
She chose a diagonal course and followed it until she came to the path leading
past the violet patch. She went down this hurriedly. Her hands were clenched at
her side, her eyes dry and bright, her cheeks red-flushed, and her breath
coming fast. When she reached the patch she turned into it and stood looking
around her. The mosses
were dry, the flowers gone, weeds a foot high covered it. She turned away and
went on down the path until she was almost in sight of the cabin. Mrs.
Comstock smiled and waited in the arbour until it occurred to her that Elnora
was a long time coming, so she went to the gate. The road stretched away toward
the Limberlost empty and lonely. Then she knew that Elnora had gone into their
own woods and would come in the back way. She could not understand why the girl
did not hurry to her with what she would have to tell. She went out and wandered
around the garden. Then she stepped into the path and started along the way
leading to the woods, past the pool now framed in a thick setting of yellow
lilies. Then she saw, and stopped, gasping for breath. Her hands flew up and
her lined face grew ghastly. She stared at the sky and then at the prostrate
girl figure. Over and over she tried to speak, but only a dry breath came. She
turned and fled back to the garden. In the
familiar enclosure she gazed around her like a caged animal seeking escape. The
sun beat down on her bare head mercilessly, and mechanically she moved to the
shade of a half-grown hickory tree that voluntarily had sprouted beside the
milk house. At her feet lay an axe with which she made kindlings for fires. She
stooped and picked it up. The memory of that prone figure sobbing in the grass
caught her with a renewed spasm. She shut her eyes as if to close it out. That
made hearing so acute she felt certain she heard Elnora moaning beside the
path. The eyes flew open. They looked straight at a few spindling tomato plants
set too near the tree and stunted by its shade. Mrs. Comstock whirled on the
hickory and swung the axe. Her hair shook down, her clothing became
disarranged, in the heat the perspiration streamed, but stroke fell on stroke
until the tree crashed over, grazing a corner of the milk house and smashing
the garden fence on the east. At the
sound Elnora sprang to her feet and came running down the garden walk.
"Mother!" she cried. "Mother! What in the world are you doing?"
Mrs.
Comstock wiped her ghastly face on her apron. "I've laid out to cut that
tree for years," she said. "It shades the beets in the morning, and
the tomatoes in the afternoon!" Elnora
uttered one wild little cry and fled into her mother's arms. "Oh mother!"
she sobbed. "Will you ever forgive me?" Mrs.
Comstock's arms swept together in a tight grip around Elnora. "There
isn't a thing on God's footstool from a to izzard I won't forgive you, my
precious girl!" she said. "Tell mother what it is!" Elnora
lifted her wet face. "He told me," she panted, "just as soon as
he decently could — that second day he told me. Almost all his life he's been
engaged to a girl at home. He never cared anything about me. He was only
interested in the moths and growing strong." Mrs.
Comstock's arms tightened. With a shaking hand she stroked the bright hair. "Tell
me, honey," she said. "Is he to blame for a single one of these
tears?" "Not
one!" sobbed Elnora. "Oh mother, I won't forgive you if you don't
believe that. Not one! He never said, or looked, or did anything all the world
might not have known. He likes me very much as a friend. He hated to go
dreadfully!" "Elnora!"
the mother's head bent until the white hair mingled with the brown.
"Elnora, why didn't you tell me at first?" Elnora
caught her breath in a sharp snatch. "I know I should!" she sobbed.
"I will bear any punishment for not, but I didn't feel as if I possibly
could. I was afraid." "Afraid
of what?" the shaking hand was on the hair again. "Afraid
you wouldn't let him come!" panted Elnora. "And oh, mother, I wanted
him so!" |